While adjusting the baby’s crib, a few days later, Mrs. Carteret found fastened under one of the slats a small bag of cotton cloth, about half an inch long and tied with a black thread, upon opening which she found a few small roots or fibres and a pinch of dried and crumpled herbs.  It was a good-luck charm which Mammy Jane had placed there to ward off the threatened evil from the grandchild of her dear old mistress.  Mrs. Carteret’s first impulse was to throw the bag into the fire, but on second thoughts she let it remain.  To remove it would give unnecessary pain to the old nurse.  Of course these old negro superstitions were absurd,—­but if the charm did no good, it at least would do no harm.

XII

ANOTHER SOUTHERN PRODUCT

One morning shortly after the opening of the hospital, while Dr. Miller was making his early rounds, a new patient walked in with a smile on his face and a broken arm hanging limply by his side.  Miller recognized in him a black giant by the name of Josh Green, who for many years had worked on the docks for Miller’s father,—­and simultaneously identified him as the dust-begrimed negro who had stolen a ride to Wellington on the trucks of a passenger car.

“Well, Josh,” asked the doctor, as he examined the fracture, “how did you get this?  Been fighting again?”

“No, suh, I don’ s’pose you could ha’dly call it a fight.  One er dem dagoes off’n a Souf American boat gimme some er his jaw, an’ I give ’im a back answer, an’ here I is wid a broken arm.  He got holt er a belayin’-pin befo’ I could hit ’im.”

“What became of the other man?” demanded Miller suspiciously.  He perceived, from the indifference with which Josh bore the manipulation of the fractured limb, that such an accident need not have interfered seriously with the use of the remaining arm, and he knew that Josh had a reputation for absolute fearlessness.

“Lemme see,” said Josh reflectively, “ef I kin ’member w’at did become er him!  Oh, yes, I ’member now!  Dey tuck him ter de Marine Horspittle in de amberlance, ‘cause his leg wuz broke, an’ I reckon somethin’ must ‘a’ accident’ly hit ‘im in de jaw, fer he wuz scatt’rin’ teeth all de way ‘long de street.  I didn’ wan’ ter kill de man, fer he might have somebody dependin’ on ‘im, an’ I knows how dat’d be ter dem.  But no man kin call me a damn’ low-down nigger and keep on enjoyin’ good health right along.”

“It was considerate of you to spare his life,” said Miller dryly, “but you’ll hit the wrong man some day.  These are bad times for bad negroes.  You’ll get into a quarrel with a white man, and at the end of it there’ll be a lynching, or a funeral.  You’d better be peaceable and endure a little injustice, rather than run the risk of a sudden and violent death.”

“I expec’s ter die a vi’lent death in a quarrel wid a w’ite man,” replied Josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, “an’ fu’thermo’, he’s gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo’.  I be’n takin’ my own time ’bout killin’ ‘im; I ain’ be’n crowdin’ de man, but I’ll be ready after a w’ile, an’ den he kin look out!”