"How can his hat measure people's lands in, Aunty?" asked Virgie,
drawing Roxy to her by the waist for their mutual protection.
"Why, chile, he measures land in by de great long shadows dat debbil's
hat throws. Meshach, he sots his eyes on a good farm. Says he, 'I'll
measure dat in!' So he gits out dar some sun-up or sundown, when de sun
jest sots a'mos' on de groun, an' ebery tree an' fence-pos' and standin'
thing goes away over de land, frowin' long crooked shadows. Dat's de
time Meshach stans up, wid dat hat de debbil gib him to make him longer,
jest a layin' on de fields like de shadow of a big church-steeple. He
walks along de road befo' de farm, and wherever dat hat makes a mark on
de ground all between it an' where he walks is ole Meshach's land.
Dat's what he calls his mortgage!"
The children had their mouths wide open; the maids heard with faith only
less than fear.
"But, Aunt Hominy," spoke Roxy, "he never measured in Judge Custis's
house, and all of us in it, that is to be sold."
"Didn't I see him a doin' of it?" whispered Aunt Hominy, stooping as if
to creep, in the contraction of her own fears, and looking up into their
faces with her fists clinched. "He's a ben comin' along de fence on de
darkest, cloudiest nights dis long a time, like a man dat was goin' to
rob something, and peepin' up at Miss Vessy's window. He took de dark
nights, when de streets of Prencess Anne was clar ob folks, an' de dogs
was in deir cribs, an' nuffin' goin' aroun' but him an' wind an' cold
an' rain.
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