“Answer, Manuel; what have you brought for Mother Sybella?” Finally the startled and fearful Manuel found courage to reply: “The coffee, sugar, ham and calico are in that bundle lying over there, Mother Sybella,” and the man pointed to a roll of matting near him. “And I told you to gather all the gossip and news of Port au Prince. Have you done so?” queried the hag with a menacing gesture. “Yes! yes! Mother; every command has been obeyed. I have learned what people are talking of, and, too, I have brought some printed talk from among the Yankees,” cried the mulatto quickly, anxious to propitiate the crone. “Fool, you know I can’t make out the Yankee printed talk,” snarled the sunken lips. “I can though, Mother Sybella; I lived among the Yankees many years. I will tell you what they talk of concerning our country,” said the man rising from his knees. “I will listen here in the sun’s rays; I am cold. Sit there at my feet,” mumbled the hag, crouching down on the rock that had been occupied by Manuel. “Begin,” she commanded fiercely, fixing her keen gaze upon the yellow face below her. “Dictator Dupree is unable to obtain money to pay the army; the Yankees and English will not make a loan unless concessions be made to the whites.” “What says Dupree?” muttered the old woman. “Dupree fears an insurrection of the people if he make concessions to the whites, and an outbreak by the army if he fail to pay the arrears due to it. He is distracted and knows not which move to make,” answered the yellow man at the hag’s feet. “Dupree is a coward! Let him come to me and see how quickly his difficulties disappear! The army is worthless, the people powerful,” cried Sybella. “Go on! Squash-head,” she ordered. “Twenty priests, with a Bishop at their head, have come from France, and go among the people urging them to attend the churches, and threatening them with awful punishment hereafter if they fail to heed the commands of the priests,” continued Manuel. “Much good may it do the black-gowns,” chuckled the old creature, making a horrible grimace in so doing. “My children fear Sybella more than the black-gowns’ hell,” she cackled exultantly. “The priests are trying to persuade the Dictator to give them permission to re-open those schools that have been closed so long, but Dupree has not consented yet. He seems to fear the anger of the black party in Haiti,” said the witch’s newsman. “He does well to hesitate!” exclaimed Sybella. “If he consent, I shall set up my altar, call my children around me and then! and then! No matter, he is a coward; he will never dare consent,” she added. The mulatto here drew from his bosom a newspaper. Shading his eyes from the sun’s glare, he began searching for any item of news in the Boston paper that he had secured in Port au Prince, which might interest his terrifying auditor. “Do you wish to know about the Yankee President and Congress?” he asked humbly, pausing as he turned the sheet of the newspaper.