Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South
’gun ter see dat he wus hangin’ ov’r torment, an’ dat wus de place de gole he bin runnin’ atter stay, so he rech out an’ grab de thorney bush, he did, an’ de blood come tricklin’ down on his han’s whar de briers stick him, but his ma’s speeret come out on de thorney bush in er big, big, big ole glow wurm, an’ she say:

[Pg 71]

“‘Hole fas’, Hit can’ las’.’  “‘Hole fas’, Hit can’ las’.’

“He notice den dat all de uth’r lights poppin’ up an’ poppin’ out, an’ hoppin’[Pg 72] erbout, but de glow wurm’s light wus studdy.”

[Pg 72]

“Did Bill know it was his mama?” Bill’s safety was uppermost in Mary Van’s mind now.

“He doan ’zackly know hit, but he think he do, caze he know nobody ain’ gwine stick ter him atter dey’s in heb’n cep’n his ma. Darfo’ he keep his eye on de glow wurm, he do. He know dat studdy light wus his ma’s speeret.”

“Don’t let his hands bleed any more, Mammy,” she begged.

“Doan yer git too skeer’d er de blood uv ’pentence, chile. Bill done sin, an’ he got ter be born’d ergin, thu suf’in an’ mis’ry. Howsumev’r he foll’rin’ de studdy light er dat glow wurm, so ’tain’ long ’fo’ she show him er tree on t’oth’r side dat wus smooth an’[Pg 73] strong, an’ Bill tu’n loose er de bush an’ grab holt er de tree—Bob Wind he come an’ hope de tree ter lif’ Bill up,—an’ Bob give one er ole man Harricane’s blows dat take Bill clean out’n de mirey clay, an’ lan’ him on de rock.”

[Pg 73]

“Was he clear out of the swamp?”

“And where was his mama?” both children pressed their questions.

“He wusn’t clean out, but he wus clost on ter de aige—all he need is er lit’le mo’ uv his ma’s studdy light ter show him de way home,—an’ he got hit too, fur dar she wus by him on de rock, whin he come thu. She crawl ’long mouty slow b’fo’ him, caze Bill wus in er pow’ful bad fix, but her light ain’ flick’r, an’ hit keep bright an’ studdy, an’ bimeby atter er long time she lan’ him at home safe an’ soun’.”

[Pg 74]“How could it take long?” Willis was keeping tab on the time.

[Pg 74]

“Yer see, baby, yer kin nachelly fly wid Bob Wind when yer’s on de road ter Satan wid Jacky-Lantern, 
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