Page:The International Folk-Lore Congress of the World's Columbian Exposition, Chicago, July, 1893.djvu/401

Rh "Black cats mighty impo'tan' fer passons w'uts got de hea't ter wuk wid 'm—ain' yer never hyear dat?

"Now I'se er fool ter 'r wise man, but I kin do anythin' I wan's ter im wid sicli means, en I tell yer ef deys been wuk'd on y'r self, don' ch'r tek no physical rem'dies fer dey'l kill yer sho, jes git er cnnger doct'r quick, he's got mixtries w'ut'l git yer all right, sho en sartin, hit teks pizin ter tuhn pizin."

When the old man imparted this last information regarding the cat, his voice sank to a hoarse whisper and he constantly glanced about on all sides in an anxious furtive manner to see if any eavesdroppers were near. He stands in great fear of what his fellows might do or say should they know that he had spoken with me upon such a subject as the black cat mystery.

There can be no doubt that in their Curative Lore there are some germs of valuable knowledge. Their teacher has been Nature; her laboratory, their place for experiments. The most notable instance bearing upon this point in my own personal experience is so remarkable that it borders almost upon the miraculous.

A young mother bent above her baby, her only one, who was desperately, hopelessly ill. For weeks she had watched the little sufferer; now, broken in heart and spirit, she watched for the end. A negro woman, a stranger, came upon some errand, she entered the room, gazed upon the mother, then turned her eyes upon the child—in a moment she was gone. A short while and she returned, entered the room softly, and touching the mother who still bent above the little form where only a slight uncertain breathing told that the spark of life was not quite extinguished, she said in a husky voice, "Put dis round de baby's neck, it done save two o' my chilluns."

A necklace of tiny roots it was she placed in the mother's hand, tiny roots of irregular shape, strung on a thread and emitting a strong aromatic odor. The dark face was full of sympathy, from the eyes shone the compassion of a mother's heart; there was a common language which the souls of the two women, the African and the Caucasian understood.

Tremblingly the white fingers clasped the strange object, influenced by the idea, It can do neither good nor harm, the