“Can’t he ever, ever get out, Mammy?” asked the little maid, whose lips were quivering, and whose great eyes were full of unshed tears.
“Yas, honey,” said Mammy, hastily, “if er good hoodoo kim erlong ’fore de bref leabe Marse Charles, er ’pentance kim ’fore de wo’ms ’stroy de body—an’ er good hoodoo sho gwine kim!—so don’ you cry, honey!”
But now, said Mammy, the devil had his man hard and fast, heart and hand, and when it became his time to leave the earth for a season he took Marse Charles out into a lonely place, and put into his hand a tiny snuff-box made of gold, curiously wrought upon the top.
“I will leave you now,” said the devil, “for the rest will be fair sailing. I have jaundiced your Demetria’s eyes to your rival. She sees that he has a squint, and talks with a drawl, and that he drags one foot in dancing. Misery is entering her soul, and she is very unhappy, for she believes that the squint is due to the hard counting of her father’s acres and slaves.
“In this box,” continued the devil, “I leave you my most useful possession, one that will never slumber and never sleep. You can keep watch upon Demetria when she goes abroad; but when the doors are closed between you, when you would know her every word and every act, just open the box, for nothing can be hid from the little fly. In two weeks I will come again, and in the meantime I wish you joy.”
So the devil went back to hell, chuckling as he went, for he carried Marse Charles’s conscience, fluttering like a wounded bird, in his hand, and Marse Charles put the little gold box beneath his lace ruffles and went on his way rejoicing.
Now it chanced soon after that there was a great meet, and the ladies and their gallants rode into the far woods. It was a fine company, for Marse Beverly Baillie had scattered his invitations broadcast, that the world might see the young Demetria. Marse Charles, on his great bay, rode sulkily alone, for his rival was in a high humor, having been paired to ride with the fair Demetria.
As he rode, Marse Charles was ready to question the efficacy of his bargain, when, just in the second mile, his rival’s horse went lame—so lame that he was forced to turn back, and Marse Charles, with much bantering and light laughter, gallantly rode forward with a dozen others to take his place. But the sun shone for Marse Charles and the world was fair, for Demetria gave him her sweetest smile.
Late in the day the rival came, upon a fresher horse; but Demetria had no eyes for him, all of her favors were reserved for Marse Charles; and as they rested upon a shady knoll after dinner, beside a bubbling spring, Marse Charles lost no time, and told his love in most vehement fashion.