In Old Plantation Days
The Conjuring Contest
The whole plantation was shocked when it became generally known that Bob, who had been going with Viney for more than a year, and for half that time had publicly escorted her to and from meeting, had suddenly changed, and bestowed his affections upon another. It was the more surprising, for Viney was a particularly good-looking girl, while the new flame, Cassie, was an ill-favored woman lately brought over from another of the Mordaunt plantations.
It was one balmy Sunday evening that they strolled up from the quarters’ yard together, arm in arm, and set wagging the tongues of all their fellow-servants.
She was still watching them with an unhappy look in her eyes when Mam’ Henry, the plantation oracle, approached and took a seat on the step beside her.
“Howdy, Mam’ Henry,” said Maria.
“Howdy, Maria; how you come on?”
“Oh, right peart in my body, but I’m kin’ o’ ‘sturbed in my min’.”
“Huh, I reckon you is ‘sturbed in yo’ min’!” said the old woman keenly. “Maria, you sholy is one blin’ ‘ooman.”
“Blin’? Now, whut you s’pose de mattah wid yo’ Bob?”
“De mattah wid him? Dat des’ whut trouble my min’. Mam’ Henry, hit’s to think dat dat boy o’ mine ‘u’d be so thickle-minded!”
“Uh!”
“Hyeah he was a-gwine ‘long o’ Viney, whut sholy is a lakly gal, an’ a peart one, too; den all o’ a sudden he done change his min’, an tek up wid dat ol’ ha’d-time lookin’ gal. I don’ know whut he t’inkin’ ’bout.”
“You don’ know whut he t’inkin’ ’bout? Hit’s roots, I tell you; hit’s roots I”
“Mam’ Henry, fo’ de Lawd, you don’ mean—”
The old woman leaned solemnly over to her companion and whispered dramatically: “He’s conju’ed; dat’s whut he is!”
Maria sprang up from the doorway and stood gazing at Mam’ Henry like a startled animal; then she said in a hurried voice: “Whut! dat huzzy conju’ my chile? I reckon dat’ll tek de spell often Bob, won’t hit? Dat’U kep him Pom hatin’ you, an’ des pinin’ erway an’ dyin’ fu’ huh, won’t hit, uh?”
Maria sank down again in utter helplessness, crying: “Conju’ed, conju’ed; oh, whut shell I do?”
“Fus’ t’ing,” said Mam’ Henry, “you des set up an’ ac’ sensible. Aftah dat I’ll talk to you.”
“Go on, Mam’ Henry; I’s a-listenin’ to you. Conju’ed, conju’ed, my boy! Oh, de—”
“Heish up, an’ listen to me. Befo’ Bob put on his shoes termorrer mornin’ you slip a piece o’ sllvah in de right one, fiat in de middle, whah he won’ feel it. You want to fin’ out how he’s conju’ed, an’ des’ how bad it is. Ef she ain’t done nuffin’ but planted somep’n’ roun’ de do’ fu’ him, why I reckon des’ sowin’ salt’ll brek de spell; but ef she’s cotch htm in his eatin’s you’ll have to see a reg’Iar conju’ doctah fo’ you kin wo’k dat out. I ain’t long-haided myse’l; but I got a frien’ dat is.”
“But, Mam’ Henry, how I gwine tell how bad de conju’ is?”
“Huh, gal, you don’ know nuffin’I Ef de silvah tu’ns right black, w’y, he’s cotched bad, an’ ef it only tu’ns kin’ o’ green he’s only mid-dlin’ tricked.”
“How long I got to wait ‘fo’ I