“Yass’m. Oh, Miss Letty, don’ mek me tell.”
“Humph!” Lettice rested her chin in her hand and thoughtfully regarded the girl sobbing at her feet. “Lutie,” she said after a pause, “what did Jubal tell you about Cockburn and his men?”
“He say,” Lutie replied, weeping copiously, “he say ef I tells, ole Cockbu’n git me an’ mek me dance er breakdown on hot coals; an’ he t’ar out mah white teef an’ give ’em to he men to shoot out o’ dey guns lak bullets; and he snatch uvver scrap o’ wool off mah haid, fo’ to mek gun wads outen; an’ he brek uvver bone in mah body, an’ de Britishers rattle ’em when dey play dey chunes ter march by.” Jubal could display a delightfully vivid imagination when it served his purpose.
“That certainly would be something terrible,” Lettice commented gravely. “I don’t wonder you are scared; but you know it would be nearly as bad if you wasted away,—hungry, and couldn’t eat; thirsty, and couldn’t drink; and if your teeth were to drop out one by one, and if your eyes were to roll up into your head and never come down again; and if those you love wouldn’t love you, and if some one gave Jubal a charm so he’d hate you. You know what a cunjure woman can do.”
Lutie burst into loud wails. “Oh, Miss Letty! Spare me, Lawd! Spare me! I a po’ mizzible sinner. What shall I do? What shall I do? Oh, Miss Letty, don’ let Aunt Hagar chawm Jubal, please, miss. I die fo’ yuh. I serve yuh han’ an’ foot.”
“There, Lutie, there,” said Lettice, feeling that in her application of Jubal’s methods she had gone too far, “come here. Sit down there.” She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You want to marry Jubal, I suppose. I knew he had been philandering about you for some time. Are you really fond of him?”
Lutie’s wails subsided into a sniffle. “Yass, miss,” she answered meekly.
“Well, then, I promise you that I will not let any harm come to him or you through anything you may tell me, if you tell the truth. And, moreover, I’ll get Aunt Hagar to make you a luck-ball, and I will not tell a living soul who it was that gave you the papers, as long as there is any danger coming to either of you from it. But if you don’t tell me the truth—then—”
Lutie’s sobs were again on the increase. “Oh-h, Miss Letty, I sholy is hard pressed. I is skeert one way by ole Cockbu’n an’ turrer by de cunjurin’. I mos’ mo’ skeerter by de cunjurin’.”
“But you won’t tell your mistress, who has always been good and kind to you, when you know it would save her a great deal of trouble? You won’t tell unless she threatens to punish you? Ah, Lutie, think what I might do to make you tell, if I were a hard mistress.”