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"I reckon you're wanting to hear all about mama, and the visit you're going to make us," she said, wisely. "I'll get my old trunk here unstrapped, and we'll talk while I lay out my duds in those nice wide bureau drawers. You'll laugh, I guess, when you see what I've brought you each, but I want you to promise that if you don't like them, you'll say so, and I'll hunt up something that pleases you better." "Major! Do you think--" "I know, I know!" broke in Dido, impatiently. "But dat not to do wid me. De poison in your debble-stick.".
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The negress raised her wild eyes slowly to the face of her mistress. What she saw therein evidently determined her reply. Without a word she bent her head. Suddenly a match flared and the twinkling tip of light grew at a candle end and she saw a ghostly figure, its white hand busy with the candle wick and its hollow, black eyes fixed on the tiny growing flame. Instantly other matches flickered and more candles glimmered in ghostly fingers, until the room was flashing with tiny points of light, while the masses of heavy shadow trembled and surged about an array of white-clad, mysterious, skull-faced figures that slowly formed in line and, two by two, moved to the center of the room, chanting a low, monotonous song as they walked in solemn procession. "How do I know who is guilty?" snapped Jen. "I wish I did! I'd hang him or her. But this black wretch and her confounded mistress have to do with the death of my poor boy, I am certain." "But the wound at the back of the head which stunned him?".
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