"Do I reckon who's dead?" he asked absently, with his ear pressed to the child's back.
"The devil what you done brought home in yuer box."
"Dead? Oh, yes. He's dead—good and dead. Sit still a moment—so—now take a long breath. A long one—deep—that's right. Now another—so."
"What fer?"
"I want to hear your heart beat."
"Kin you hear hit?"
"Yes—don't talk, a minute,—that'll do."
"What you want to hear my heart beat fer? I kin feel hit. Kin you feel yourn? Be they more'n one devil?"
"Heaps of them."
"When I go back, you reckon I'll find 'em hanging on the bushes? Do they hang by ther tails, like 'possums does?"
Comfortable and happy where he was, the little fellow dreaded the distance he must traverse to reach his home under the peculiar phenomena of devils hanging to the bushes along his route.