"dey Ain't No Ghosts"





Once 'pon a time dey was a li'l' black boy whut he name was Mose. An'

whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git

powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dat am sure a mighty ghostly location

whut he lib' in, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a

buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an'

dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar excipt in de clearin' by de shanty

an' down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.



An' whin de night come' erlong, dey ain't no sounds _at_ all whut kin be

heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out,

"Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous _an'_ scary, an' de owls, whut mourn

out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de

wind, whut mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous' trembulous an'

scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l' black boy

whut he name was Mose.



'Ca'se dat li'l' black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in de

dark _at_ all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go' outen de

house _at_ night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody

can see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'. An' who know'

but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him?

An' dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l' black boy powerful' bad, 'ca'se

yever'body knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.



So whin dat li'l' black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep' he

eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob

butter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin

he go' outen de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny

plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful' hard to keep eyes whut am

de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.



So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat lil' black Mose he jes mek' up he

mind he ain't gwine outen he shack _at_ all. He cogitate' he gwine stay

right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek

notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mourn

out, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"

and de wind mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" De eyes ob dat li'l' black

Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut set on de mantel by side de

clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'.



So dat all right. Li'l' black Mose he scrooge' back in de corner by de

fireplace, an' he 'low' he gwine stay dere till he gwine _to_ bed. But

byme-by Sally Ann, whut live' up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally

Ann, whut is her husban', he draps in, an' Zack Badget an' de

school-teacher whut board' at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a

powerful lot ob folks drap in. An' li'l' black Mose he seen dat gwine be

one s'prise-party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat.



So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy," an' some ob dem say:

"Why, dere 's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l' Mose?" An' he so please' he jes

grin' an' grin', 'ca'se he aint reckon whut gwine happen. So byme-by

Sally Ann, whut live up de road, she say', "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en

lest we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' de school-teacher, whut board at

Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low', "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en _at_

all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l' black Mose he stop'

a-grinnin', an' he scrooge' so far back in de corner he 'mos' scrooge

frough de wall. But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say', "Mose, go on

down to de pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."



"I ain't want to go," say' li'l' black Mose.



"Go on erlong wid yo'," say' he ma, right commandin'.



"I ain't want to go," say' Mose ag'in.



"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask'.



"'Case I 's afraid ob de ghosts," say' li'l' black Mose, an' dat de

particular truth an' no mistake.



"Dey ain't no ghosts," say' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas

Diggs's house, right peart.



"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say' Zack Badget, whut dat 'fear'd ob

ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l' black Mose's house ef de

school-teacher ain't ercompany him.



"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say' li'l' black Mose's ma.



"What' yo' pick up dat nomsense?" say' he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts."



An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'low: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey

'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all sp'iled. So dat li'l'

black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de

pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step' outen de shanty an' he stan'

on de door-step twell he get' he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob

he ma's wash-tub, mostly, an' he say', "Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he

put' one foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step.



An' de rain-dove say', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"



An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.



An' de owl mourn' out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"



An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step.



An' de wind sob' out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"



An' li'l' black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder, an' he shut he

eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick' up he foots an'

run. Yas, sah, he run' right peart fast. An' he say': "Dey ain't no

ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he run' erlong de paff whut lead' by

de buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat

buryin'-ground _at_ all.



No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an'

mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' byme-by

somefin' jes _brush'_ li'l' Mose on de arm, which mek' him run jes a bit

more faster. An' byme-by somefin' jes _brush'_ li'l' Mose on de cheek,

which mek' him run erbout as fast as he can. An' byme-by somefin'

_grab'_ li'l' Mose by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight' an' struggle'

an' cry' out: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't

nuffin' but de wild brier whut grab' him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de

leaf ob a tree whut brush' he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branch

ob a hazel-bush whut brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same,

an' he ain't lose no time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves

dey signerfy whut ain't no good. So he scoot' past dat buryin'-ground

whut on de hill, an' dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' dat

grabeyard in de hollow, twell he come' to de pumpkin-patch, an' he

rotch' down an' tek' erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An'

he right smart scared. He jes de mostest scared li'l' black boy whut

yever was. He ain't gwine open he eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go,

"You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' de owls go, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de

rain-doves go, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"



He jes speculate', "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish' he hair don't stand

on ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate', "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish'

he goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low', "Dey ain't no

ghosts," an' wish' he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way.

So he rotch' down, an' he rotch' down, twell he git' a good hold on dat

pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes

yank' dat stem wid all he might.



"_Let loosen my head!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent.



Dat li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose he jump' 'most outen he skin.

He open' he eyes, an' he 'gin' to shake like de aspen-tree, 'ca'se whut

dat a-standin' right dar behint him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah,

dat de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head.

Ain't got no head _at_ all! Li'l' black Mose he jes drap' on he knees

an' he beg' an' pray':



"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg'. "Ah ain't mean no

harm _at_ all."



"Whut for you try to take my head?" ask' de ghost in dat fearsome voice

whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.



"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg' li'l' Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo'

head, an' I ain't know you was dar _at_ all. 'Scuse me!"



"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say' de ghost. "Ah got somefin'

powerful _im_portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah

ain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf,

an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk _at_ all."



An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got no

mouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin

li'l' black Mose he look', he see' dat ghost ain't got no head _at_ all.

Nary head.



So de ghost say':



"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick' dat

_ix_act pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No,

sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see you

no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful _im_portant to say unto

yo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot in on de place whar my head

ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk

fo' so long Ah right hongry to say somefin'."



So li'l' black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bend' down,

an' li'l' black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right

off dat pumpkin head 'gin' to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an'

right off dat pumpkin head 'gin' to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like

a jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start' to speak. Yas, sah,

dass so.



"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" _in_quire' li'l' black Mose.



"Ah want to tell yo'," say' de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be

skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."



An' whin he say dat, de ghost jes vanish' away like de smoke in July. He

ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes

dissipate' outen de air, an' he gone _in_tirely.



So li'l' Mose he grab' up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot'. An'

whin he come' to be grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as

yever, on'y faster, whin he reckon' he 'll pick up a club _in_ case he

gwine have trouble. An' he rotch' down an' rotch' down an' tek' hold of

a likely appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab' dat

hunk of wood----



"_Let loosen my leg!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent.



Dat li'l' black boy 'most jump' outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in de

paff is six 'mendjus big ghostes, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg.

So li'l' black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat

bigges' ghost, an' he say':



"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg."



An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah,

dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say':



"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l' black boy. Whut we gwine do fo'

to _re_ward him fo' politeness?"



An' anudder say':



"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghostes."



So de bigges' ghost he say':



"Ah gwine tell yo' somefin' _im_portant whut yever'body don't know: Dey

_ain't_ no ghosts."



An' whin he say' dat, de ghostes jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l'

black Mose he proceed' up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank' at de

roots, an' whin de wind go', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owl go',

"Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" he jes

tremble' an' shake'. An' byme-by he come' to de cemuntary whut betwixt

an' between, an' he shore is mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole

comp'ny of ghostes lined up along de road, an' he 'low' he ain't gwine

spind no more time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step' often de road fo'

to go round erbout, an' he step' on a pine-stump whut lay right dar.



"_Git offen my chest!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat

stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest,

'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l'

black Mose he hop' offen dat stump right peart. Yes, _sah_; right peart.



"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l' black Mose beg' an' plead, an' de

ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step' on

de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But byme-by they 'low they let him go

'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say', "Mose, you

Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a

misabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should _re_mimimber one

thing mos' particular'."



"Ya-yas, sah," say' dat li'l' black boy; "Ah'll remimber. Whut is dat Ah

got to remimber?"



De captain ghost he swell' up, an' he swell' up, twell he as big as a

house, an' he say' in a voice whut shake' de ground:



"Dey ain't no ghosts."



So li'l' black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise' up an' mek' a

bow, an' he proceed' toward home right libely. He do, indeed.



An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin' whin he come' to de aidge ob

de buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop,

'ca'se de kentry round about am so populate' he ain't able to go frough.

Yas, sah, seem' like all de ghostes in de world habin' a conferince

right dar. Seem' like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a

convintion on dat spot. An' dat li'l' black Mose so skeered he jes fall'

down on a' old log whut dar an' screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddent

de log up and spoke to li'l' Mose:



"_Get offen me! Get offen me!_" yell' dat log.



So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no mistake.



An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l' black Mose he

see' dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise,

all de congregation crowd round li'l' black Mose, an' dey am about leben

millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en

convintion whut li'l' black Mose interrup'. Right dar am all de sperits

in de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de

world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world,

an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l' black Mose, dey

all gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's

lunch-time. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step' on

top ob li'l' Mose's head, an' he say':



"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note

who is prisint. De firs' business whut come' before de convintion am:

whut we gwine do to a li'l' black boy whut stip' on de king an' maul'

all ober de king an' treat' de king dat disrespictful'."



An' li'l' black Mose jes moan' an' sob':



"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm _at_ all."



But nobody ain't pay no _at_tintion to him _at_ all, 'ca'se yevery one

lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up

an' spoke.



"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min _an'_ ladies," he say', "dis am

a right bad case ob _lazy majesty_, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin

yivery li'l' black boy whut choose' gwine wander round _at_ night an'

stip on de king ob ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no

time for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no

time do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin' but

de truth."



An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey confabulate out loud

erbout dat, an' de noise soun' like de rain-doves goin',

"Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls goin', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de wind

goin', "You-_you_-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no

mistake.



So de king ob de ghostes, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place' he

hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag,

an' he say':



"Dey ain't no ghosts."



An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.



An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on

de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a toadstool in de

cool ob de day, an' he say':



"Dey ain't no ghosts."



An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.



An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place' he hand on de head ob

li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like de yunner side ob a lizard, an'

he say':



"Dey ain't no ghosts."



An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white

_as_ snow.



An' a perticklar bend-up hobgoblin he put' he hand on de head ob li'l'

black Mose, an' he mek' dat same _re_mark, an' dat whole convintion ob

ghostes an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yiver-thing, which am more 'n a

millium, pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow

outen de cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't no

ghosts." Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it souun' like de wind

whin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An'

yivery hair whut on li'l' black Mose's head turn' white. Dat whut

happen' whin a li'l' black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat-away.

Dat's so he ain' gwine forgit to remimber dey ain't no ghostes. 'Ca'se

ef a li'l' black boy gwine imaginate dey _is_ ghostes, he gwine be

skeered in de dark. An' dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.



So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler

whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l' black Mose he ain' see no ca'se for

to remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch' down, an' he raise' up de

pumpkin, an' he perambulate' right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift'

up de latch, an' he open' de do', an' he yenter' in. An' he say':



"Yere's de pumpkin."



An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' Mistah

Sally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut

board at Unc'-Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whut

come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack,

'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves

gwine, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" and

de wind it gwine, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' yiver-body powerful skeered.

'Ca'se li'l' black Mose he come' a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes

whin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yiver'body gwine imaginate dat he a

ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l' black Mose

he turn' he white head, an' he look' roun' an' peer' roun', an' he say':



"Whut you all skeered fo'?"



'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want' to be skeered, too. Dat 's natural.

But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say':



"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"



So li'l' black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low':



"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."



Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l' black Mose he gwine be so

uppetish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an'

gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at

Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say':



"Huh! whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner ways?"



An' li'l' black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kinder

suck' he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low':



"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."



So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain' no ghosts whin

yiver'body know' dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at

Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she tek' note de hair ob li'l' black Mose's

head am plumb white, an' she tek' note li'l' black Mose's face am de

color ob wood-ash, so she jes retch' one arm round dat li'l' black boy,

an' she jes snuggle' him up, an' she say':



"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How you

know dey ain't no ghosts?"



An' li'l' black Mose he kinder lean' up 'g'inst de school-teacher whut

board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low':



"'Ca'se--'ca'se--'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ral

ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yiver was

in de whole worl', an' yivery ghost say' de same thing: 'Dey ain't no

ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost

an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, who

does?"



"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say' de school-teacher. And she

say': "I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I

know. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey _ain'_ no ghosts."



So yiver'body 'low' dat so 'cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' de

ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No,"

'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he

done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So he

say' to li'l' black Mose:



"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live' down de

lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"



"Yas," say' li'l' black Mose, "I done met up wid him."



"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say Zack

Badget.



"Yas," say' li'l' black Mose, "he done tell me perzackly dat."



"Well, if _he_ tol' you dey ain't no ghosts," say' Zack Badget, "I got

to 'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout it.

I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met

up wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout

it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say' dey ain't no ghosts, dey _ain't_ no

ghosts."



So yiver-body say':



"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."



An' dat mek' li'l' black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se he ain' lak

ghostes. He reckon' he gwine be a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sence

he know' dey ain' no ghosts, an' he reckon' he ain' gwine be skeered of

nuffin' never no more. He ain' gwine min' de dark, an' he ain' gwine

min' de rain-doves whut go', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de

owls whut go', "Who-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind whut

go', "You-_you_-o-o-o!" nor nuffin', nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion,

sence he know' fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say':



"Well, time fo' a li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de

ladder to de loft to bed."



An' li'l' black Mose he 'low' he gwine wait a bit. He 'low' he gwine jes

wait a li'l' bit. How 'low' he gwine be no trouble _at_ all ef he jes

been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too.

So he ma she say':



"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut yo' skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?"



An' li'l' black Mose he scrooge', and he twist', an' he pucker' up he

mouf, an' he rub' he eyes, an' prisintly he say' right low:



"I ain' skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain' no ghosts."



"Den whut _am_ yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.



"Nuffin'," say' de li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feel

kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't."



Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!





"dear Lang, "put Out The Light!" facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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