Aunt Kizzy lifted a bony black hand, and shook her turbaned head ominously.
"Dey's two kinds ob hoodoos," she said, "de libin' an' de daid. De daid ones is de easiest to lift, 'ca'se dey answers to charms; but nobody can lift a libin' hoodoo 'ceptin' de one dat laid hit on. I been a-steddyin' an' a-steddyin', an' de signs claim dat dis heah hoodoo ob yourn ain't no daid hoodoo."
By this time the whites of Gordon Lee's eyes were largely in evidence, and he raised himself fearfully on his elbow.
"Aunt Kizzy," he whispered hoarsely, "how am I gwine to fin' out who 't is done conjured me?"
"By de sign ob seben," she answered mysteriously. "I's gwine home an' work hit out, den I come back an' tell yer. Ef my 'spicions am true, dat dis heah is a libin' hoodoo, de only power in de earth to tek it off am ter git er bigger trick an' lay on de top ob hit. I'm gwine home now, an' I'll be back inside de hour."
That night when Amanda returned home she found Gordon Lee preoccupied and silent. He ate gingerly of the tempting meal she prepared, and refused to have his bed straightened before he went to sleep.
"Huccome you put yer pillow on the floor?" she asked.
"I ain't believin' in feathers," he answered sullenly; "dey meks me heah things."
In vain Amanda tried to cheer him; she recounted the affairs of the day; she gave him all the gossip of the Order of the Sisters of the Star. He lay perfectly stolid, his horizontal profile resembling a mountain-range the highest peak of which was his under lip.
Finally Amanda's patience wore thin.