Our old nigger, January Snow, had a spite agin
one of father's roosters, seein' that he was a coward, and wouldn't
fight. He used to call him Dearborne, arter our General that behaved
so ugly to Canada; and, says he one day, 'I guess you are no better
than a hen, you everlastin' old chicken-hearted villain, and I'll
make you a larfin' stock to all the poultry. I'll put a trick on you
you'll bear in mind all your born days.' So he catches old Dearborne,
and pulls all the feathers off his breast, and strips him as naked as
when he was born, from his throat clean down to his tail, and then
takes a bundle of nettles and gives him a proper switchin' that stung
him, and made him smart like mad; then he warms some eggs and puts
them in a nest, and sets the old cock right a top of 'em. Well, the
warmth of the eggs felt good to the poor critter's naked belly, and
kinder kept the itchin' of the nettles down, and he was glad to bide
where he was; and whenever he was tired and got off his skin felt so
cold, he'd run right back and squat down agin; and when his feathers
began to grow, and he got obstropolous, he got another ticklin' with
the nettles, that made him return double quick to his location. In a
little time he larnt the trade real complete. Now, this John Porter
(and there he is on the bridge, I vow; I never seed the beat o' that,
speak of old Satan and he's sure to appear), well, he's jist like old
Dearborne, only fit to hatch eggs.
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