He reached for the edge of the door and tried to lift it. It would not move. The latch on the other side of that door had held the door in place through Gulf storms which had snapped trees like toothpicks. “Dis door is heavy, Hitch—git aholt!” Skeeter panted, straining at his task. Four negro men promptly lent their aid and lifted, but they did not lift the door. “My lawdymussy!” Hitch Diamond sighed with sudden enlightenment, as the cold, nervous sweat popped out on his forehead with the realization of their predicament. “I knows whut us is done. Dis dang door is got a ketch-lock on de inside, an’ us is done locked ourselfs out an’ up on de roof!” “Is you plum’ shore, Hitchie?” Skeeter asked in a voice that was near to tears. “I knows it,” Hitch whispered. “Marse Tom sont me up here one time to look fer a leak in de roof, an’ I locked myse’f out in jes’ dis same way.” “How did you git rescued, Hitchie?” Skeeter asked tearfully. “I hollered fer he’p till Marse Tom come up an’ onlatched de door from de inside,” Hitch told him. “No fair hollerin’ fer Marse Tom now,” Skeeter said hopelessly. “We is all dead niggers.” “Mebbe ef we wait till day Vinegar will see us an’ exoncise some sense—” Hopey began. “Shut up, Hopey,” Skeeter interrupted. “Ef we waits till dat nigger preacher gits sense, us’ll be here till he dies fer he ain’t never aimin’ todes no sense. An’ ef he looks up in de dawn’s early light an’ sees eight kinky heads peepin’ at him over de edge of dis roof—he’ll shoot, an’ dar’ll be eight blackbirds bakin’ in a pie!” “Lemme go take a peep at Revun Atts now, befo’ day,” Little Bit said, as he removed his shoes and began to crawl carefully through the darkness toward the edge of the roof. He was gone a long time, and the others waited his return in silence. At last he crawled back and said: “I b’lieves dat Vinegar is asleep, brudders. It ’pears to me like he’s layin’ down flat, an’ ef you listens real good I think us kin hear him snore.” “Dat don’t he’p us none,” Hitch Diamond grumbled. “Ef anything wakes him up, he’ll be more skeart dan ever, an’ he’ll beller like a cow.” They sat down on the trap-door and waited a long time, each one trying to devise some plan of escape. Finally, in desperation, Skeeter Butts removed his shoes and crawled to the edge of the roof. “Hello, Revun!” he exclaimed in a low tone. But Vinegar’s audible breathing was undisturbed by the birdlike voice. “Hey, elder!” Skeeter hailed, getting louder. Skeeter frightened himself by the courageous loudness of his voice, but Vinegar heard nothing to interrupt his dreams. “Ho! Vinegar Atts!” Skeeter barked; and when he perceived no effect, he howled: “Hey, you ole fool nigger preacher, wake up! Git up!” “Hush, Skeeter!” Mustard Prophet warned him. “You’re hollerin’ loud enough to wake up all de white folks in dis town, but it takes a real whoopful tone to wake a nigger. Don’t fotch all de white folks up on us.”