In the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass candlestick into handy sizes, and Tom put them and the pewter spoon in his pocket.  Then we went to the n***** cabins, and while I got Nat's notice off, Tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a corn-pone that was in Jim's pan, and we went along with Nat to see how it would work, and it just worked noble; when Jim bit into it it most mashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could a worked better. Tom said so himself. Jim he never let on but what it was only just a piece of rock or something like that that's always getting into bread, you know; but after that he never bit into nothing but what he jabbed his fork into it in three or four places first.

And whilst we was a-standing there in the dimmish light, here comes a couple of the hounds bulging in from under Jim's bed; and they kept on piling in till there was eleven of them, and there warn't hardly room in there to get your breath.  By jings, we forgot to fasten that lean-to door!  The n***** Nat he only just hollered "Witches" once, and keeled over on to the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was dying.  Tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of Jim's meat, and the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back again and shut the door, and I knowed he'd fixed the other door too. Then he went to work on the n*****, coaxing him and petting him, and asking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again.  He raised up, and blinked his eyes around, and says:

"Mars Sid, you'll say I's a fool, but if I didn't b'lieve I see most a million dogs, er devils, er some'n, I wisht I may die right heah in dese tracks.  I did, mos' sholy.  Mars Sid, I _felt_ um—I _felt_ um, sah; dey was all over me.  Dad fetch it, I jis' wisht I could git my han's on one er dem witches jis' wunst—on'y jis' wunst—it's all I'd ast.  But mos'ly I wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, I does."

Tom says:

"Well, I tell you what I think.  What makes them come here just at this runaway n*****'s breakfast-time?  It's because they're hungry; that's the reason.  You make them a witch pie; that's the thing for _you_ to do."

"But my lan', Mars Sid, how's I gwyne to make 'm a witch pie?  I doan' know how to make it.  I hain't ever hearn er sich a thing b'fo'."

"Well, then, I'll have to make it myself."

"Will you do it, honey?—will you?  I'll wusshup de groun' und' yo' foot, I will!"

"All right, I'll do it, seeing it's you, and you've been good to us and showed us the runaway n*****.  But you got to be mighty careful.  When we come around, you turn your back; and then whatever we've put in the pan, don't you let on you see it at all.  And don't you look when Jim unloads the pan—something might happen, I don't know what.  And above all, don't you _handle_ the witch-things."

"_Hannel 'M_, Mars Sid?  What _is_ you a-talkin' 'bout?  I wouldn' lay de weight er my finger on um, not f'r ten hund'd thous'n billion dollars, I wouldn't."