"En yit," said Uncle Remus, with a grave, judicial air, "I year tell er one time w'en ole Brer Buzzard wa'n't so mighty fur outer de way wid he notions."
"Me yent yeddy tahlk 'bout dis," Daddy Jack explained.
"I 'speck not," responded Uncle Remus. "Hit seem lak dat dey wuz one time w'en Mr. Hawk come sailin' 'roun' huntin' fer sump'n' 'n'er t' eat, en he see Brer Buzzard settin' on a dead lim', lookin' mighty lazy en lonesome.
"Mr. Hawk, sezee, 'How you come on, Brer Buzzard?'
"Brer Buzzard, sezee, 'I'm mighty po'ly, Brer Hawk; po'ly en hongry.'
"Mr. Hawk, sezee, 'W'at you waitin' yer fer ef you hongry, Brer Buzzard?'
"Brer Buzzard, sezee, 'I'm a-waitin' on de Lord.'
"Mr. Hawk, sezee, 'Better run en git yo' brekkus, Brer Buzzard, en den come back en wait.'
"Brer Buzzard, sezee, 'No, Brer Hawk, I'll go bidout my brekkus druther den be biggity 'bout it.'
"Mr. Hawk, he 'low, sezee, 'Well, den, Brer Buzzard, you got yo' way en I got mine. You see dem ar chick'ns, down dar in Mr. Man hoss-lot? I'm a-gwine down dar en git one un um, en den I'll come back yer en wait 'long wid you.'
"Wid dat, Mr. Hawk tuck'n sail off, en Brer Buzzard drop he wings down on de lim' en look mighty lonesome. He sot dar en look mighty lonesome, he did, but he keep one eye on Mr. Hawk.
"Mr. Hawk, he sail 'roun' en 'roun', en he look mighty purty. He sail 'roun' en 'roun' 'bove de hoss-lot--'roun' en 'roun'--en bimeby he dart down at chick'ns. He shot up he wings en dart down, he did, des same ef he 'uz fired out'n a gun."
"Watch out, pullets!" exclaimed 'Tildy, in a tone of warning.
"He dart down, he did," continued Uncle Remus, rubbing his hand thoughtfully across the top of his head, "but stidder he hittin' de chick'ns, he tuck'n hit 'pon de sharp een' un a fence-rail. He hit dar, he did, en dar he stuck."
"Dar he stuck. Brer Buzzard sot en watch 'im. Mr. Hawk ain't move. Brer Buzzard sot en watch 'im some mo'. Mr. Hawk ain't move. He done stone dead. De mo' Brer Buzzard watch 'im de mo' hongrier he git, en bimeby he gedder up he wings, en sorter clean out he year wid he claw, en 'low, sezee:--
"'I know'd de Lord 'uz gwineter pervide.'"
"Trufe too!" exclaimed Aunt Tempy. "'T ain't bin in my min' dat Buzzard got sense lak dat!"