III
JACK O’ LANTERN AND THE GLOW WORM
“Mammy, you cut m’ Jack-my-Lantern for me.” Willis was struggling to carve features in a huge pumpkin.
“I tole yer ter let Zeek make dat foolish lookin’ thing,” grumbled Phyllis, faithfully striving however to cut the pumpkin according to Willis’s instructions.
“Make Mary Van one too,” he demanded.
“I got one,” and Mary Van blew into the kitchen door with a gust of chilly wind, “and Papa’s made a pretty one for you too, Willis—ain’t you glad?”
“Whut you all think dem Jacky-Lanterns is enyhow?” Phyllis asked with an air of mystery.
“They are—” Willis hesitated, “they are—funny pretties,” he finished.
“Dey ain’ nuthin’ funny ’bout er show nuff Jack-my-Lantern, I kin tell yer dat fur sartin an’ sho!” Her face assumed a grave expression, “and—take keer, boy, Kitty’ll spill hot greese on yer,” making a dive at Willis in time to save the cook from stumbling. “Come on out er dis hyah kitchen,—’tain’ no place fur chillun no how.”