“‘Cindy,’ said one er de fiel’-han’s one day, ’yer better keep ’way fum dat swamp.  Dey’s a ha’nt walkin’ down dere.’

“‘Go way fum yere wid yo’ foolishness,’ said Cindy.  ‘Dey ain’ no ha’nts.  W’ite folks doan’ b’lieve in sich things, fer I heared ’em say so; but yer can’t ‘spec’ nothin’ better fum fiel’-han’s.’

“Dey wuz one man on de plantation, one er dese yer dandy niggers w’at ‘uz alluz runnin’ atter de wimmen folks, dat got ter pest’rin’ Cindy.  Cindy didn’ paid no ’tention ter ‘im, but he kep’ on tryin’ fer ter co’t her w’en he could git a chance.  Fin’ly Cindy tole ’im fer ter let her ‘lone, er e’se sump’n’ might happen ter ‘im.  But he didn’ min’ Cindy, en’ one ebenin’ he followed her down ter de swamp.  He los’ track un er, en’ ez he wuz a-startin’ back out’n de swamp, a great big black ha’nt ‘bout ten feet high, en’ wid a fence-rail in its ban’s jump out’n de bushes en’ chase ‘im cl’ar up in de co’n fiel’.  Leas’ways he said it did; en’ atter dat none er de niggers wouldn’t go nigh de swamp, ’cep’n Cindy, who said it wuz all foolishness—­it wuz dis nigger’s guilty conscience dat skeered ‘im—­she hadn’ seed no ha’nt en’ wuz’n skeered er nuffin’ she didn’t see.

“Bimeby, w’en Cindy had be’n gone fum home ’bout two mont’s, harves’-time come on, en’ Marse Dugal’ foun’ hisse’f short er ban’s.  One er de men wuz down wid de rheumatiz, Skundus wuz gone, en’ Cindy wuz gone, en’ Marse Dugal tole ole Miss dey wuz no use talkin’, he couldn’ ‘ford ter buy no new ban’s, en’ he’d ha’ ter sen’ fer Cindy, ’en put her in de fiel’; fer de cotton-crap wuz a monst’us big ‘un dat year, en’ Cindy wuz one er de bes’ cotton-pickers on de plantation.  So dey wrote a letter to Marse Wash’n’ton dat day fer Cindy, en’ wanted Cindy by de ‘een er de mont’, en’ Marse Wash’n’ton sont her home.  Cindy didn’t ’pear ter wanter come much.  She said she’d got kinder use’ ter her noo home; but she didn’ hab no mo’ ter say ‘bout comin’ dan she did ‘bout goin’.  Howsomedever, she went down ter de swamp fer ter git roots fer her mist’ess up ter de las’ day she wuz dere.

“Wen Cindy got back home, she wuz might’ly put out ’ca’se Skundus wuz gone, en’ hit didn’ ‘pear ez ef anythin’ anybody said ter ’er ’ud comfort ‘er.  But one mawnin’ she said she’d dreamp’ dat night dat Skundus wuz gwine ter come back; en’ sho’ ‘nuff, de ve’y nex’ mawnin’ who sh’d come walkin’ out in de fiel’ wid his hoe on his shoulder but Skundus, rubbin’ his eyes ez ef he hadn’ got waked up good yit.

“Dey wuz a great ‘miration mongs’ de niggers, en’ somebody run off ter de big house fer ter tell Marse Dugal’.  Bimeby here come Marse Dugal’ hisse’f, mad as a hawnit, acussin’ en’ gwine on like he gwine ter hurt somebody; but anybody w’at look close could’ ‘a’ seed he wuz ‘mos’ tickled ter def fer ter git Skundus back ergin.

“‘Whar yer be’n run erway ter, yer good-fer-nuthin’, lazy, black nigger?’ sez ’e.  ‘I’m gwine ter gib yer fo’ hunderd lashes.  I’m gwine ter hang yer up by yer thumbs en’ take ev’y bit er yer black hide off’n yer, en’ den I’m gwine ter sell yer ter de fus’ specilater w’at comes’ long buyin’ niggers fer ter take down ter Alabam’.  W’at yer mean by runnin’ er way fum yer good, kin’ marster, yer good-fer-nuthin’, wool-headed, black scound’el?’