Comin’ in fer an hour or two. Well, that eighteenth June I was goin’ round, Lockin’ up and seein’ to things fore I went to bed. I was jest steppin’ out to th’ barn, Goin’ round outside ’stead of through the shed, ’Cause there was such a sight of moonlight Somehow or another I thought ’twould be pretty outdoors. I got settled for pretty things that night, I guess. I ain’t stuck on em no more. Well, them laylock bushes side o’ th’ house Was real lovely. Glitt’rin’ and shakin’ in the moonlight, And the smell o’ them rose right up And most took my breath away. The colour o’ the spikes was all faded out, They never keep their colour when the moon’s on ’em, But that smell fair ’toxicated me. I was allus partial to a sweet scent, And I went close up t’ th’ bushes So’s to put my face right into a flower. Mis’ Priest, jest’s I got breathin’ in that laylock bloom I saw, layin’ right at my feet, A man’s hand! It was as white’s the side o’ th’ house, And sparklin, like that lum’nous paint they put on gateposts. I screamed right out, I couldn’t help it, And I could hear my scream Goin’ over an’ over In that echo behind th’ barn, Hearin’ it agin an’ agin like that Scared me so, I dar’sn’t scream any more. I jest stood there, And looked at that hand. I thought the echo’d begin to hammer like my heart, But it didn’t. There wus only th’ wind, Sighin’ through the laylock leaves, An’ slappin’ them up agin’ the house. Well, I guess I looked at that hand Most ten minits, An’ it never moved, Jest lay there white as white. After a while I got to thingin’, that o’ course ’Twas some drunken tramp over from Redfield. That calmed me some, An’ I commenced to think I’d better git him out From under them laylocks. I planned to drag him inter th’ barn An’ lock him in ther’ till Clarence come in th’ mornin’. I got so mad thinkin’ o’ that all-fired brazen tramp Asleep in my laylocks, I just stooped down and grabbed th’ hand and give it an awful pull. Then I bumped right down settin’ on the ground. Mis’ Priest, ther’ warn’t no body come with the hand. No, it ain’t cold, it’s jest that I can’t bear thinkin’ of it Ev’n now. I’ll take a sip o’ tea. Thank you, Mis’ Priest, that’s better. I’d ruther finish now I’ve begun. Thank you, jest the same. I dropped the hand’s ef it’d be’n red hot ’Stead o’ ice cold. Fer a minit or two I jest laid on that grass Pantin’. Then I up and run to them laylocks An’ pulled ’em every which way. True as I’m settin’ here, Mis’ Priest, Ther’ warn’t nothin’ ther’. I peeked an’ pryed all about ’em, But ther’ warn’t no man ther’ Neither livin’ nor dead. But the hand was ther’ all right, Upside down, the way I’d dropped it, And glist’ning fit to dazzle yer. I don’t know how I done it, And I don’t know why I done it,