“I claim there must be something hidden here that she knows about and she tried, the way she is used to doing, to drive us away,” Cliff declared.
“There isn’t anything buried here that I have heard about,” Clarence Neale responded. He turned to the woman, “Ma’m Sib, what induced you to try to frighten these friends of mine?”
“Perhaps I can help you?” inquired a voice behind them. So absorbed had they all been in the discussion that they had not noticed the arrival of a slender colored fellow of nineteen. He stood just back of them, smiling pleasantly. He was as black as ebony, with perfect, white teeth which showed in strong contrast when he gave his good-natured smile. He spoke without the Southern Negro’s dialect, as is the custom of all the Jamaica inhabitants whose speech is often of the very best English, with only a few colloquial bits of dialect.
Mr. Neale turned. He recognized the grandson of old Ma’am Sib.
“Your grandmother has been voodooing my young assistants, Sam,” he said pleasantly. “They were digging and she must have thought that voodoo was easier than the natural way—to come and ask me to keep them away.”
The young Negro shrugged his shoulders. He had been sent to a school in the United States and he was better educated than was his ancient grandmother.
“No harm is done, anyhow, sar,” he replied. “I ask you to forgive.”
“Done!” answered the white man, “but I am curious to know just what is so important that she should take that sort of measure to drive off our digging comrades.”
“She thought that there was something buried here,” explained the colored fellow. “She knew that I have been doing some exploring in my spare time. But I found what I was looking for—and I was so disappointed that I did not even bother to tell her, sar.”
“Disappointed?”