he air
bein' close in the house, the darter, Narcissa by name, she calls out,
'Look! look! I see the witch-face!' An' they all start up an' stare
over acrost the deep black gorge. An' thar, ez true ez life, war the
witch-face glimmerin' in the midst o' the black night, and agrinnin'
at 'em an' a-mockin' at 'em, an' lighted up ez ef by fire."

"And did no one discover the origin of the fire?" asked the stranger.

"Thar war no fire!" Constant Hite paused impressively. Then he went on
impulsively, full of his subject: "Ben Hanway kem over ter the
still-house arter me, an' tergether we went ter examinate. But the
bresh is powerful thick, an' the way is long, an' though we seen a
flicker wunst or twict ez we-uns pushed through the deep woods, 't war
daybreak 'fore we got thar, an' nare sign nor smell o' fire in all the
woods could we find; nare scorch nor singe on the ground, not even a
burnt stick or chunk ter tell the tale; everythin' ez airish an' cool
an' jewy an' sweet ter the scent ez a summer mornin' is apt ter be."

"How often has this phenomenon occurred?" said the stranger coolly,
but with a downcast, thoughtful eye and a pursed-up lip, as if he were
less surprised than cogitating.

"Twict only, fur we hev kep' an eye on the old witch, Ben an' me. Ben
wants a road opened out up hyar, stiddier jes' this herder's trail
through the woods. Ben dunno how it mought strike folks ef they war
ter know ez the witch-face hed been gin over ter sech cur'ous ways
all of a suddenty. They mought take it fur a sign agin the road, sech
ez b'lieves in the witch-face givin' bad luck." After a pause, "Then
_I_ viewed it wunst,--wunst in the dead o' the night. I war goin' home
from the still, an' I happened ter look up, an' I seen the
witch-face,--the light jes' dyin' out, jes' fadin' out. She didn't hev
time ter make more 'n two or three faces at me, an' then she war gone
in the night. It's a turr'ble-lookin' thing at night, stranger. So ye
can't tell what makes it,--the sile, or what?"

He turned himself quite sideways as he spoke, one hand on the carcass
of the deer behind the saddle, the other on his horse's neck, the
better to face his interlocutor and absorb his scientific
speculations. And in that moment an odd idea occurred to him,--nay, a
conviction. He perceived that his companion knew and understood the
origin of the illumination; and more,--that he would not divulge it.

"The soil? Assuredly not the soil," the stranger