“Chile, this story wuz told ter me by my father and I know he sho wouldn’t lie.  Every word of it is the trufe; fact, everything I ebber told you wuz the trufe.  Now, my pa had a brother, old Uncle Martin, and his wife wuz name Julianne.  Aunt Julianne used ter have spells and fight and kick all the time.  They had doctor after doctor but none did her any good.  Somebody told Uncle Martin to go ter a old conjurer and let the doctors go cause they wan’t doing nothing fer her anyway.  Sho nuff he got one ter come see her and give her some medicine.  This old man said she had bugs in her head, and after giving her the medicine he started rubbing her head.  While he rubbed her head he said:  ’Dar’s a bug in her head; it looks jest like a big black roach.  Now, he’s coming out of her head through her ear; whatever you do, don’t let him get away cause I want him.  Whatever you do, catch him; he’s going ter run, but when he hits the pillow, grab ’em.  I’m go take him and turn it back on the one who is trying ter send you ter the grave.’  Sho nuff that bug drap out her ear and flew; she hollered, and old Uncle Martin ran in the room, snatched the bed clothes off but they never did find him.  Aunt Julianne never did get better and soon she died.  The conjurer said if they had a caught the bug she would a lived.”

The next story is a true story.  The facts as told by Mrs. Heard were also witnessed by her; as it deals with the conjuring of one of her sons.  It is related in her exact words as nearly as possible.

“I got a son named Albert Heard.  He is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave.  I wuz living in town then, and Albert and his wife wuz living in the country with their two chillun.  Well, Albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn’t do him any good.  I wuz worried ter death cause I had ter run backards and for’ards and it wuz a strain on me.  He wuz suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn’t even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it wuz so bad he couldn’t even button up his pants.  A ’oman teached school out there by the name of Mrs. Yancy; she’s dead now but she lived right here on Randolph Street years ago.  Well, one day when I wuz leaving Albert’s house I met her on the way from her school.  ‘Good evening, Mrs. Heard,’ she says.  ’How is Mr. Albert?’ I don’t hardly know, I says, cause he don’t get no better.  She looked at me kinda funny and said, don’t you believe he’s hurt?’ Yes mam, I said, I sho do.  ‘Well,’ says she, ’I been wanting to say something to you concerning this but I didn’t know how you would take it.  If I tell you somewhere ter go will you go, and tell them I sent you?’ Yes mam, I will do anything if Albert can get better.  ’All right then’, she says.  ’Catch the Federal Prison car and get off at Butler St.’  In them days that car came down Forrest Ave.  ’When you get to Butler St.’, she says, ’walk