“Whar did you git dis rabbit-foot?” he inquired suspiciously. “I dunno, Shinny,” the old man replied in a complaining voice. “Whut is it fur?” “Lots of folks has rabbit-foots,” Shin said. “I don’t b’lieve in ’em. I got four, an’ dey don’t fotch me no luck. Whar did you git dis’n?” “I dunno.” “Whar you been at to-day?” Shin asked. “Well, suh, early dis mawnin’ I went to de Shoofly chu’ch an’ conversed de Revun Vinegar Atts a little; atter dat, I went out to de Nigger-Heel wid Mustard Prophet—ah—dat’s whar I got dis here foot. Mustard gib it to me. He esplained a whole lot about it an’ tole me dat Marse Tom gib it to him, an’ he passed it on.” “Whut yo gwine do wid it?” Shin asked. “’Tain’t no good to me,” Popsy whined, working at his tobacco-pouch and shaking some tobacco in his hand. “De only luck-charm I b’lieves in is de chu’ch. Ef de good Lawd is on yo’ side, who kin be agin you?” Shin Bone knew better than to get Popsy started in a discussion of religion. His conversation on that theme was interminable. Besides, the plush box lying on the table between them had awakened several interesting trains of thought: First, he knew Popsy had a trick of putting things into his pocket and walking off with them, forgetting where he acquired them, and even failing to remember what they were for. Second, he remembered that Mustard Prophet had often attributed much of his good fortune to the possession of a rabbit-foot. Thirdly, he knew that Colonel Gaitskill also had a rabbit-foot, for he had often heard him refer to it in his hearing and in the presence of the other negroes. Now, did Popsy inadvertently take possession of Gaitskill’s rabbit-foot? Or did he absent-mindedly walk off with Mustard’s foot? Or did Mustard give his famous luck-charm away? Shin doubted this last supposition. If a luck-charm is good, it is very, very good. Or did Mustard steal Gaitskill’s rabbit-foot and Popsy take it from Mustard? Popsy lighted his pipe and began to smoke. Shin Bone decided that he could make nothing of the mystery. A rabbit-foot was no good to him. He had tried them before. But loaded dice, now—he pulled the “bones” from his pocket and renewed his former operations. In the kitchen a bell rang. A number of patrons who had been lingering outside came through the door and seated themselves at the table. Shin Bone arose to bring in the dinner. Popsy knocked the ashes from his pipe and got ready to eat. As for Org and Little Bit, they did not get back to the Gaitskill home until the sun had sunk below the line of the tree-tops. And not until Orren Randolph Gaitskill beheld his sister sitting upon the porch did he think of the errand on which she had sent him ten hours before. His small hand investigated his trouser-pocket, to see if he was still in possession of the fifty-cent piece. He might have lost it when he tossed aside his garments on the banks of the Cooley bayou. “Org!” Virginia called sharply. “Where are those stamps?”