"
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.
"I goes there sometimes. I creeps in 'mongst the dreams; they hangs
there like big flowers, dripping dew and sugar and blood--red, red
blood. And there's little fairies there that hop about and sing, and
devils--great, ugly devils that grabs at you and roasts and eats you if
they gits you; but they don't git me. Some devils is big and white, like
ha'nts; some is long and shiny, like creepy, slippery snakes; and some
is little and broad and black, and they yells--"
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.
"Some is little and broad and black, and they yells--" chanted the girl.
And as she chanted, deep, harsh tones came booming through the forest:
"_Zo-ra! Zo-ra!_ O--o--oh, Zora!"
He saw far behind him, toward the shadows of the swamp, an old
woman--short, broad, black and wrinkled, with fangs and pendulous lips
and red, wicked eyes. His heart bounded in sudden fear; he wheeled
toward the girl, and caught only the uncertain flash of her
garments--the wood was silent, and he was alone.
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