Jeff was as serious as could have been wished all that day, for
there was much on his mind. Perplexing questions tinged with
supernatural terrors tormented him. Passing over those having a
moral point, the most urgent one was, "S'pose dat ar soger miss
him box an come arter it ternight. Ki! If I go ter see, I mout run
right on ter de spook. I'se a-gwine ter gib 'im his chance, an'
den take mine." So that evening Jeff fortified himself and
increased the cook's hope by a succession of psalm-tunes in which
there was no lapse toward the "debil's" music.
Next morning, after a long sleep, Jeff's nerves were stronger, and
he began to take a high hand with conscience.
"Dat ar soger has hab his chance," he reasoned. "Ef he want de box
he mus' 'a' com arter it las' night. I'se done bin fa'r wid him,
an' now ter-night, ef dat ar box ain' 'sturbed, I'se a-gwine ter
see de 'scription an' heft on it. Toder night I was so 'fuscated
dat I couldn't know nuffin straight."
When all were sleeping, he stole to the persimmon-tree and was
elated to find his treasure where he had slightly buried it.
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