“I’ll magic your magic for you!” he said in his mean way, but he kept his foot down and I saw why. He had it on top of the map Jibby had put in the magic circle. He bent down and took the map from under his foot. He turned it one way and another way and looked at it, but he couldn’t make anything out of it, Uncle Beeswax had done it so roughly and in such a hurry. “I know what this is,” he said. “I know why you’ve got baskets and this rake and this axe here. You know where a grape tree is.” “It’s none of your business if we do,” I said, sulky-like, because I knew what Cawl Romer would be up to next. “Is that so!” he said. “Well, I’ll show you mighty soon whether it is my business or not. I saw Old Beeswax chin with you, and I saw him go rowing off up the river. A grape tree belongs to the man that gets it. I just mean to clean this one out before....” “Keeko! Keeko! Keeko muk-muk keeko!” chanted Jibby Jones. He paid no attention to Cawl Romer at all, seemed like. He had stuck up the feather again and made his twig circle and was chanting as if nothing had happened. “You listen to me,” Cawl Romer said, pushing Jibby in the back with his foot. “Do you know where this grape tree is?” Jibby looked up at him as solemn as an owl. “I don’t know what’s the matter with my nose!” he said. “I did know where that tree was; it was directly in front of my nose. That’s how I was going to it--I was going to follow my nose. But now my nose won’t point. It’s too bad!” “Well, I’ll attend to that,” said Cawl Romer. “You’re going to show me where that tree is, nose or no nose, or you’ll be sorry you ever came to this island. And you, too, George. You know me! Now, you listen! I’m going up to my cottage and get Hen and some baskets, and you sit right here and don’t move! Understand that? If you’re not here, I’ll skin you and eat you when I do catch you.” Then he went away, and he took the map with him. Jibby sat where he was until Cawl Romer was out of sight and then he jumped up like a flash. “Hasten!” he said. “Hasten!” I did not know what he was up to. “What are you going to do?” I asked him. “Magic,” he said. “Congo magic, Georgie.”