“Hush, gal, set down; I hear Marm Charlotte dis bery minit; she mustn’t kotch me under dis here pecon tree agin. I was down here yisterday, tryin’ to dig a hole where we’s settin’ now! I want ter berry de rotten thing. Marm Charlotte kotch’d me here, and she ax’d what I doin’ and I ’low’d I was gitten pecons fur de turkeys, and she ’sponded she low’d ter tell me when to feed de turkeys.”
Marthy Ann slowly resumed her seat, taking care to get well behind the pecan tree. She was nervously sobbing, “She’s kept me—a—lookin’ fur it—till I feared to go in—our—room—feared to find it—a settin’ on de baid—Oh, Ma’y Ann, what made you take hit?”
Ma’y Ann’s eyes flashed fire. She was of the heroic sort, and by no wise melted by Marthy’s lamentations and tears.
“I didn’t take hit; you tuck hit, and you know you did; you’s de biggest rascal on de place. You does a thing, den you goes whinin’ and cryin’ ’bout hit. I does a thing, I jist ’sponds fur hit and sticks hit out.”
Marthy wiped her eyes on the linsey skirt and tried to imbibe some of her companion’s courage.
“Well, Ma’y Ann, you put it whar tis and ghostes cum out ev’ry night and ties me wid de long, red strings.”
“No ghostes cum arter me,” said Ma’y Ann, bridling up. “Dat shows you put it dar your own self.”
“We ain’t got no time ter talk and fuss; we got ter find a place to put hit now. God knows it cums atter me ev’y night, and las’ night de debbel had it on, Ma’y Ann. I seed him; he jist strutted all around de room wid it on his haid and de ribbons was tied to his horns.”
“Oh, Lordy, Marthy, is he got hit now?” The terrified child sprang to her feet and gazed distractedly up the tree. “Marthy, we kin fling hit up in dis tree; won’t de debbil let hit stay in de crotch?”