Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable little spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a shudder:

“It’s the devils sure enough. Three of ’em! Lordy, Tom, we’re goners! Can you pray?”

“I’ll try, but don’t you be afeard. They ain’t going to hurt us. ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I⁠—’ ”

“Sh!”

“What is it, Huck?”

“They’re humans ! One of ’em is, anyway. One of ’em’s old Muff Potter’s voice.”

“No⁠—’tain’t so, is it?”