dis yer man ’lowed Sis’ Becky wuz gwine ter die, sho’ ’nuff. En ez he knowed dey hadn’ be’n nuffin de matter wid Lightnin’ Bug w’en he traded ’im, he ’lowed mebbe he could kyo’ ’im en fetch ’im roun’ all right, leas’ways good ’nuff ter sell ag’in. En anyhow, a lame hoss wuz better ’n a dead nigger. So he sot down en writ Kunnel Pen’leton a letter.
“ ‘My conscience,’ sezee, ‘has be’n troublin’ me ’bout dat ringbone’ hoss I sol’ you. Some folks ’lows a hoss trader ain’ got no conscience, but dey doan know me, fer dat is my weak spot, en de reason I ain’ made no mo’ money hoss tradin’. Fac’ is,’ sezee, ‘I is got so I can’t sleep nights fum studyin’ ’bout dat spavin’ hoss; en I is made up my min’ dat, w’iles a bahg’in is a bahg’in, en you seed Lightnin’ Bug befo’ you traded fer ’im, principle is wuth mo’ d’n money er hosses er niggers. So ef you’ll sen’ Lightnin’ Bug down heah, I’ll sen’ yo’ nigger ’oman back, en we’ll call de trade off, en be ez good frien’s ez we eber wuz, en no ha’d feelin’s.’
“So sho’ ’nuff, Kunnel Pen’leton sont de hoss back. En w’en de man w’at come ter bring Lightnin’ Bug tol’ Sis’ Becky her pickaninny wa’n’t dead, Sis’ Becky wuz so glad dat she ’lowed she wuz gwine ter try ter lib ’tel she got back whar she could see little Mose once mo’. En w’en she retch’ de ole plantation en seed her baby kickin’ en crowin’ en holdin’ out his little arms to’ds her, she wush’ she wuzn’ cunju’d en didn’ hafter die. En w’en Aun’ Nancy tol’ ’er all ’bout Aun’ Peggy, Sis’ Becky went down ter see de cunjuh ’oman, en Aun’ Peggy tol’ her she had cunju’d her. En den Aun’ Peggy tuk de goopher off’n her, en she got well, en stayed on de plantation, en raise’ her pickaninny. En w’en little Mose growed up, he could sing en whistle des lack a mawkin’-bird, so dat de w’ite folks useter hab ’im come up ter de big house at night, en whistle en sing fer ’em, en dey useter gib ’im money en vittles en one thing er ernudder, w’ich he alluz tuk home ter his mammy; fer he knowed all ’bout w’at she had gone th’oo. He tu’nt out ter be a sma’t man, en l’arnt de blacksmif trade; en Kunnel Pen’leton let ’im hire his time. En bimeby he bought his mammy en sot her free, en den he bought hisse’f, en tuk keer er Sis’ Becky ez long ez dey bofe libbed.”
My wife had listened to this story with greater interest than she had manifested in any subject for several days. I had watched her furtively from time to time during the recital, and had observed the play of her countenance. It had expressed in turn sympathy, indignation, pity, and at the end lively satisfaction.
“That is a very ingenious fairy tale, Julius,” I said, “and we are much obliged to you.”
“Why, John!” said my wife severely, “the story bears the stamp of truth, if ever a story did.”
“Yes,” I replied, “especially the hummingbird episode, and the mockingbird digression, to say nothing of the doings of the hornet and the sparrow.”
“Oh, well, I don’t care,” she rejoined, with delightful animation; “those are mere ornamental details and not at all essential. The story is true to nature, and might have happened half a hundred times, and no doubt did happen, in those horrid days before the war.”
“By the way, Julius,” I remarked, “your story doesn’t establish what you started out to prove—that a rabbit’s foot brings good luck.”
“Hit’s plain ’nuff ter me, suh,” replied Julius. “I bet young missis dere kin ’splain it herse’f.”
“I rather suspect,” replied my wife promptly, “that Sis’ Becky had no rabbit’s foot.”
“You is hit de bull’s-eye de fus’ fire, ma’m,” assented Julius. “Ef Sis’ Becky had had a rabbit foot, she nebber would ’a’ went th’oo all dis trouble.”
I went into the house for some purpose, and left Julius talking to my wife. When I came back a moment later, he was gone.
My wife’s condition took a turn for the better from this very day, and she was soon on the way to ultimate recovery. Several weeks later, after she had resumed her afternoon drives, which had been interrupted by her illness, Julius brought the rockaway round to the front door one day, and I assisted my wife into the carriage.
“John,” she said, before I had taken my seat, “I wish you would look in my room, and bring me my handkerchief. You will find it in the pocket of my blue dress.”
I went to execute the commission. When I pulled the handkerchief out of her pocket, something else came with it and fell on the floor. I picked up the object and looked at it. It was Julius’s rabbit’s foot.
The Gray Wolf’s Ha’nt
It was a rainy day at the vineyard. The morning had dawned bright and clear. But the sky had soon clouded, and by nine o’clock there was a light shower, followed by others at brief intervals. By noon the rain had settled into a dull, steady downpour. The clouds hung low, and seemed to grow denser instead of lighter as they discharged their watery burden, and there was now and then a muttering of distant thunder. Outdoor work was suspended, and I spent most of the day at the house, looking over my accounts and bringing up some arrears of correspondence.
Towards four o’clock I went out on the piazza, which was broad and dry, and less gloomy than the interior of the house, and composed myself for a quiet smoke. I had lit my cigar and opened the volume I was reading at that time, when my wife, whom I had left dozing on a lounge, came out and took a rocking-chair near me.
“I
