“I suppose what you actually did was to put your head under the covers and shiver for the rest of the night,” she said, and Phrosy nodded her head and rolled her eyes in admiration of this remarkable logic.
“Yas’m, dat’s jest what Ah did. But Ah don’t expects to do it no mo’e,” she added, with a return to stubbornness. “Sho as de mo’nin’ comes, Ah done take de fust boat what leaves dis place.”
“Phrosy, I do hope you won’t be so foolish and unkind,” said Miss Alling, resorting to argument and cajolery. “You know there are no such things as ghosts. And have you stopped to think how I could get along without you?”
“Ah’s sho sorry, Miss Emma, but dis place ain’t gwine see me no mo’e after de mo’nin’. If dat ghost stays, Ah gits.”
Regretful, but obviously determined, Phrosy stalked off into the kitchen, having enjoyed the advantage of the last word.
The young folks exchanged amused glances, then looked at Aunt Emma. Her face was a study of conflicting emotions, but the most dominant among them seemed to be an intense irritation.
“That is what you have to suffer from being partial to black servants,” she said, in a voice lowered so that it might not reach the ears of Euphrosyne Black. “They are so superstitious they carry their ghosts along with them. I don’t know how I will ever manage if Phrosy leaves me.
“Where is this swamp where the ghosts live?” asked Amy.
“There is a swamp over there beyond the lake,” responded Aunt Emma, waving her hand in an easterly direction. “It is a miserable, dreary place and is avoided by every one in the locality. I have heard that it can be crossed if one knows how to find the solid ground, but unless my life depended upon it I wouldn’t care to try it myself.”
“Dreary, you say, and deserted,” murmured Amy, adding with an irrepressible chuckle: “Just the ideal spot for a ghost. I think I will have to visit this swamp before long.”