coat wrong-sud-outerds, dey won't use no time in makin'
der disappearance."

"Hey!" exclaimed Daddy Jack, "tu'n coat no fer skeer dead ghos'. 'E
skeer dem Jack-me-Lantun. One tam I is bin-a mek me way troo t'ick
swamp. I do come hot, I do come cole. I feel-a me bahck quake; me bre't'
come fahs'. I look; me ent see nuttin'; I lissen; me ent yeddy nuttin'.
I look, dey de Jack-me-Lantun mekkin 'e way troo de bush; 'e comin'
stret by me. 'E light bin-a flick-flicker; 'e git close un close. I yent
kin stan' dis; one foot git heffy, da' heer 'pon me head lif' up. Da'
Jack-me-Lantun, 'e git-a high, 'e git-a low, 'e come close. Dun I t'ink
I bin-a yeddy ole folks talk _tu'n you' coat-sleef_ wun da'
Jack-me-Lantun is bin run you. I pull, I twis', I yerk at dem jacket; 'e
yent come. 'E is bin grow on me bahck. Jack-me-Lantun fly close. I say
me pray 'pon da' jacket; 'e is bin-a yerk loose; da' sleef 'e do tu'n.
Jack-me-Lantun, 'e see dis, 'e lif' up, 'e say '_Phew!_' 'E done gone!
Oona no walk in da' swamp 'cep' you is keer you' coat 'cross da' arm.
Enty!"

"Dat w'at make me say," remarked Aunt Tempy, with a little shiver, "dat
'oman like me, w'at aint w'ar no jacket, aint got no business
traipsin' un trollopin' 'roun' thoo the woods atter dark."

"You mout tu'n yo' head-hankcher, Sis Tempy," said Uncle Remus,
reassuringly, "en ef dat aint do no good den you kin whirl in en gin um
leg-bail."

"I year tell," continued Aunt Tempy, vouchsafing no reply to Uncle
Remus, "dat dish yer Jacky-ma-Lantun is a sho' nuff sperit. Sperits
aint gwine to walk un walk less'n dey got sump'n' n'er on der min', un
I year tell dat dish yer Jacky-ma-Lantun is 'casioned by a man w'at got
kilt. Folks kilt 'im un tuck his money, un now his ha'nt done gone un
got a light fer ter hunt up whar his money is. Mighty kuse ef folks kin
hone atter money w'en dey done _gone_. I dunner w'at he wanter be
ramblin' 'roun' wid a light w'en he done _dead_. Ef anybody got any hard
feelin's 'gin' me, I want um ter take it out w'ile deyer in de flesh;
w'en dey come a-ha'ntin' me, den I'm done--I'm des _done_."

"Are witches spirits?" the little boy asked.

The inquiry was not especially directed at Daddy Jack, but Daddy Jack
was proud of his reputation as a witch, and he undertook to reply.

"None 't all. Witch, 'e no dead ghos'--'e life folks, wey you shekky
han' wit'. Oona witch mebbe; how you is kin tell?"

Here Daddy Jack turned his sharp little eyes upon th