‚ÄúOh, yaas, ma‚Äôam‚ÅÝ‚Äîdey‚Äôse good white folks.‚Äù
“Good white folk?”
‚ÄúOh, yaas, ma‚Äôam‚ÅÝ‚Äîcourse you knows white folks will be white folks‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhite folks will be white folks. Your servant, ma‚Äôam.‚Äù And the swamp swallowed him.
The boy’s eyes followed him as he whipped up the horse.
“He’s going to Elspeth’s,” he said.
“Who is he?”
‚ÄúWe just call him Old Pappy‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚Äôs a preacher, and some folks say a conjure man, too.‚Äù
“And who is Elspeth?”
‚ÄúShe lives in the swamp‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe‚Äôs a kind of witch, I reckon, like‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Like Medea?”
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚Äîonly‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI don‚Äôt know‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù and he grew thoughtful.
The road turned now and far away to the eastward rose the first straggling cabins of the town. Creeping toward them down the road rolled a dark squat figure. It grew and spread slowly on the horizon until it became a fat old black woman, hooded and aproned, with great round hips and massive bosom. Her face was heavy and homely until she looked up and lifted the drooping cheeks, and then kindly old eyes beamed on the young teacher, as she curtsied and cried:
“Good evening, honey! Good evening! You sure is pretty dis evening.”