"Good white folk?"

"Oh, yaas, ma'am--course you knows white folks will be white
folks--white folks will be white folks. Your servant, ma'am." 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?"

"We just call him Old Pappy--he's a preacher, and some folks say a
conjure man, too."

"And who is Elspeth?"

"She lives in the swamp--she's a kind of witch, I reckon, like--like--"

"Like Medea?"

"Yes--only--I don't know--" 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: