The Langshan seemed to understand, for he watched Willis with interest as he crumbled the bread; and after due consideration, and with an almost human scorn towards the hens, measured his steps to the barrel, and stretching his long neck, removed every crumb from the top. After this he slowly raised one foot as though to return to the company of hens, but changing his mind, stood with the foot poised in air and one eye apparently fixed upon Phyllis. "Come on, chillun, I ain' gwine stay hyah an' let dat ole chicken conjur me." "I don't want to go, Mammy, I want to stay and feed the chickens," protested Willis. "I want to see him eat off the barrel some more," pleaded Mary Van. "Dat rooster ain't no chicken, I tell yer, 'tain' nuthin' in dis worl' but er hant." This closed the argument, for they felt the mysterious influence of "hants" that was upon Phyllis, hence they followed like the meekest of lambs until she stopped at her own room in the yard. After stirring some embers to a flickering sort of blaze, she looked insinuatingly about her and broke into an excited whisper: "Whinsomev'r yer sees enything right shiny black, widout er single white speck on hit nowhar, you kin jes put hit down in yo' mine, _dats er hant_! 'Tain' no use ter argufy erbout it; dem's de creeturs dat speerets rides whin dey comes back ter dis worl'. An' 'twas one er dem same black, biggity Langshans dat ole man Gully's hant come back inter." Phyllis had taken her seat by this time, and the children had scrambled into her lap. "Sakes erlive! You all mos' claw me ter death. How yer 'speck erbody ter be hol'in' two growd up fokes like youall is?" But the children continued to climb, one on each knee. Phyllis put out her foot and dragged a chair in front of her. "Hyah stretch yer foots out on de cheer, an' mebby ef yer sets still, I kin make out ter hole yer." "Mammy, where do hants stay?" asked Willis. "Hants is ev'r whars," she looked about her; "dis hyah room right full uv 'em now." Mary Van's head was immediately buried on the old woman's shoulder, while Willis's arms locked tightly around her neck. "Yas," she continued, in low mysterious tones, "dis whole wurl's pack'd full uv 'em, but 'tain' no use ter git skeer'd, long es dey ain' got no bisnes' wid you. De time ter git skeer'd is whin _you sees 'em_!" (A scream from Mary Van answered by a tremor from Willis.) "Some fokes doan git skeer'd den, kaze dey knows 'tain' no use ter git skeer'd er good speerets--hit's jes dese bad hants dat does de damage." "Tell us about a good, good spirit, Mammy," came in muffled tones from Mary Van. "Cause we don't want to hear about bad old hants," finished Willis. "How yer speck me ter tell yer enything wid you chokin' me, an' Ma'y Van standin' on her haid on m' should'r. Set up like fokes--you hole dis han' an' let Ma'y Van hole dis un, an' I'll tell yer 'bout old man Gully's hant."