“Dat ‘s w’at I tells dese niggers roun’ heah,” said Julius.  “De fo’-foot ain’ got no power.  It has ter be de hin’-foot, suh,—­de lef hin’-foot er a grabe-ya’d rabbit, killt by a cross-eyed nigger on a da’k night in de full er de moon.”

“They must be very rare and valuable,” I said.

“Dey is kinder ska’ce, suh, en dey ain’ no ’mount er money could buy mine, suh.  I mought len’ it ter anybody I sot sto’ by, but I would n’ sell it, no indeed, suh, I would n’.”

“How do you know it brings good luck?” I asked.

“‘Ca’se I ain’ had no bad luck sence I had it, suh, en I’s had dis rabbit foot fer fo’ty yeahs.  I had a good marster befo’ de wah, en I wa’n’t sol’ erway, en I wuz sot free; en dat ’uz all good luck.”

“But that doesn’t prove anything,” I rejoined.  “Many other people have gone through a similar experience, and probably more than one of them had no rabbit’s foot.”

“Law, suh! you doan hafter prove ’bout de rabbit foot!  Eve’ybody knows dat; leas’ways eve’ybody roun’ heah knows it.  But ef it has ter be prove’ ter folks w’at wa’n’t bawn en raise’ in dis naberhood, dey is a’ easy way ter prove it.  Is I eber tol’ you de tale er Sis’ Becky en her pickaninny?”

“No,” I said, “let us hear it.”  I thought perhaps the story might interest my wife as much or more than the novel I had meant to read from.

“Dis yer Becky,” Julius began, “useter b’long ter ole Kunnel Pen’leton, who owned a plantation down on de Wim’l’ton Road, ’bout ten miles fum heah, des befo’ you gits ter Black Swamp.  Dis yer Becky wuz a fiel’-han’, en a monst’us good ‘un.  She had a husban’ oncet, a nigger w’at b’longed on de nex’ plantation, but de man w’at owned her husban’ died, en his lan’ en his niggers had ter be sol’ fer ter pay his debts.  Kunnel Pen’leton ’lowed he’d ‘a’ bought dis nigger, but he had be’n bettin’ on hoss races, en did n’ hab no money, en so Becky’s husban’ wuz sol’ erway ter Fuhginny.

“Co’se Becky went on some ‘bout losin’ her man, but she could n’ he’p herse’f; en ’sides dat, she had her pickaninny fer ter comfo’t her.  Dis yer little Mose wuz de cutes’, blackes’, shiny-eyedes’ little nigger you eber laid eyes on, en he wuz ez fon’ er his mammy ez his mammy wuz er him.  Co’se Becky had ter wuk en did n’ hab much time ter was’e wid her baby.  Ole Aun’ Nancy, de plantation nuss down at de qua’ters, useter take keer er little Mose in de daytime, en atter de niggers come in fum de cotton-fiel’ Becky ’ud git her chile en kiss ’im en nuss ’im, en keep ’im ‘tel mawnin’; en on Sundays she ’d hab ’im in her cabin wid her all day long.

“Sis’ Becky had got sorter useter gittin’ ‘long widout her husban’, w’en one day Kunnel Pen’leton went ter de races.  Co’se w’en he went ter de races, he tuk his hosses, en co’se he bet on ’is own hosses, en co’se he los’ his money; fer Kunnel Pen’leton did n’ nebber hab no luck wid his hosses, ef he did keep hisse’f po’ projeckin’ wid ’em.  But dis time dey wuz a hoss name’ Lightnin’ Bug, w’at b’longed ter ernudder man, en dis hoss won de sweep-stakes; en Kunnel Pen’leton tuk a lackin’ ter dat hoss, en ax’ his owner w’at he wuz willin’ ter take fer ’im.