‚ÄúOh, yes they is!‚Äù she insisted, her eyes flaming in misty radiance as she sat staring beyond the shadows of the swamp. ‚ÄúYes they is! There ain‚Äôt nothing but dreams‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat is, nothing much.
“And over yonder behind the swamps is great fields full of dreams, piled high and burning; and right amongst them the sun, when he’s tired o’ night, whispers and drops red things, ’cept when devils make ’em black.”
The boy stared at her; he knew not whether to jeer or wonder.
“How you know?” he asked at last, skeptically.
“Promise you won’t tell?”
“Yes,” he answered.
She cuddled into a little heap, nursing her knees, and answered slowly.
‚ÄúI goes there sometimes. I creeps in ‚Äômongst the dreams; they hangs there like big flowers, dripping dew and sugar and blood‚ÅÝ‚Äîred, red blood. And there‚Äôs little fairies there that hop about and sing, and devils‚ÅÝ‚Äîgreat, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats you if they gits you; but they don‚Äôt git me. Some devils is big and white, like ha‚Äônts; some is long and shiny, like creepy, slippery snakes; and some is little and broad and black, and they yells‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
The boy was listening in incredulous curiosity, half minded to laugh, half minded to edge away from the black-red radiance of yonder dusky swamp. He glanced furtively backward, and his heart gave a great bound.
‚ÄúSome is little and broad and black, and they yells‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù chanted the girl. And as she chanted, deep, harsh tones came booming through the forest:
‚Äú Zo‚Äëra! Zo‚Äëra! O‚ÅÝ‚Äîo‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, Zora!‚Äù