“An’ yo’ mus’ fetch t’ings de witches likes. Dey is special fond ob fine honey,” continued Lily. “Fac’ is, dey likes sweet t’ings mighty well. Dat ole mammy I tells yo’ ’bout, who banged me ’bout so, she uster mak’ ’er fine cake long ’bout time de witch-tree blossom, an’ put it near de trees com’ dark, and dey witches allers kerry it off ’fore mornin’; dey shu did. I kinder ’magines dat ole mammy wus a relation to dem witches,” said Lily thoughtfully.
“And what else, Lily? What else?” demanded Berry eagerly.
“Wal, Missie, I reckon dat am ’bout all: ter put de sweet t’ings near de tree, an’ ter hide up clost so’s dey won’ see yo’, an’ den, w’en de hour of midnight come, an’ dar ain’ no moon ter be seen, and eberyt’ing am all black, den w’en de witches, each one ob dem carryin’ a lille shinin’ light on der heads, w’en dey begins to gather ’roun’ de tree, den speak sof’ an’ remin’s ’em ob de t’ings yo’ set out fer ’em, an’ ask ’em w’ot yo’ wants ter know,” replied Lily, adding quickly, “’Course dey mek yo’ promise ter do w’otever dey wants yo’ ter promise, an’ I’se heard tell dat if yo’ don’ promise quick dey binds yo’ up ter de tree an’ leabs yo’.”
Berry drew a long breath as Lily finished. The little girl was quite ready to believe that this negro girl really was sure in regard to the witches and their power.
“If I can find out about Mollie, and perhaps send her a message, it will be splendid,” thought Berry; and then made the decision to try and win the favor of the witches who made the Judas-tree their meeting-place. But she said nothing to Lily of this resolve, and, as the negro girl took up the basket and they made their way to the borders of the stream where the butterwort was in blossom, neither of the girls even imagined that, close to the log where they sat, a man had been hiding behind the underbrush; a tall man, whose face was nearly covered by a brown beard; he wore a round, close-fitting cap of coonskin, a leather jacket, stout corduroy breeches, and high boots. A hunter’s belt held a revolver and a hunting-knife, and if Berry could have had even a glimpse of this skulking figure she would have at once recognized him as the threatening stranger whom she had encountered near this very spot nearly two months earlier.
The man chuckled to himself as he watched the girls go down the little slope to the stream. “Berry has a nigger boy with him nowadays, eh!” he reflected. “That witch-story may be a help later on, for that white boy means to find out more about witches. Well, I’ll send him over the road to Corinth at a good pace, or know why, when the time comes,” he concluded, and slunk away in the forest. The man was a spy in the employ of the Confederate army, and was now traveling back along their line of defense, carrying messages from General Breckinridge, commander of the Confederate reserves, who, only a little more than a year earlier, had been Vice-President of the United States, to General Beauregard, whose plan to concentrate the Confederate army of the Mississippi at Corinth was to bring about one of the greatest battles of the Civil War, the Battle of Shiloh.
The name of this man was Orson. He realized that the time was close at hand when a swift-footed messenger might be of the utmost importance, and in “Berry Nees,” he believed he had discovered such a messenger. Orson was still sure Berry was a lad from some remote cabin, and meant very soon to make Berry prove the boast of being a fleet runner.
CHAPTER X
BERRY IN DANGER
Lily was interested in all the tiny wild creatures who lived along the mountain slopes, or made their homes near the creeks. She had queer names for many of these, calling the foxes “Sly-foot,” and telling Berry many stories of the cleverness of Reynard. “Some darkies knows jes’ how ter talk ter de wil’ animiles. Dey shure does, Missie Berry. Dey knows w’ot ter say ter de fox. Dat same ole mammy w’ot tell me ’bout de witch tree she know how ter talk ter a fox or a sheep, or to de hawks dat hover ’roun’. She say to Sly-foot: ‘Be yo’ a good fox, or be yo’ snoopin’ ’roun’ after chickens?’ an’ she know by de way de fox look dat he unnerstood. Mebbe de fox talk back, I dunno ’bout dat,” Lily would conclude soberly; and as the two girls wandered about the mountain trails Lily’s keen eyes were always searching path and thicket for a sight of some well-concealed nest or the hiding-place of tiny woodland creatures. Of each one of these she would have some story to tell, either of the way the birds built their nests, or of how weasels would spring from unseen coverts upon rabbits or squirrels.
Lily had made a rough bag of a piece of cloth that she had begged from Mrs. Arnold, and Berry noticed that the negro girl was always on the alert to discover and secure any feather that might drift across their path, or that had lodged on some wayside bush. Lily had fastened this bag to her belt, and not a day passed that some downy feather was not secured and safely put away. Sometimes she would be fortunate enough to discover a tiny red feather of the scarlet tanager, or perhaps a blue-edged quill from the blue jay, and on these fortunate occasions she would rejoice triumphantly. “Dat shure am fine!” she would exclaim with chuckles of delight.