"De ha'nt, Marse Cunnel, de ha'nt! He's sperrited off de chicken. Right outen de oven from under Nancy's eyes."
"Solomon," said the Colonel severely, "what are you trying to say? Talk sense."
"Sho's yuh bohn, Marse Cunnel; it's de libbin' truf I's tellin' yuh. Dat ha'nt has fotched dat chicken right outen de oven, an' it's vanished in de air."
"You go out and bring that chicken in and don't let me hear another word."
"I cayn't, Marse Cunnel, 'deed I cayn't. Dere ain't no chicken dere."
"Very well, then! Go and get us some ham and eggs and stop this fuss."
Solomon withdrew and we three looked at each other.
"Rad, what's the meaning of this?" the Colonel demanded querulously.
"Some foolishness on the part of the niggers. I'll look into it after supper. When the ha'nt begins abstracting chickens from the oven I think it's time to investigate."
Being naturally curious over the matter, I commenced asking questions about the history and prior appearances of the ha'nt. Radnor answered readily enough, but I noticed that the Colonel appeared restless under the inquiry, and the amused suspicion crossed my mind that he did not entirely discredit the story. When a man has been born and brought up among negroes he comes, in spite of himself, to be tinged with their ideas.