“dis hyah room right full uv ’em now.”

Mary Van’s head was immediately buried on the old woman’s shoulder, while Willis’s arms locked tightly around her neck.

“Yas,” she continued, in low mysterious tones, “dis whole wurl’s pack’d full uv ’em, but ’tain’ no use ter git skeer’d, long es dey ain’ got no bisnes’ wid you. De time ter git skeer’d is whin you sees ’em!” (A scream from Mary Van answered by a tremor from Willis.) “Some fokes doan git skeer’d den, kaze dey knows ’tain’ no use ter git skeer’d er good speerets—hit’s jes dese bad hants dat does de damage.”

“Tell us about a good, good spirit, Mammy,” came in muffled tones from Mary Van.

“Cause we don’t want to hear about bad old hants,” finished Willis.

“How yer speck me ter tell yer enything wid you chokin’ me, an’ Ma’y Van standin’ on her haid on m’ should’r. Set up like fokes—you hole dis han’ an’ let Ma’y Van hole dis un, an’ I’ll tell yer ’bout old man Gully’s hant.”

“Ole man Gully wus de biggites’ creetur’ you ev’r seed; he jes nachilly so biggity he ’fuse ter do er lick er wurk. Plantin’ time er harves’ time ain’ make no diffunce ter ole man Gully. He set up on his front po’ch an’ smoke his pipe, an’ read de newspaper an’ eat same es one dese ole buckshire hogs, whilst his old lady, an’ de chilluns, an’ der ole nigg’r Abe, done all de wurk.

“Ole Miss Gully wus pow’ful sot on de ole man; she think he’s de mos’ pow’fules’ gran’ man in de wurl. Ef he say ‘I wants er chaw er ’bark’r,’ de ole lady’d break her neck runnin’ ter de fiel’ ter tell Abe ter take de mule out’n de plow an’ fly ter town fur de ’bark’r. Den she’d git de old broke down steer an’ go ter plowin’ tell Abe come back. All dis time ole man Gully snoozin’ on de po’ch in de cool. Ef er rainy spell come an’ spile de wheat, er ef fros’ come an’ kill de fruit, ole man Gully ’buse de ole lady an’ de chilluns, an’ say ef dey had er done like he tole ’em hit nuv’r wud er hap’n’d.

“One day long ’bout de mid’le er de sum’r, Mist’r Gully say he bleeg ter have some possum vit’als. Cose nobody doan eat no possum dat time de ye’r, an’ ’taint’ no time ter hunt ’em nuthe’r, but ole man Gully says, ‘I wants de possum,’ an’ dat wus ’nuf fur de Gullys. Abe an’ de chillun stops all de wurk on de farm an’ go possum huntin’. Dey hunts all day, an’ dey hunts all night ’fo’ dey so much es come ’crost er single possum track. Bimeby, att’r day had mos’ give out, hyah come er big lean, lank ole possum up er ’simmon tree full er green ’simmons. Dey runs home quick an’ giv’ hit ter dey ma, an’ Lawsee! by de time dat possum an’ tat’rs ’gun ter cookin’ up good, de smell uv hit jes nachally make Abe an’ dem chilluns mouf dribble tell dey can’ do er lick er wurk fur standin’ ’roun’ de kitchen smellin’ dat possum. Miss Gully had er plenty er fat meat an’ sop fur de chillun, but dat big deesh er possum an’ tat’rs at de haid er de table done steal all der appertite, an’ dey wus settin’ dar turnin’ ov’r in der mines which one gwine git de bigges’ piece.

“Pres’ntly Mist’r Gully sorter cla’r his thoat an’ push his plate erway an’ pull de deesh closter ter ’im an’ cas’ er eye ’roun’ de table sorter mad like, an’, honey, dem chillun know right den an’ dar dat dey got ter eat fat meat an’ sop fur sup’r, er dee doan git no sup’r. De bigges’ boy sorter wipe his eyes er lit’le, an’ de nex’ two chillun, dey out an’ sniffle. De ole lady twis’ her mouf like she tryin’ ter say ‘doan spile yo’ pa’s sup’r.’ An’ de ole man make out he ain’ heah nuthin’ nur see nuthin’. Pres’ntly he look up wid his mouf right full er tat’rs an’ possum an’ see de chillun’s eyes feas’in’ on ’im, an’ der moufs wurkin’ like his’n, an’ he feel sorter ’shame. He swaller hard he do, like he’s fixin’ ter give ’em some, den he change his mine an’ say, ‘G’long in de yard, chillun,—Pappy’s sick, let Pappy eat de possum.’”

“Make Mister Gully give them some, Mammy,” said Willis indignantly.

“He hatt’r go back like Niggerdemus an’ be born’d ergin ef he do. Nor suhree, he eat up ev’y speck er dat possum, an’ he sop up ev’y drap er dat gravy too; den he stretch hissef an’ say he ’speck he’ll g’long ter bed an’ try ter git er good night’s res’. Den all de fambly hatt’r g’long ter baid too, so de old man kin git ter sleep. Bimeby, long’ ’bout time de moon sot, hyah come sump’in’ nuth’r knockin’—knockin’—knockin’, on de wind’r blines.

“‘Who dat?’ sez ole lady Gully.

“Sumpin’ nuth’r keep er knockin’ an’ er knockin’. Bimeby de old dog ’gun ter howlin’, an’ de chickens ’gun ter crowin’, an’ de pigs ’gun ter squealin’, an’ de kitchin do’ blow’d wide op’n, an’ de sumpin’ nuth’r come tippitty, tippitty, tip, ’long up de hall.

“‘Who dat?’ sez ole lady Gully ergin.

“De sump’in’ nuth’r keep er comin’ tippitty, tippitty, tip, right ’crost de ole lady’s foots on de baid. She holl’r an’ squall fur de ole man an’ de chillun’ ter come kill hit. De chillun an’ Abe come er runnin’ but de ole man ain’ stirry er speck.

“‘Lawsee mussy! Light de candle quick,’ sez she.

“An’ whut ’twus you ’speck dem chillun foun’?”

“What, Mammy?” came in a chorus.

“Er big ole Langshan rooster, jes like dat varmint out yond’r. Yas suh, dar hit sot on de foot er de baid, quoilin’ an’ grumblin’ like fokes. De ole lady tell Abe ter run Langshan out ’fo’ he wake up de ole man, but Lawd er mussy! Abe ’gun ter howlin’: ‘Oh! my Lawd, Marst’rs daid! Marst’rs daid! an’ dis hyahs his hant!’ Sho’ nuff de ole man wus layin’ dar stiff an’ stark daid!”

“Is Papa’s rooster old man Gully, Mammy?” whispered Willis.

“Hit mout not be dis same ole man Gully, son, but hit’s some ole man Gully, sho’ es you born. Well, de ole lady she ’gun ter moanin’ an’ takin’ on tur’bl’, she did, an’ de Langshan he settin’ up cluckin’ an’ quoilin’ tell nobody can’ heah der own ye’rs. Dey darsn’t ter drive ’im out—nor suh, eb’n de und’r tak’r skeerd ter do dat, so ’tain’t long ’fo’ dat ole Langshan chick’n boss ev’ythin’ on de farm. Yas suh, I tell yer, Abe an’ dat ole ’oman act scand’lous ter dat chickin. De ole lady, she love hit, but Abe, he jes nachelly skeer’d er de hant. Dey nuv’r raise sich er crap b’fo’, ’caze dat rooster scratchin’ all ov’r de fiel’, an’ Abe say he know whut you doin’ wheth’r he lookin’ at yer er not.

“Ev’y time Langshan ’ud speak sof’ ter de hens, Miss Gully’d holl’r ter Abe, ‘Yer marst’r want some fresh wat’r, run quick,’ Whinsomev’r Langshan’d crow, she run an’ git him mo’ vit’als. Oh, I tell yer dem dominicker hens whut kep’ comp’ny wid him sholy got fat an’ lazy eatin’ all day an’ doin’ nuthin’ but cacklin’ conversation wid him. An’ dey’s er heap er fokes in dis town too, dat doan do no mo’ dan dem hens does.”

“Did the children call Langshan papa?” interrupted Willis.

“Nor, darlin’, dem boys doan b’leef in hants, an’ dey tell dey ma dat de rooster jes