“O Aunt Ailsey,” wailed Betty in despair. The tears shone in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. “Dar now,” said Aunt Ailsey, soothingly, “you des set right still en wait twel ter-night at de full er de moon.” She got up and took down one of the crumbling skins from the chimney-piece. “Ef'n de hine foot er a he frawg cyarn tu'n yo' hyar decent,” she said, “dar ain' nuttin' de Lawd's done made es'll do hit. You des wrop er hank er yo' hyar roun' de hine foot, honey, en' w'en de night time done come, you teck'n hide it unner a rock in de big road. W'en de devil goes a-cotin' at de full er de moon--en he been cotin' right stiddy roun' dese yer parts--he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off.” “A mile off?” repeated the child, stretching out her hands. “Yes, Lawd, he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off, en w'en he tase hit, he gwine begin ter sniff en ter snuff. He gwine sniff en he gwine snuff, en he gwine sniff en he gwine snuff twel he run right spang agin de rock in de middle er de road. Den he gwine paw en paw twel he root de rock clean up.” The little girl looked up eagerly. “An' my hair, Aunt Ailsey?” “De devil he gwine teck cyar er yo' hyar, honey. W'en he come a-sniffin' en a-snuffin' roun' de rock in de big road, he gwine spit out flame en smoke en yo' hyar hit's gwine ter ketch en hit's gwine ter bu'n right black. Fo' de sun up yo' haid's gwine ter be es black es a crow's foot.” The child dried her tears and sprang up. She tied the frog's skin tightly in her handkerchief and started toward the door; then she hesitated and looked back. “Were you alive at the flood, Aunt Ailsey?” she politely inquired. “Des es live es I is now, honey.” “Then you must have seen Noah and the ark and all the animals?” “Des es plain es I see you. Marse Noah? Why, I'se done wash en i'on Marse Noah's shuts twel I 'uz right stiff in de j'ints. He ain' never let nobody flute his frills fur 'im 'cep'n' me. Lawd, Lawd, Marse Peyton's shuts warn' nuttin ter Marse Noah's!” Betty's eyes grew big. “I reckon you're mighty old, Aunt Ailsey--'most as old as God, ain't you?” Aunt Ailsey pondered the question. “I ain' sayin' dat, honey,” she modestly replied. “Then you're certainly as old as the devil--you must be,” hopefully suggested the little girl. The old woman wavered. “Well, de devil, he ain' never let on his age,” she said at last; “but w'en I fust lay eyes on 'im, he warn' no mo'n a brat.” Standing upon the threshold for an instant, the child reverently regarded her. Then, turning her back upon the fireplace and the bent old figure, she ran out into the twilight. II AT THE FULL OF THE MOON By the light of the big moon hanging like a lantern in the topmost pine upon a distant mountain, the child sped swiftly along the turnpike.