The Jumbies Read Online Free Page B

wasn’t the only one in the forest yesterday. I saw a farmer.” Yes, Corinne thought, it was just a farmer.
    â€œHow do you know? It might have been a jumbie, like a lagahoo. Did you hear it howl like a wolf? Chains rattling? Probably not. They say if you are close enough to hear his chains, it’s already too late for you.” She looked at Corinne eagerly for an answer.
    Corinne laughed a little more easily this time. “No. It was quiet. No howling or chains rattling.”
    â€œThen it could have been a La Diabless. They say the devil woman is very pretty. Did you see her face? Or was it a short jumbie? Those are douen. You can’t see their faces either. And you should never answer if they call.”
    A confident smile broke out on Corinne’s face. Nothing in the mahogany forest resembled any of those creatures. “Nothing like that.” She watched the look of disappointment cross the girl’s face. “But it was too dark to see much,” she added. “What’s your name, anyway?”
    â€œDrupatee Sarena Rootsingh,” said the little girl. “You can call me Dru.”
    â€œI’m Corinne. Corinne La Mer.”
    Dru’s eyes narrowed. “Can I tell you something? My mother tells me all the time that if you don’t trouble trouble, then trouble won’t trouble you.”
    â€œThat’s good advice,” Corinne said. “I’ll start taking it tomorrow. Today I have to get back at those boys.”
    â€œThe ones who took your mother’s necklace? What are you going to do?”
    Corinne grinned.

7
    Down the Well
    A small frog sat hopeless at the bottom of the dry well. It was tired from trying to escape and hoarse from croaking. It was the croaking that had gotten it into the well in the first place. If it had just been quiet, the boys would not have found it and dropped it in. The frog wished they had at least dropped it into a full well. Drowning in freshwater had to be better than dying of thirst in a deep, dark, stone hole. If the frog did not get wet soon, it would not survive.
    Something dripped down on the frog from the circle of light above. The moisture sank into the frog’s flesh and revived it temporarily. Then a rope slid down the wall. The sweet smell of dirt and oranges seeped into the frog’s pores. Something blocked the light from the top, something that was getting closer. A few minutes later, a girl stood at the bottom of the well holding on to the rope and looking at the frog with glee.
    â€œHello, Mr. Crapaud,” Corinne said. “I’ve come to rescue you.”
    Corinne scooped up the frog in one hand and put it in her pocket. Then she tried to pull her way up on the rope with her feet pushing against the wall. Although the well was mostly dry, some moisture remained in the rocks. The cracks between them were slick with moss and fungus. Corinne slipped and banged into the wall as she tried to scramble up. More than once, the frog got squished between her hip and the side of the well. It croaked pitifully.
    â€œCrapaud tingele,” Corinne sang in an effort to soothe it. She pulled up on the rope, but her foot slipped again and sent them both slamming into the wall and then back down to the bottom of the well.
    More croaking.
    â€œShh!” Corinne scolded the flattened frog. “This is hard enough without your constant complaining, and we have to hurry. Those boys will be back to torture you any minute.”
    After a few more attempts, Corinne figured out how to grab on to the crevices with her fingers and toes. She knew not to move to a new spot until she was secure. Once she had the hang of the slippery rocks, she barely needed to use the rope. It was too hard on her hands, anyway.
    Once they were outside of the well, another drop of Dru’s salty tears fell on the frog’s back. It was the most water it had in an entire day.
    â€œI told you not to worry,” Corinne told