"I can't git well till de hoodoo's lifted. Aunt Kizzy 'lows—"
But the door was slammed before he could finish.
The limit of Amanda's endurance was reached about Christmas-time. One gloomy Sunday afternoon when she had finished the numerous chores that had accumulated during the week, she started for the coal-shed to get an armful of kindling.
Dusk was coming on, and Hurricane Hollow had never seemed more lonesome and deserted. The corn-shocks leaned toward one another as if they were afraid of a common enemy. Somewhere down the road a dog howled dismally.
Amanda resolutely pushed open the door of the shed, and felt her way toward the pile of chips. Suddenly she found her progress blocked by a strange and colossal object. It was an oblong affair, and it stood on one end, which was larger than the other. With growing curiosity she felt its back and sides, and then peered around it to get a front view. What she saw sent her flying back to the cabin with her mouth open and her limbs shaking.
"Gordon Lee," she cried, "whose coffin is that settin' in our coal-shed?"
The candidate for the next world looked very much embarrassed.
"Well, 'Mandy," he began lamely, "I can't say 'zactly ez hit's any pusson's jes yit. But hit's gwine be mine when de summons comes."
"Where'd you git it at?" demanded his Nemesis.
His eyes shifted guiltily.