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Updated: June 12, 2025
Dey could hear sump'n moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen in de night-time, en w'en de win' would blow dey could hear sump'n a-hollerin' en sweekin' lack hit wuz in great pain en sufferin'. En hit got so atter a w'ile dat hit wuz all Mars Marrabo's wife could do ter git a 'ooman ter stay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter do de cookin'; en dey wa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at wouldn' rudder take forty dan ter go 'bout dat kitchen atter dark, dat is, 'cep'n Tenie; she didn' pear ter mine de ha'nts.
Morse's advice made a pot of soup. Lizzie was getting bolder as the hours passed; but she announced to Laura that she believed there must be "ha'nts" in the woods. "What is a haunt?" asked Laura, curiously. "Dead folks that ain't contented in their minds," declared the queer girl. "And why should the spirits of the dead haunt these woods?" asked Laura.
"'Pears like ha'nts must have dere jokes like odder folkses," was as far as Solomon would go. At breakfast I repeated what I had seen the night before, and to my indignation both Radnor and my uncle took it calmly. "Mose is only a poor half witted fellow but he's as honest as the day," the Colonel declared, "and I won't have him turned into a villain for your entertainment."
"Naw, boss, I ain't a-gwine by dar, caze dat ar Jerdan's Jerney ain got a good name ter my years. I ain't a-feard er ha'nts by daylight, but I'se monst'ous feared er badness day er nightime, en hit sutney do pear ter me like de badness er ole Marse Jonathan done got in de a'r er dat ar Jerdan's Jerney.
"'Cose not," said Uncle Jonah uneasily. "Dat's jes' his foolishness." "I'd like to see a ghost," said Hortense. Uncle Jonah stared at her. "Me, I don' mix up wid no ha'nts," said he. "When I hears 'em rampagin' 'roun' at night, I pulls de kivers up an' shuts mah eyes tight." "What do they sound like, Uncle Jonah?" Hortense asked breathlessly. But Uncle Jonah would not answer.
As they jolted along, the steady stream of conversation between Edgar and Uncle Billy was as good as a play to the rest of the boys Edgar, with grave, courteous manner, discoursing of "cunjurs" and "ha'nts" with as real an air of belief as that of the old man himself.
"One more trip to the ha'nts of the fur-bearin' and it's good-by to the mountain trails and the river courses fur me," he said, as he rose and stalked unsteadily away, and I never saw him again. At daybreak the next morning we were off for Santa Fé. Our wagons, loaded with their precious burdens, moved forward six abreast along the old sun-flower bordered trail.
There was a wide hearth and always plenty of wood, and here after supper the children would gather, with Jennie and Uncle Ned, and the latter would tell hair-lifting tales of "ha'nts," and lonely roads, and witch-work that would make his hearers shiver with terror and delight, and look furtively over their shoulders toward the dark window-panes and the hovering shadows on the walls.
Nicholas went on steadily, spurred by superstitious terror of the silence. He remembered that Uncle Ish had said there were no "ha'nts" along this road, but the assurance was barren of comfort.
"Who dat?" he demanded severely. "Ain't I done tell you dar ain' no ha'nts 'long dis yer road?" "It's me, Uncle Ish," said the boy. "It's Nick Burr. I heard you singing a long ways off." "Den what you want ter go a-hollerin' en a-stealin' up on er ole nigger fer des' 'bout sundown?" "But, Uncle Ish, I didn't mean to scare you. I jest heard " "Skeer!
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