Den dese yudder gemmuns said dey ’d git one ob dese yere rat-coons; en de marster sed 'e did n't keer, dey could git anythink dey choose, so dey cotch a rat-coon en put hit under a bar'l on de lawn. Den dey sont fer John en 'e come, en de marster sed, "Look yere, John, I 's done bet my forchune on yo' now. I want chew ter tell usuns wat 's under dat ar bar'l dar." En cose John did n't know, case 'e 'ad n't put hit dar hisself; en 'e 'd allers hid de yudder tings; en 'e sed: "Deed, Mars' Jones. John 's sick; 'e can't tell no forchunes terday." But de marster, he sisted, en sed, "John, I wants ye toe; I 's bet my whole forchune on yo." "But, deed, Mars' Jones, I 's sick terday, I is; en can't tell no forchunes terday," sez John, sezee. "I know, John, but yo' must do hit," sez de marster, sezee. Den John keeps on a foolin' dat way, 'e duze, twell presently de marster sey,sezee, "Ef yo' don’t tell me wat 's under dat ar bar'l, I 'll make it rite wid you." Den John know ef 'e did n't tell wat wuz under dat bar'l 'is marster ud kill 'im. So 'e thought, "John, hit 's all up wid you;" fo', ob cose, 'e didn’t know wat's under dat bar', kase 'e didn’t put hit dar.
Well, de nigger, 'e 'd been en de habbit ob callin' hissef "coon;" so 'e went to de bar'l, en helt 'is arms up ober de bar'l, en sez, sezee: "Rite yere, on dis bar'l, yose done got dis coon dis day;" en fell postrated. Den dey all shouted an' cheered, en de marster pick 'im up on 'is shoulders, en run round en round wid John, kase 'e 'd won all dat money fer 'im. En ebber sence dat dey de nigger 's always been called de "coon;" en dey allers takes hit as a good luck name, fo' it done sabe one nigger life.
HOW MR. HARE PROVED THAT MR. FOX WAS HIS RIDING-HORSE.
Der wuz two girls, en Mr. Fox en Mr. Har' wuz a co'tin' wun dem, dey wuz dere two esco'ts; en ebery time Mr. Har' 'd go ter seed de girls, en Mr. Fox wuzn't dar, dey 'd keep er axin' him, "Whar 's Mr. Fox?" en tellin' him 'bout Mr. Fox, dat Mr. Fox sez dis, en Mr. Fox sez dat. So Mr. Har' kinder crossed his lags, en sed, "Yo's all keeps a talkin' bout Mr. Fox. Mr, Fox is my ridin' hoss in wed wedder," en de girls did n't bleeb him. So w'en Mr. Fox comes de nex' day, deys tole 'im 'bout hit, en w'at Mr. Har' 'd done sed; so he goes back ter Mr. Har's en gits arter 'im 'bout hit. En Mr. Har' sed he did n't sez so, de girls wuz a makin' fun ub 'im, en sed to Mr. Har', "Come, let 's go down dere termorrow en prove hit dem." So Mr. Fox sez all right, en w'en de nex' mornin' come, Mr. Har' tole Mr. Fox dat 'e wuz sick en could'n walk dere. So den Mr. Fox sed 'e tote 'im; en Mr. Har' sed all right, but 'e must hab a saddle fer to hole himse'f on by. So Mr. Fox sed he'd git all ub dem den, but 'e 'atter get off w'en dey wuz neah dar, and Mr. Har' sed
