about the root, was to me, very absurd and ridiculous,
if not positively sinful. I at first rejected the idea that the simple
carrying a root on my right side (a root, by the way, over which I
walked every time I went into the woods) could possess any such magic
power as he ascribed to it, and I was, therefore, not disposed to
cumber my pocket with it. I had a positive aversion to all pretenders
to _"divination."_ It was beneath one of my intelligence to countenance
such dealings with the devil, as this power implied. But, with all my
learning--it was really precious little--Sandy was more than a match
for me. "My book learning," he said, "had not kept Covey off me" (a
powerful{185} argument just then) and he entreated me, with flashing
eyes, to try this. If it did me no good, it could do me no harm, and it
would cost me nothing, any way. Sandy was so earnest, and so confident
of the good qualities of this weed, that, to please him, rather than
from any conviction of its excellence, I was induced to take it. He had
been to me the good Samaritan, and had, almost providentially, found me,
and helped me when I could not help myself; how did I know but that the
hand of the Lord was in it? With thoughts of this sort, I took the roots
from Sandy, and put them in my right hand pocket.

This was, of course, Sunday morning. Sandy now urged me to go home, with
all speed, and to walk up bravely to the house, as though nothing had
happened. I saw in Sandy too deep an insight into human nature, with all
his superstition, not to have some respect for his advice; and perhaps,
too, a slight gleam or shadow of his superstition had fallen upon me.
At any rate, I started off toward Covey's, as directed by Sandy. Having,
the previous night, poured my griefs into Sandy's ears, and got him
enlisted in my behalf, having made his wife a sharer in my sorrows,
and having, also, become well refreshed by sleep and food, I moved off,
quite courageously, toward the much dreaded Covey's. Singularly enough,
just as I entered his yard gate, I met him and his wife, dressed in
their Sunday best--looking as smiling as angels--on their way to church.
The manner of Covey astonished me. There was something really benignant
in his countenance. He spoke to me as never before; told me that the
pigs had got into the lot, and he wished me to drive them out; inquired
how I was, and seemed an altered man. This extraordinary conduct of
Covey, really made me begin to