“What’s dat?” cried ’Liza, trembling and taking hold of the devil’s arm in her fright. “Nuffin’ but er coon trampin’ in de cane-brake,” whispered the devil. “Who teks dis ’oman?” said the parson, impatient to go on, for he smelled the barbecue, and knew that the supper was ready, waiting. “I do,” said the devil, growing bold, as the skin of Unc’ Caspar cried and cracked and burst—and the hoof and the horns came through, and there stood the devil grinning at ’Liza through Unc’ Caspar’s skin, until the lights were thrown down. Then, said Mammy, all was dark; nobody raised a hand. ’Liza’s screams grew fainter and fainter, and then all was still. A sleet fell in the Quarters and pelted the people like stones, but ’Liza and the devil were gone, and there was nothing left of the wedding-feast but a pitiful pile of ashes. * * * * * A cricket chirruped in the pause; the back log had burned through and the cider jug was empty. The idle quilters, awed to whispers, yawned at last, for the thread was broken—the story was done, and gathering up her rolls, as she put her cards in her basket, Mammy said, “Good-night.” THE END