and heard screeching, with the red eyes glarin at you through the window, I've seen this morning."
"Phillis," said Bacchus, sinking back in his chair, "'taint possible! What was it a doin?"
"I can tell you what its doing now," said Phillis, "its eating bread and milk and a piece of bacon, as hard as it can. Its eyes is red, to be sure, but I reckon yours would be red or shut, one, if you'd a been nigh a fortnight locked up in an empty house, with now and then a mouse to eat. Why, Bacchus, how come it, you forgot old Jupiter? I was too busy to think about cats, but I wonder nobody else didn't think of the poor animal."
"Sure enough," said Bacchus, slowly recovering from his astonishment, "its old Jupiter--why I'd a sworn on the Bible 'twas Aunt Peggy's sperrit. Well, I do b'lieve! that old cat's lived all this time; well, he aint no cat any how--I always said he was a witch, and now I knows it, that same old Jupiter. But, Phillis, gal, I wouldn't say nothin at all about it--we'll have all dese low niggers laughin at us."
"What they going to laugh at me about?" said Phillis. "I didn't see no ghost."
"Well, its all de same," said Bacchus, "they'll laugh at me--and man and wife's one--'taint worth while to say nothin 'bout it, as I see."
"I shan't say nothing about it as long as you keep sober; but mind, you go pitching and tumbling about, and I aint under no kind of promise to keep your secret. And its the blessed truth, they'd laugh, sure enough, at you, if they did know it."
And the hint had such a good effect, that after a while, it was reported all over the plantation that Bacchus "had give up drinkin, for good and all."
