as opened and old Betty the witch stood on the
threshold peering into the dimness under her hand.

"Mam," said the Sergeant, "'tis us--we've come!"

"Aha!" she croaked. "'Tis you--'tis my big sojer--my fine
sojer-sergeant an' the lord squire o' the Manor! Come your ways--come
your ways in--'tis an ill place for fine folk but 'tis all they've left
me. Come in!" Following Sergeant Zebedee's broad back the Major
stumbled down three steps into a small, dim chamber, very close and
airless, lighted by a smoky rushlight. Old Betty closed the door,
curtseyed to the Major and clutching at Sergeant Zebedee's hand,
stooped and kissed it, whereupon he glanced apologetically at the Major
and saluted.

"'Tis her gratitood, sir," he explained, "on account o' Mr. Jennings me
having kicked same, as dooly reported."

"An ill place for the likes o' your honour," croaked the old woman, "an
evil place for evil men as will be here anon--the rogues, the fools!
They think old Betty's blind and deaf--the rogues! Come, dearies, the
moon's up and wi' the moon comes evil so get ye above--yonder, yonder
and mum, dearies, mum!" As she spoke old Betty pointed to a corner of
the dingy chamber where a rickety ladder gave access to a square
opening above. "Go ye up, dearies and ye shall see, ye shall hear,
aha--but mum, dearies, mum!"

Forthwith they mounted the ladder and so found themselves in a small,
dark loft full of the smell of rotting wood and dank decay. Above
their heads stars winked through holes in the mouldering thatch,
beneath their feet the rotten flooring showed great rents and fissures
here and there through which struck the pallid beams of the twinkling
rushlight in the room below.

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the Major, "does this pestiferous ruin
belong to me, Zeb?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, your honour, 'tis a mile and a half out o'
the village d'ye see, and hath stood empty for years and years they do
tell me, on account of a murder as was done here, and nobody would live
here till old Betty come. Folk do say the place is haunted and there
be few as dare come nigh the place after dark. But old Betty, being a
powerful witch d'ye see sir, aren't nowise afeard of any ghost, gobling
nor apparation as ever--ssh!"

Upon the night without, was a sound of voices that grew ever louder,
the one hoarse and querulous the other upraised in quavering song:

"O 'tis bien bowse, 'tis bien bowse,
Too little is my