oaned and prayed. The cloud over the fire was repeated
many times, and dissolving into fantastic shapes, pictured to the
excited fancy of the others their enemies and distresses. At last the
exhibition ended, and the visitors were sent from the room, and called
in again, separately, to receive directions, medicines, and charms
against further evil.

Religion found the doctor sitting at the table, surrounded by jugs,
bottles, and boxes, his wife and the old woman standing on either side.
He still slept, breathing heavily. His hands were on the table.

"A girl named Religion Becket inquiring for her sister," spoke the
doctor in the same strange voice. "The sister seems to be dying."

"Say yes close to his right ear," instructed the wife, and Religion did
so.

"The doctors know nothing about the case," responded the conjurer. "A
red scorpion is inside her body feeding on her vitals. I see a woman
hiding something in a black-gum tree that hangs over running water. It
is at the hour when spirits walk. The first creature that runs over the
cleft where the hand is hidden is the one to torment your sister. That
first creature is a red scorpion. Its young one lives in your sister's
side. I, even I, can withdraw it."

Like one moved by some power outside of himself, his hands moved in the
array before him, lightly touching this or that bottle and bundle until
he found what he sought. And like a careful druggist he deliberately
measured each ingredient, giving clear directions at the same time. When
Religion came out she had a large bottle of medicine, several huge
plasters, and orders for a bewildering list of root teas, with a promise
of an early visit from the great man himself.

* * * * *

Religion was feeding the cane-mill. Bud was on the other side drawing
out the crushed cane; the mother was under the shed stirring the boiling
syrup. Beck was travelling round and round doing the grinding. The sun
was set. It would soon be time to stop work. Religion seemed to be
expecting some one; she never stooped to pick up an armful of stalks
without glancing up the road.

"What you keep lookin' up the road for, 'Ligion?" inquired her mother,
her body swaying back and forth as she drew or pushed the long wooden
ladle.

"Nuthin'. I ain't lookin' fur nuthin'."

"I b'lieve there's a spell on youna too," said her mother, surveying her
anxiously. "I wish youna'd be more keerful and not put your fing