“Why, that’s awful. How did he know she was a-witching him?”
“Lord, pap can tell, easy. Pap says when they keep looking at you right stiddy, they’re a-witching you. Specially if they mumble. Becuz when they mumble they’re saying the Lord’s Prayer backards.”
“Say, Hucky, when you going to try the cat?”
“Tonight. I reckon they’ll come after old Hoss Williams tonight.”
“But they buried him Saturday. Didn’t they get him Saturday night?”
“Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?—and then it’s Sunday. Devils don’t slosh around much of a Sunday, I don’t reckon.”
“I never thought of that. That’s so. Lemme go with you?”
“Of course—if you ain’t afeard.”
“Afeard! ’Tain’t likely. Will you meow?”
“Yes—and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep’ me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says ‘Dern that cat!’ and so I hove a brick through his window—but don’t you tell.”
“I won’t. I couldn’t meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but I’ll meow this time. Say—what’s that?”
“Nothing but a tick.”
“Where’d you get him?”