“You got a shoe,
I got a shoe,
All God’s children got shoes. 
When I git to heaben, gwine try on my shoes,
Gwine walk all over God’s heaben, heaben, heaben. 
Ever’body’s talkin’ ’bout heaben ain’t gwine to heaben—­
Heaben, heaben, gwine walk all over God’s heaben.”

But the truce, thus declared, was only temporary.  During the long days that Amanda was away at her work, Gordon Lee had nothing to do but lie on his back and think of his ailments.  For twenty years he had worked in an iron foundry, where his muscles were as active as his brain was passive.  Now that the case was reversed, the result was disastrous.  From an attack of rheumatism a year ago he had developed an amazing number of complaints, all of which finally fell under the head of the dread hoodoo.

Aunt Kizzy, the object of Amanda’s special scorn, he held in great reverence.  She had been a familiar figure in his mother’s chimney-corner when he was a boy, and to doubt her knowledge of charms and conjuring was to him nothing short of heresy.  She knew the value of every herb and simple that grew in Hurricane Hollow.  She was an adept in getting people into the world and getting them out of it.  She was constantly consulted about weaning calves, and planting crops according to the stage of the moon.  And for everything in the heavens above and the earth beneath and the waters under the earth she “had a sign.”

Since Gordon Lee’s illness, she had fallen into the habit of dropping in to sit with him at such hours as Amanda would not be there.  She would crouch over the fire, elbows on knees and pipe in mouth, and regale him with hair-raising tales of “hants” and “sperrits” and the part she had played in exorcising them.

“Dis heah case ob yourn,” she said one day, “ain’t no ordinary case.  I done worked on lizards in de laigs, but I nebber had no ’casion to treat a cricket in de laig.  Looks lak de cricket is a more persistent animal dan de lizard.  ’Sides, ez I signify afore, dis heah case ob yourn ain’t no ordinary case.”

“Why—­why ain’t it?” Gordon Lee stammered apprehensively.

Aunt Kizzy lifted a bony black hand, and shook her turbaned head ominously.

“Dey’s two kinds ob hoodoos,” she said, “de libin’ an’ de daid.  De daid ones is de easiest to lift, ’ca’se dey answers to charms; but nobody can lift a libin’ hoodoo ‘ceptin’ de one dat laid hit on.  I been a-steddyin’ an’ a-steddyin’, an’ de signs claim dat dis heah hoodoo ob yourn ain’t no daid hoodoo.”

By this time the whites of Gordon Lee’s eyes were largely in evidence, and he raised himself fearfully on his elbow.

“Aunt Kizzy,” he whispered hoarsely, “how am I gwine to fin’ out who ’t is done conjured me?”

“By de sign ob seben,” she answered mysteriously.  “I’s gwine home an’ work hit out, den I come back an’ tell yer.  Ef my ’spicions am true, dat dis heah is a libin’ hoodoo, de only power in de earth to tek it off am ter git er bigger trick an’ lay on de top ob hit.  I’m gwine home now, an’ I’ll be back inside de hour.”