ONCE ‘pon a time dey was a li’l black boy whut he name was Mose. An’ whin he come erlong to be ’bout knee-high to a mewel, he ‘gin to git powerful ‘fraid ob ghosts, ‘ca’se dey’s a grabeyard in de hollow, an’ a buryin’-ground on de hill, an’ a cemuntary in betwixt an’ between, an’ dey ain’t nuffin’ but trees nowhar in de clearin’ by de shanty an’ down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
An’ whin de night come erlong, dey ain’t no sounds at all whut kin be heard in dat locality but de rain-doves,[202] whut mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous an’ scary, an’ de owls, whut mourn out, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" more trembulous an’ scary dan dat, an’ de wind, whut mourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!" mos’ scandalous, trembulous an’ scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li’l black boy whut he name was Mose.
‘Ca’se dat li’l black boy he so specially black he can’t be seen in de dark at all ‘cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go outen de house at night, he ain’t dast shut he eyes, ‘ca’se den ain’t nobody can see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin’! An’ who know but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him ‘ca’se it can’t see him? An’ dat shore w’u’d scare dat li’l black boy powerful bad, ‘ca’se yever’body knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.
So whin dat li’l black Mose go’ outen de shanty at night, he keep he eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes ’bout de size ob butter-pats, an’ come sundown he eyes ’bout de size ob saucers; but whin he go outer de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny plate whut set on de mantel; an’ it powerful hard to keep eyes whut am de size ob dat from a-winkin’ an’ a-blinkin’.
So whin Hallowe’en come erlong, dat li’l black Mose he jes mek up he mind he ain’t gwine outen de shack at all. He cogitate he gwine stay right snug in de shack wid he pa an’ he ma, ‘ca’se de rain-doves tek notice dat de ghosts are philanderin’ roun’ de country, ‘ca’se dey[203] mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" an’ de owls dey mourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!" De eyes ob dat li’l black Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut set on de mantel by side de clock, an’ de sun jes a-settin’!
So dat all right. Li’l black Mose he scrooge back in de corner by de fireplace, an’ he ‘low he gwine stay dere till he gwine to bed. But bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, draps in, an’ Mistah Sally Ann, whut is her husban’, he draps in an’ Zack Badget an’ de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house drap in, an’ a powerful lot ob folks drap in. An’ li’l black Mose he seen dat gwine be one s’prise party, an’ he right down cheerful ’bout dat.
So all dem folks shake dere hands an’ ‘low "Howdy," an’ some ob dem say: "Why, dere’s li’l Mose! Howdy, li’l Mose?" An’ he so please he jes grin an’ grin, ‘ca’se he ain’t reckon whut gwine happen. So bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, she say, "Ain’t no sort o’ Hallowe’en lest we got a jack-o’-lantern." An’ de school-teacher, whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, she ‘low, "Hallowe’en jes no Hallowe’en at all ‘thout we got a jack-o’-lantern." An’ li’l black Mose he stop a-grinnin’, an’ he scrooge so far back in de corner he ‘most scrooge frough de wall. But dat ain’t no use, ‘ca’se he ma say, "Mose, go on down to de pumpkin-patch an’ fotch a pumpkin."
"I ain’t want to go," say li’l black Mose.
"Go on erlong wid yo’," say he ma, right commandin’.[204]
"I ain’t want to go," say Mose ag’in.
"Why ain’t yo’ want to go?" he ma ask.
"’Ca’se I’s afraid ob de ghosts," say li’l black Mose, an’ dat de particular truth an’ no mistake.
"Dey ain’t no ghosts," say de school-teacher, whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, right peart.
"’Co’se dey ain’t no ghosts," say Zack Badget, whut dat ‘feared ob ghosts he ain’t dar’ come to li’l black Mose’s house ef de school-teacher ain’t ercompany him.
"Go ‘long wid your ghosts!" say li’l black Mose’s ma.
"Wha’ yo’ pick up dat nonsense?" say he pa. "Dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ dat whut all dat s’prise-party ‘lows: dey ain’t no ghosts. An’ dey ‘low dey mus’ hab a jack-o’-lantern or de fun all spiled. So dat li’l black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step outen de shanty an’ he stan’ on de doorstep twell he get he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob he ma’s washtub, mostly, an’ he say, "Dey ain’t no ghosts." An’ he put one foot on de ground, an’ dat was de fust step.
An’ de rain-dove say, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!"
An’ li’l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
An’ de owl mourn out, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"
An’ li’l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
An’ de wind sob out, "You-you-o-o-o!"
An’ li’l black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder[205] an’ he shut he eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an’ he pick up he foots an’ run. Yas, sah, he run right peart fast. An’ he say: "Dey ain’t no ghosts. Dey ain’t no ghosts." An’ he run erlong de paff whut lead by de buryin’-ground on de hill, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no fince eround dat buryin’-ground at all.
No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an’ de rain-doves sot in an’ mourn an’ sob, an’ whut de wind sigh an’ cry frough. An’ bimeby somefin’ jes brush li’l Mose on de arm, which mek him run jest a bit more faster. An’ bimeby somefin’ jes brush li’l Mose on de cheek, which mek him run erbout as fast as he can. An’ bimeby somefin’ grab li’l Mose by de aidge of he coat, an’ he fight an’ struggle an’ cry out: "Dey ain’t no ghosts. Dey ain’t no ghosts." An’ dat ain’t nuffin’ but de wild brier whut grab him, an’ dat ain’t nuffin’ but de leaf ob a tree whut brush he cheek, an’ dat ain’t nuffin’ but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an’ he ain’t lost no time, ‘ca’se de wind an’ de owls an’ de rain-doves dey signerfy whut ain’t no good. So he scoot past dat buryin’-ground whut on de hill, an’ dat cemuntary whut betwixt an’ between, an’ dat grabeyard in de hollow, twell he come to de pumpkin-patch, an’ he rotch down an’ tek erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An’ he right smart scared. He jes de mostest scared li’l black boy whut yever was. He ain’t gwine open he eyes fo’ nuffin’, ‘ca’se de wind go, "You-you-o-o-o!"[206] an’ de owls go, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" an’ de rain-doves go, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!"
He jes speculate, "Dey ain’t no ghosts," an’ wish he hair don’t stand on ind dat way. An’ he jes cogitate, "Dey ain’t no ghosts," an’ wish he goose-pimples don’t rise up dat way. An’ he jes ‘low, "Dey ain’t no ghosts," an’ wish he backbone ain’t all trembulous wid chills dat way. So he rotch down, an’ he rotch down, twell he git a good hold on dat pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an’ he jes yank dat stem wid all he might.
"Let loosen my head!" say a big voice all on a suddent.
Dat li’l black boy whut he name is Mose he jump ‘most outen he skin. He open he eyes an’ he ‘gin to shake like de aspen tree, ‘ca’se whut dat a-standin’ right dar behind him but a ‘mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, dat de bigges’, whites’ ghost whut yever was. An’ it ain’t got no head. Ain’t go no head at all. Li’l black Mose he jest drap on he knees an’ he beg an’ pray:
"Oh, ‘scuse me! ‘Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg. "Ah ain’t mean no harm at all."
"Whut for you try to take my head?" as’ de ghost in dat fearsome voice whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.
"’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!" beg li’l Mose. "Ah ain’t know dat was yo’ head, an’ I ain’t know you was dar at all. ‘Scuse me!"
"Ah ‘scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say de[207] ghost. "Ah got somefin’ powerful important to say unto you, an’ Ah can’t say hit ‘ca’se Ah ain’t got no head; an’ whin Ah ain’t got no head, Ah ain’t got no mouf, an’ whin Ah ain’t got no mouf, Ah can’t talk at all."
An’ dat right logical fo’ shore. Can’t nobody talk whin he ain’t got no mouf, an’ can’t nobody have no mouf whin he ain’t got no head, an’ whin li’l black Mose he look, he see dat ghost ain’t go no head at all. Nary head.
So de ghost say:
"Ah come on down yere fo’ to git a pumpkin fo’ a head, an’ Ah pick dat ixact pumpkin whut yo’ gwine tek, an’ Ah don’t like dat one bit. No, sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo’ up an’ carry yo’ away, an’ nobody see you no more for yever. But Ah got somefin’ powerful important to say unto yo’, an’ if yo’ pick up dat pumpkin an’ sot it on de place whar my head ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, ‘ca’se Ah ain’t been able to talk fo’ so long Ah’m right hongry to say somefin’!"
So li’l black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an’ de ghost he bent down, an’ li’l black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An’ right off dat pumpkin head ‘gin to wink an’ blink like a jack-o’-lantern, an’ right off dat pumpkin head ‘gin to glimmer an’ glow frough de mouf like a jack-o’-lantern, an’ right off dat ghost start to speak. Yas, sah, dass so.
"Whut yo’ want to say unto me?" inquire li’l black Mose.[208]
"Ah want to tell yo’," say de ghost, "dat yo’ ain’t need yever be skeered of ghosts, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like de smoke in July. He ain’t even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes dissipate outen de air, an’ he gone intirely.
So li’l Mose he grab up de nex’ bestest pumpkin an’ he scoot. An’ whin he come to de grabeyard in de hollow, he goin’ erlong same as yever, on’y faster, whin he reckon, he’ll pick up a club in case he gwine have trouble. An’ he rotch down an’ rotch down, an’ tek hold of a lively appearin’ hunk o’ wood whut right dar. An’ whin he grab dat hunk of wood. . . .
"Let loosen my leg!" say a big voice all on a suddent.
Dat li’l black boy ‘most jump outen he skin, ‘ca’se right dar in de paff is six ‘mendjus big ghosts, an’ de bigges’ ain’t got but one leg. So li’l black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat bigges’ ghost, an’ he say:
"’Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain’t know dis your leg."
An’ whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an’ confabulate? Yas, sah, dass so. An’ whin dey do so, one say:
"’Pears like dis a mighty likely li’l black boy. Whut we gwine do fo’ to reward him fo’ politeness?"[209]
"Tell him whut de truth is ’bout ghosts."
So de bigges’ ghost he say:
"Ah gwine tell yo’ somethin’ important whut yever’body don’t know: Dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ whin he say dat, de ghosts jes natchully vanish away, an’ li’l black Mose he proceed up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank at de roots, an’ when de wind go "Oo-oo-oo-o-o," an’ de owl go, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" an’ de rain-doves go, "You-you-o-o-o!" he jes tremble an’ shake. An’ bimeby he come to de cemuntary whut betwixt an’ between, an’ he shore is mighty skeered, ‘ca’se dey is a whole comp’ny of ghostes lined up along de road, an’ he ‘low he ain’t gwine spind no more time palaverin’ wid ghostes. So he step offen de road fo’ to go round erbout, an’ he step on a pine-stump whut lay right dar.
"Git offen my chest!" say a big voice all on a suddent, ‘ca’se dat stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest, ‘ca’se he ain’t got no chest betwixt he shoulders an’ he legs. An’ li’l black Mose he hop offen dat stump right peart. Yes, sah; right peart.
"’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!" dat li’l black Mose beg an’ pleed, an’ de ghostes ain’t know whuther to eat him all up or not, ‘ca’se he step on de boss ghostes’s chest dat a-way. But bimeby they ‘low they let him go ‘ca’se dat was an accident, an’ de captain ghost he say, "Mose, you Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, ‘ca’se you ain’t nuffin’ but a misabul li’l tremblin’ nigger; but[210] Ah want you should remimber one thing mos’ particular’."
"Ya-yas, sah," say dat li’l black boy; "Ah’ll remimber. What is dat Ah got to remimber?"
De captain ghost he swell up, an’ he swell up, twell he as big as a house, an’ he say in a voice whut shake de ground:
"Dey ain’t no ghosts."
So li’l black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an’ he rise up an’ mek a bow, an’ he proceed toward home right libely. He do, indeed.
An’ he gwine along jes as fast as he kin whin he come to de aidge ob de buryin’-ground whut on de hill, an’ right dar he bound to stop, ‘ca’se de kentry round about am so populate he ain’t able to go frough. Yas, sah, seem like all de ghostes in de world havin’ de conferince right dar. Seem like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin’ a convintion on dat spot. An’ dat li’l black Mose so skeered he jes fall down on e’ old log whut dar an’ screech an’ moan! An’ all on a suddent de log up and spoke to li’l Mose:
"Get offen me! Get offen me!" yell dat log.
So li’l black Mose he git offen dat log, an’ no mistake.
An’ soon as he git offen de log, de log uprise, an’ li’l black Mose he see dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An’ whin de king uprise, all de congregation crowd round li’l black Mose, an’ dey am about leben millium an’ a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg’lar[211] annyul Hallowe’en convintion whut li’l black Mose interrup. Right dar am all de sperits in de world, an’ all de ha’nts in de world, an’ all de hobgoblins in de world, an’ all de ghouls in de world, an’ all de spicters in de world, an’ all de ghostes in de world. An’ whin dey see li’l black Mose, dey all gnash dey teef an’ grin ‘ca’se it gettin’ erlong toward dey-all’s lunchtime. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an’-Bones, he step on top ob li’l Mose’s head, an’ he say:
"Gin’l’min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note who is prisint. De firs’ business whut come before de convintion am: whut we gwine do to a li’l black boy whut stip on de king an’ maul all ober de king an’ treat de king dat disdespictful."
An’ li’l black Mose jes moan an’ sob:
"’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain’t mean no harm at all."
But nobody ain’t pay no attintion to him at all, ‘ca’se yevery one lookin’ at a monstrous big ha’nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up an’ spoke.
"Your Honor, Mistah King, an’ gin’l’min an’ ladies," he say, "dis am a right bad case ob lazy majesty, ‘ca’se de king been step on. Whin yevery li’l black boy whut choose gwine wander round at night an’ stip on de king of ghostes, it ain’t no time for to palaver, it ain’t no time for to prevaricate, it ain’t no time for to cogitate, it ain’t no time do nuffin’ but tell de truth, an’ de whole truth, an’ nuffin but de truth."
An’ all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an’ dey canfabulate[212] out loud erbout it, an’ de noise soun like de rain-doves goin’, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" an’ de owls goin’, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" an’ de wind goin’, "You-you-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an’ no mistake.
So de king ob de ghosts, whut name old Skull-an’-Bones, he place he hand on de head ob li’l black Mose, an’ he hand feel like a wet rag, an’ he say:
"Dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li’l black Mose turn white.
An’ de monstrous big ha’nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on de head ob li’l black Mose, and he hand feel like a toadstool in de cool ob de day, an’ he say:
"Dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li’l black Mose turn white.
An’ a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa’m place he hand on de head ob li’l black Mose, an’ he hand feel like ye yunner side ob a lizard, an’ he say:
"Dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li’l black Mose turn white as snow.
An’ a perticklar bent-up hobgoblin he put hand on de head ob li’l black Mose, an’ he mek dat same remark, and dat whole convintion ob ghostes an’ spicters an’ ha’nts an’ yever-thing, which am more ‘n a millium, pass by so quick dey-all’s hands feel lak de wind whut[213] blow outen de cellar whin de day am hot, an’ dey-all say, "Dey ain’t no ghosts." Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo’ds so fas’ it soun like de wind whin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An’ yevery hair whut on li’l black Mose’s head turn white. Dat whut happen whin a li’l black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat’s so he ain’t gwine fergit to remimber dey ain’t no ghosts. ‘Ca’se ef a li’l black boy gwine imaginate dey is ghostes, he gwine be skeered in de dark. An’ dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.
So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler whin de wind blow’ on it, an’ li’l black Mose he ain’ see ‘ca’se for to remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch down, an’ he raise up de pumpkin, an’ he perambulate right quick to he ma’s shack, an’ he lift up de latch, an’ he open de do’, an’ he yenter in. An’ he say:
"Yere’s de pumpkin."
An’ he ma an’ he pa, an’ Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an’ Mistah Sally Ann, whut her husban’, an’ Zack Badget, an’ de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, an’ all de powerful lot of folks whut come to de doin’s, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack, ‘ca’se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an’ de rain-doves gwine "Ooo-oo-o-o-o!" an’ de owls am gwine, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" and de wind it gwine, "You-you-o-o-o!" an’ yever’body powerful skeered. ‘Ca’se li’l black Mose he come[214] a-fumblin’ an’ a-rattlin’ at de do’ jes whin dat ghost-tale mos’ skeery, an’ yever’body gwine imaginate dat de ghost a-fumblin’ an’ a-rattlin’ at de do’. Yas, sah. So li’l black Mose he turn he white head, an’ he look roun’ an’ peer roun’, an’ he say:
"Whut you all skeered fo’?"
‘Ca’se ef anybody skeered, he want to be skeered, too. Dat’s natural. But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, she say:
"Fo’ de lan’s sake, we fought you was a ghost!"
So li’l black Mose he sort ob sniff an’ he sort ob sneer, an’ he ‘low:
"Huh! dey ain’t no ghosts."
Den he ma she powerful took back dat li’l black Mose he gwine be so upotish an’ contrydict folks whut know ‘rifmeticks an’ algebricks an’ gin’ral countin’ widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house knows, an’ she say:
"Huh; whut you know ’bout ghosts, anner way?"
An’ li’l black Mose he jes kinder stan’ on one foot, an’ he jes kinder suck he thumb, an’ he jes kinder ‘low:
"I don’ know nuffin’ erbout ghosts, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no ghosts."
So he pa gwine whop him fo’ tellin’ a fib ’bout dey ain’t no ghosts whin yever’body know dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, she tek note de hair ob li’l black Mose’s head am plumb white, an’ she tek note li’l black Mose’s face[215] am de color of wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm round dat li’l black boy, an’ she jes snuggle him up, an’ she say:
"Honey lamb, don’t you be skeered; ain’ nobody gwine hurt you. How you know dey ain’t no ghosts?"
An’ li’l black Mose he kinder lean up ‘g’inst de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, an’ he ‘low:
"’Ca’se—’ca’se—’ca’se I met de cap’n ghost, an’ I met de gin’ral ghost, an’ I met de king ghost, an’ I met all de ghostes whut yever was in de whole worl’, an’ yevery ghost say de same thing: ‘Dey ain’t no ghosts.’ An’ if de cap’n ghost an’ de gin’ral ghost an’ de king ghost an’ all de ghostes in de whole worl’ don’ know ef dar am ghostes, who does?"
"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say de school-teacher. An’ she say: "I been s’picious dey ain’ no ghostes dis long whiles, an’ now I know. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain’ no ghosts, dey ain’ no ghosts."
So yever’body ‘low dat o cep’ Zack Badget, whut been tellin’ de ghost-tale, an’ he ain’ gwine say "Yis" an’ he ain’ gwine say "No," ‘ca’se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun’ to be sure fust. So he say to li’l black Mose:
"’Tain’ likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha’nt whut live down de lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"[216]
"Yas," say li’l black Mose, "I done met up wid him."
"An’ did old Bloody Bones done tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts?" say Zack Badget.
"Yas," say li’l black Mose, "he done tell me perzactly dat."
"Well, if he tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts," say Zack Badget, "I got to ‘low dey ain’t no ghosts, ‘ca’se he ain’t gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an’ I done met up wif him a powerful lot o’ times, an’ he ain’t gwine tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey ain’t no ghosts, dey ain’t no ghosts."
So yever’body say:
"Das right; dey ain’t no ghosts."
An’ dat mek li’l black Mose feel mighty good, ‘ca’se he ain’ lek ghostes. He reckon he gwine be a heap mo’ comfortable in he mind sence he know dey ain’t no ghosts, an’ he reckon he ain’ gwine be skeered of nuffin’ never no more. He ain’t gwine min’ de dark, an’ he ain’t gwine min’ de rain-doves whut go, "Ooo-oo-o-o-o!" an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de owls whut go, "Who-who-o-o-o!" an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de wind whut go, "You-you-o-o-o!" nor nuffin, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know fo’ sure dey ain’ no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say:
"Well, time fo’ a li’l black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed."
An’ li’l black Mose he ‘low he gwine wait a bit.[217] He ‘low he gwine jes wait a li’l bit. He ‘low he gwine be no trouble at all ef he jes been let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he ma she say:
"Git erlong wid yo’! Whut you skeered ob whin dey ain’t no ghosts?"
An’ li’l black Mose he scrooge, an’ he twist, an’ he pucker up he mouf, an’ he rub he eyes, an’ prisintly he say right low:
"I ain’t skeered ob ghosts whut am, ‘ca’se dey ain’t no ghosts."
"Den what am yo’ skeered ob?" ask he ma.
"Nuffin’," say de li’l black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feel kinder oneasy ’bout de ghosts whut ain’t."
Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!
