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“Huh; whut you know ’bout ghosts, anner way?”

An’ li’l black Mose he jes kinder stan’ on one foot, an’ he jes kinder suck he thumb, an’ he jes kinder ‘low:

“I don’ know nuffin’ erbout ghosts, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no ghosts.”

So he pa gwine whop him fo’ tellin’ a fib ’bout dey ain’t no ghosts whin yever’body know dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, she tek note de hair ob li’l black Mose’s head am plumb white, an’ she tek note li’l black Mose’s face am de color of wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm round dat li’l black boy, an’ she jes snuggle him up, an’ she say:

“Honey lamb, don’t you be skeered; ain’ nobody gwine hurt you. How you know dey ain’t no ghosts?”

An’ li’l black Mose he kinder lean up ‘g’inst de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, an’ he ‘low:

“‘Ca’se–‘ca’se–‘ca’se I met de cap’n ghost, an’ I met de gin’ral ghost, an’ I met de king ghost, an’ I met all de ghostes whut yever was in de whole worl’, an’ yevery ghost say de same thing: ‘Dey ain’t no ghosts.’ An’ if de cap’n ghost an’ de gin’ral ghost an’ de king ghost an’ all de ghostes in de whole worl’ don’ know ef dar am ghostes, who does?”

“Das right; das right, honey lamb,” say de school-teacher. An’ she say: “I been s’picious dey ain’ no ghostes dis long whiles, an’ now I know. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain’ no ghosts, dey ain’ no ghosts.”

So yever’body ‘low dat o cep’ Zack Badget, whut been tellin’ de ghost-tale, an’ he ain’ gwine say “Yis” an’ he ain’ gwine say “No,” ‘ca’se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun’ to be sure fust. So he say to li’l black Mose:

“‘Tain’ likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha’nt whut live down de lane whut he name Bloody Bones?”

“Yas,” say li’l black Mose, “I done met up wid him.”

“An’ did old Bloody Bones done tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts?” say Zack Badget.

“Yas,” say li’l black Mose, “he done tell me perzactly dat.”

“Well, if he tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts,” say Zack Badget, “I got to ‘low dey ain’t no ghosts, ‘ca’se he ain’t gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an’ I done met up wif him a powerful lot o’ times, an’ he ain’t gwine tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey ain’t no ghosts, dey ain’t no ghosts.”

So yever’body say:

“Das right; dey ain’t no ghosts.”

An’ dat mek li’l black Mose feel mighty good, ‘ca’se he ain’ lek ghostes. He reckon he gwine be a heap mo’ comfortable in he mind sence he know dey ain’t no ghosts, an’ he reckon he ain’ gwine be skeered of nuffin’ never no more. He ain’t gwine min’ de dark, an’ he ain’t gwine min’ de rain-doves whut go, “Ooo-oo-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de owls whut go, “Who-who-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de wind whut go, “You-you-o-o-o!” nor nuffin, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know fo’ sure dey ain’ no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say:

“Well, time fo’ a li’l black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed.”

An’ li’l black Mose he ‘low he gwine wait a bit. He ‘low he gwine jes wait a li’l bit. He ‘low he gwine be no trouble at all ef he jes been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he ma she say:

“Git erlong wid yo’! Whut you skeered ob whin dey ain’t no ghosts?”

An’ li’l black Mose he scrooge, an’ he twist, an’ he pucker up he mouf, an’ he rub he eyes, an’ prisintly he say right low:

“I ain’t skeered ob ghosts whut am, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no ghosts.”

“Den what am yo’ skeered ob?” ask he ma.

“Nuffin’,” say de li’l black boy whut he name is Mose; “but I jes feel kinder oneasy ’bout de ghosts whut ain’t.”

Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!