The patient by this time was so interested that he followed instructions mechanically.  He saw Amanda dart into the kitchen and emerge with an object totally unfamiliar to him.  It was a heavy, box-shaped object, attached to a long handle.  This she placed on the chalked outline of his right leg.  Then she stood with her eyes fixed on the floor and solemnly chanted: 

  “Draw, draw, ‘cordin’ to the law,
    Lif’ the hoodoo, now I beg,
  An’ draw the cricket
    F’om this heah leg!”

And Gordon Lee, raised on his elbow, watching with protruding eyes, heard it draw!  He heard the heavy, panting breathing as Amanda ran the vacuum cleaner over every inch of the chalked outline, and when she stopped and, kneeling beside the box, removed a small bag of dust and lint, he was not in the least surprised to see a cricket jump from the debris.

“Praise be!” he cried in sudden ecstasy.  “De pain’s done lef me, do spell’s done lifted!”

“An’ the cricket’s done removed,” urged Amanda, skilfully getting the machine out of sight.  “You seen it removed with yer own eyes.”

“Wid my own eyes,” echoed Gordon Lee, still in a state of self-hypnosis.

“An’ now,” she said, “I’m goin’ to git that supper ready jes as quick ez I kin.”

“Ain’t you gwine help me back in bed fust?” he asked from where he still lay on the floor.

“What fer?” she exclaimed.  “Ain’t the spell lifted?  I’m goin’ to set the table in the kitchen, an’ ef you wants any of that possum an’ sweet pertater an’ that apple-dumplin’ an’ hard sass, you got to walk in there to git em.”

For ten minutes Gordon Lee Surrender Jones lay flat on his back on the floor, trying to trace the course of human events during the last half-hour.  Against the dim suspicion that Amanda had in some way outwitted him rose the staggering evidence of that very live cricket that still hopped about the room, chirping contentedly.

Twice Amanda spoke to him, but he refused to answer.  His silence did not seem to affect her good spirits, for she continued her work, singing softly to herself.

Despite himself, he became aware of the refrain, and before he knew it he was going over the familiar words with her: 

  “Oh, chicken-pie an ’pepper, oh! 
  Chicken-pie is good, I know;
  So is wattehmillion, too;
  So is rabbit in a stew;
  So is dumplin’s, b’iled with squab;
  So is cawn, b’iled on de cob;
  So is chine an’ turkey breast;
  So is aigs des f’om de nest.”

Gordon Lee rose unsteadily.  Holding to a chair, he reached the table, then the door, through which he shambled, and sheepishly took his old place at the foot of the table.  Amanda outdid herself in serving him, emptying the larder in honor of the occasion; but neither of them spoke until the apple-dumpling was reached.  Then Gordon Lee turned toward her and said confidentially: