“You right sho dey needs me?” asked the devil, for he had other fish to fry that Friday morning,
“Course I is,” said the jay, crossly, for he was very tired, and had carelessly gotten his feathers scorched in the lower regions. “Think I gwine come all de way back ter tell you er lie? Ax my cousin, de crow; he went wid me ter de do’ an’ heared ’em gib hit out!”
“Go back,” said the devil, getting angry, “an’ tell ’em I hain’ gwine come twel dis day week, an’ ter keep dat fire hot, if dey knows what’s good fur deyse’fs! I got er job er my own ter ’ten’ ter, ’dout any partnerships!”
“Go ter hell yo’se’f! I hain’t due dar twel nex’ Friday, an’ I hain’t gwine budge twel den,” said the jay-bird as he preened his scorched wing and flew away.
Now the devil had a love-affair on hand, one of those strange, inexplicable things that require very careful handling, and it was the same old cry down below—any ordinary devil who knew his business could attend to that.
So the devil importuned the crow to take the message; but Squire Billups had just planted a large field of corn; there was work enough in that for Mister Crow to do for a whole week; he was not compelled to serve the devil but a single day out of the week, and he had already given that service; besides, Mrs. Crow was just beginning to hatch, and no self-respecting paterfamilias could fail to be within call during such an important event. The owl was too blind to go, for the journey had to be made by daylight; the black-snake was too sleepy, for his season was not yet fully arrived; the terrapin was too slow; and there was nothing left except the little fly; but the little fly was always ready, though his work must always be rendered upon the earth.
So, with many impatient stampings of his foot, the devil set about to take his departure. He got down upon his knees and blew his breath into a dandelion puff, and whispered to the seed, and a wind rose, and the seed scattered, and the down floated through an open window of the Big House and tickled Marse Charles’s ear as he lay asleep.
Now Marse Charles was come to attend the house-party of Marse Beverly Baillie, and was mad with love of Miss Demetria, Marse Beverly’s youngest daughter, who looked above the highest, and had no mind to marry any man. But Marse Charles, in his cloak of green-and-gold lace, swore upon his jewelled sword that he would win. Even now, as he slept, he held between his moist fingers a withered rose that had nestled upon the bosom of the cold Demetria.
It was such as this that the devil was loath to leave, and as he blew the seeds of the dandelion ball he sowed the seeds of jealousy in Marse Charles’s heart. Marse Charles sighed in his sleep, and clutched the withered rose; then the night became as daylight to him, and his eyes were wide open.
Biding his time, so that jealousy might breed the mushroom hate, the devil lingered, leaving the doubtful hours of the night to pass away; but between midnight and day, when the young man was wellnigh crazed with evil passions, the devil threw off all disguise and stood before him.