She bent over and raked the ashes from her cake with a lightwood splinter. “Dis yer's gwine tase moughty flat-footed,” she grumbled as she did so.
“O Aunt Ailsey,” wailed Betty in despair. The tears shone in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.
“Dar now,” said Aunt Ailsey, soothingly, “you des set right still en wait twel ter-night at de full er de moon.” She got up and took down one of the crumbling skins from the chimney-piece. “Ef'n de hine foot er a he frawg cyarn tu'n yo' hyar decent,” she said, “dar ain' nuttin' de Lawd's done made es'll do hit. You des wrop er hank er yo' hyar roun' de hine foot, honey, en' w'en de night time done come, you teck'n hide it unner a rock in de big road. W'en de devil goes a-cotin' at de full er de moon—en he been cotin' right stiddy roun' dese yer parts—he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off.”
“A mile off?” repeated the child, stretching out her hands.
“Yes, Lawd, he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off, en w'en he tase hit, he gwine begin ter sniff en ter snuff. He gwine sniff en he gwine snuff, en he gwine sniff en he gwine snuff twel he run right spang agin de rock in de middle er de road. Den he gwine paw en paw twel he root de rock clean up.”
The little girl looked up eagerly.
“An' my hair, Aunt Ailsey?”
“De devil he gwine teck cyar er yo' hyar, honey. W'en he come a-sniffin' en a-snuffin' roun' de rock in de big road, he gwine spit out flame en smoke en yo' hyar hit's gwine ter ketch en hit's gwine ter bu'n right black. Fo' de sun up yo' haid's gwine ter be es black es a crow's foot.”
The child dried her tears and sprang up. She tied the frog's skin tightly in her handkerchief and started toward the door; then she hesitated and looked back. “Were you alive at the flood, Aunt Ailsey?” she politely inquired.
“Des es live es I is now, honey.”