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“JACKY-MY-LANTERN” [A]

UPON his next visit to Uncle Remus, the little boy was exceedingly anxious to know more about witches, but the old man prudently refrained from exciting the youngster’s imagination any further in that direction. Uncle Remus had a board across his lap, and, armed with a mallet and a shoe-knife, was engaged in making shoe-pegs.

“W’iles I wuz crossin’ de branch des now,” he said, endeavoring to change the subject, “I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu’nin’ wuss’n a bunch er lightnin’-bugs, mon. I know’d she wuz a fixin’ fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en I steer’d cle’r an’ er. Yasser. I did dat. You ain’t never seed no Jacky-my-lanterns, is you, honey?”

The little boy never had, but he had heard of them, and he wanted to know what they were, and thereupon Uncle Remus proceeded to tell him.

“One time,” said the old darkey, transferring his spectacles from his nose to the top of his head and leaning his elbows upon his peg-board, “dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man, he tuck’n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus. Monday mawnin’ he’d git on a spree, en all dat week he’d be on a spree, en de nex’ Monday mawnin’ he’d take a fresh start. Bimeby, one day, atter de blacksmif bin spreein”roun’ en cussin’ might’ly, he hear a sorter rustlin’ fuss at de do’, en in walk de Bad Man.”

“Who, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.

“De Bad Man, honey; de Ole Boy hisse’f right fresh from de ridjun w’at you year Miss Sally readin’ ’bout. He done hide his hawns, en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w’ite fokes. He tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he is, en dat he done come atter ‘im. Den de black-smif, he gun ter cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de Bad Man say he make a trade wid ‘im. At de een’ er one year de sperit er de blacksmif wuz to be his’n en endurin’ er dat time de blacksmif mus’ put in his hottes’ licks in de intruss er de Bad Man, en den he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin’ in, en on his sludge-hammer. De man w’at sot in de cheer couldn’t git up less’n de blacksmif let ‘im, en de man w’at pick up de sludge ‘ud hatter keep on knockin’ wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun ‘im money plenty, en off he put.

“De blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he have so much dat he done clean forgot ’bout his contrack, but bimeby, one day he look down de road, en dar he see de Bad Man comin’, en den he know’d de year wuz out. W’en de Bad Man got in de do’, de blacksmif wuz poundin’ ‘way at a hoss-shoe, but he wa’n’t so bizzy dat he didn’t ax ‘im in. De Bad Man sorter do like he ain’t got no time fer ter tarry, but de blacksmif say he got some little jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en den he ax de Bad Man fer ter set down a minnit; en de Bad Man, he tuck’n sot down, en he sot in dat cheer w’at he done conju’d en, co’se, dar he wuz. Den de blacksmif, he ‘gun ter poke fun at de Bad Man, en he ax him don’t he want a dram, en won’t he hitch his cheer up little nigher de fier, en de Bad Man, he beg en he beg, but ‘twan’t doin’ no good, kase de blacksmif ‘low dat he gwineter keep ‘im dar twel he prommus dat he let ‘im off one year mo’, en, sho nuff, de Bad Man prommus dat ef de black-smif let ‘im up he give ‘im a n’er showin’. So den de blacksmif gun de wud, en de Bad Man sa’nter off down de big road, settin’ traps en layin’ his progance fer ter ketch mo’ sinners.