"Now," said Miss Tildy, "if you will tell me what you did with the forks, I will excuse you; but, if you dare to say you don't know, I'll beat you to death with this," and she held up a bunch of briery switches, that she had tied together. Now only imagine briars digging and scraping that already lacerated flesh, and you will not blame the equivocation to which the poor wretch was driven. "Where are they?" asked Miss Jane, and her face was frightful as the Medusa's. "I hid 'em under a barrel out in the back yard." "Well, go and get them." "Stay," said Miss Jane, "I'll go with you, and see if they are there." Accordingly she went off with her, but they were not there. "Now, where are they, _liar_?" she asked. "Oh, Miss Jane, I put 'em here; but I 'spect somebody's done stole 'em." "No, you never put them there," said Miss Tildy. "Now tell me where they are, or I'll give you this with a vengeance," and she shook the briers. "I put 'em in my box in the cabin." And thither they went to look for them. Not finding them there, the tortured girl then named some other place, but with as little success they looked elsewhere. "Now," said Miss Tildy, "I have done all that the most humane or just could demand; and I find that nothing but a touch of this can get the truth from you, so come with me." She took her to the "lock-up," and secured the door within. Such screams as issued thence, I pray heaven I may never hear again. It seemed as if a fury's strength endowed Miss Tildy's arm. When she came out she was pale from fatigue. "I've beaten that girl till I've no strength in me, and she has less life in her; yet she will not say what she did with the forks." "I'll go in and see if I can't get it out of her," said Miss Jane. "Wait awhile, Jane, maybe she will, after a little reflection, agree to tell the truth about it." "Never," said Miss Jane, "a nigger will never tell the truth till it is beat out of her." So saying she took the key from Miss Tildy, and bade me follow her. I had rather she had told me to hang myself. When she unlocked the door, I dared not look in. My eyes were riveted to the ground until I heard Miss Jane say: "Get up, you hussy." There, lying on the ground, more like a heap of clotted gore than a human being, I beheld the miserable Amy. "Why don't she get up?" inquired Miss Jane. I did not reply. Taking the cowhide, she gave her a severe lick, and the wretch cried out, "Oh, Lord!" "The Lord won't hear a liar," said Miss Jane. "Oh, what will 'come of me?" "_Death_, if you don't confess what you did with the forks."