“’T ain’ likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha’nt what live’ down de lane whut he name Bloody Bones?”
“Yas,” say’ li’l’ black Mose; “I done met up wid him.”
“An’ did old Bloody Bones done tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts?” say Zack Badget.
“Yas,” say’ li’l’ black Mose, “he done tell me perzackly dat.”
“Well, if _he_ tol’ you dey ain’t no ghosts,” say’ Zack Badget, “I got to ’low dey ain’t no ghosts, ’ca’se he ain’ gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an’ I done met up wif him a powerful lot o’ times, an’ he ain’ gwine tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say’ dey ain’t no ghosts, dey _ain’t_ no ghosts.”
An’ dat mek’ li’l’ black Mose feel mighty good, ’ca’se he ain’ lak ghostes. He reckon’ he gwine be a heap mo’ comfortable in he mind sence he know’ dey ain’ no ghosts, an’ he reckon’ he ain’ gwine be skeered of nuffin’ never no more. He ain’ gwine min’ de dark, an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de rain-doves whut go’, “Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de owls whut go’, “Who-_whoo_-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de wind whut go’, “You-_you_-o-o-o!” nor nuffin’, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know’ fo’ sure dey ain’ no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say’:
“Well, time fo’ a li’l’ black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed.”
An’ li’l’ black Mose he ’low’ he gwine wait a bit. He ’low’ he gwine jes wait a li’l’ bit. He ’low’ he gwine be no trouble _at_ all ef he jes been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he ma she say’:
“Git erlong wid yo’! Whut yo’ skeered ob whin dey ain’t no ghosts?”
An’ li’l’ black Mose he scrooge’, and he twist’, an’ he pucker’ up de mouf, an’ he rub’ he eyes, an’ prisintly he say’ right low:
“I ain’ skeered ob ghosts whut am, ’ca’se dey ain’ no ghosts.”
“Den whut _am_ yo’ skeered ob?” ask he ma.
“Nuffin’,” say’ de li’l’ black boy whut he name is Mose; “but I jes feel kinder oneasy ’bout de ghosts whut ain’t.”
Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!
[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF THE GABLED HOUSETOPS OF NEMOURS]
NEMOURS: A TYPICAL FRENCH PROVINCIAL TOWN
It is only a little provincial town, like many others in France. It has no famous monument, and the immediate neighborhood is neither imposing nor celebrated. And yet this little town, with its quiet streets, its modest houses, its limpid river, and its Champs de Mars, where in fine weather the prominent citizens come to discuss the events of the day, has a tranquil and intimate charm of its own, and the country thereabouts is so rich in smiling, changing views,--moist fields along the water’s-edge, wild heaths, and villages bathed in sunlight,--that the whole makes a picture that wins one’s heart at first sight.