“Well,” said Perkins, with attempted bravado, “I rammed a piece o’ silver down on the bullat in my gun.  ’Twix ’em both—­”

“Dar now, Marse Perkins, you des been ’posed on ’bout dat silber business.  Ole Unc’ Sampson w’at libed on de Simcoe place nigh on er hun’erd yeahs, dey say, tole me lots ’bout a spook dat boddered um w’en he a boy.  Way back ole Marse Simcoe shot at de man dat hanker fer he darter.  De man put out en get drownded, but dat doan make no dif’rence, Unc’ Sampson say, kaze ole Marse Simcoe do he bes’ ter kill der man.  He sorter hab kill in he heart en Unc’ Sampson low a spook know w’at gwine on in er man’s in’erds, en dey des goes fer de man dat wanter kill um on de sly, en not dose dat kill in fa’r fight.  Ole Unc’ Sampson po’ful on spooks.  He libed so long he get ter be sorter spook hesef, en dey say he talk ter um haf de time ‘fo’ he kiner des snuf out’n lak a can’l.”

“He wuz a silly old fool,” growled Perkins, with a perceptible tremor in his voice.

“Spect he wuz ’bout some tings,” resumed Jute, “but know spooks, he sut’ny did.  He say ole Marse Simcoe useter plug lead en silver right froo dat man dat want he darter, en dar was de hole en de light shin’in’ froo hit.  But de spook ain’ min’in’ a lil ting lak dat, he des come on all de same snoopin’ roun’ arter de ole man’s darter.  Den one mawnin’ de ole man lay stiff en daid in he baid, he eyes starin’ open ez ef he see sump’n he cudn’t stan’ no how.  Dat wuz de las’ ob dat ar spook, Unc’ Sampson say, en he say spook’s cur’us dat away.  Wen dey sats’fy dere grudge dey lets up en dey doan foller de man dey down on kaze dey on’y po’r in de place whar de man ’lowed ter kill um.”

Perkins took a mental note of this very important limitation of ghostly persecution, and resolved that if he had any more trouble all the crops in the State would not keep him within the haunted limit.

He whiled away the time by aid of his jug and Job-like comforters till it began to grow late and he drowsy.

Suddenly Jute exclaimed, “Hi!  Marse Perkins, w’at dat light dancin’ up yon’er by de grabeyard?”

The overseer rose with a start, his hair rising also as he saw a fitful jack-o’-lantern gleam, appearing and disappearing on the cemetery hill.  As had been expected, he obeyed his impulse, pouring down whiskey until he speedily rendered himself utterly helpless; but while his intoxication disabled him physically, it produced for a time an excited and disordered condition of mind in which he was easily imposed upon.  Jute shook him and adjured him to get up, saying, “I years quar soun’s comin’ dis way.”