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“’Pears ter me dat dog cum ’long wid som’ varment he ain’ ’quainted wid. I had a composation yistiddy week wid uh coon hunter I’s knowed fuh uh long time, an’ he say dogs dat ain’ ris on de watah al’ays gits skeered de fus’ time dey see pompusses an’ shirks playin’ on de ribber sho’.”

Scipio caressed the dog with trembling hands, and said:

“I don’ ondastan’ de ’spression ub dis dog. Otters is ornpropper varments ter projic’ wid; maybe he s’prised a sleepin’ otter, an’ de otter smack him, an’ den babtiz him in de creek tell he mos’ drown. Dey will do it! ’Specially on de new moon.”

John Poney said: “De dog mus’ uh scent dat witch Scipio bu’n de tail ub, sted killin’. Hit wuz ornrichious not ter kill dat witch, an’ de fus’ ting we know, de witch will hab young uns, an’ den dis branch will hab ter be gib up, kase uh branch full ub scan’lous witches is wuss’n uh woods full ub sperrits.”

Scipio Jones (affrighted): “Don’ talk dat way, Brer Poney.”

By this time Billy had slowly pulled his pumpkin face some twenty feet from the ground, and as the witch-elm bow was gently moved by the breeze, it gave the pumpkin face such a weird look that even Billy got lonesome. Uncle Stephen, less timid and more observant, though behind, was the first to see the pumpkin face. With a gasp, and dropping quickly on his knees, he wailed: