too far. [_Sings spinning
song._

SPINNING SONG.

"I'll tell you a story; a story of one,
'Twas of a great prince whose name was King John.
A great prince was he, and a man of great might
In putting down wrong and in setting up right.
To my down, down, down, derry down."

_Nancy._ Massy, what screeches! [_Screams violently._

_Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, 'twas you screeched then.

_Nancy._ It wasn't me; 'twas a witch in the chimbly. (_Screams
again._) There, hear that, will ye? I tell ye 'twa'n't me. I 'ain't
opened my mouth.

_Olive._ Nancy, I will bear no more of this. If you be not quiet, I
will tell my mother when she comes home. Now, Phoebe, sing the rest
of the song with me, and think no more of such folly. [_Sings with_
Phoebe.

"This king, being a mind to make himself merry,
He sent for the Bishop of Canterbury.
'Good-morning, Mr. Bishop,' the king did say.
'Have you come here for to live or to die?'
To my down, down, down, derry down.

"'For if you can't answer to my questions three,
Your head shall be taken from your body;
And if you can't answer unto them all right,
Your head shall be taken from your body quite.'
To my down, down, down, derry down."

_Nancy_ (_wagging her head in time to the music_). I know some words
that go better with that tune.

_Phoebe._ What are they?

_Nancy._ Oh, I'm forbid to tell.

_Phoebe._ Who forbade you to tell, Nancy?

_Nancy._ The one who forbade me to tell, forbade me to tell who
told me.

_Olive._ Don't gossip, or you won't get your stints done before
mother comes home.

_Phoebe_ (_sulkily_). I won't finish my stint. Aunt Corey set me too
long a stint. I won't. Oh, there she is now! [_Knits busily._

_Enter_ Ann Hutchins.

_Olive_ (_rising_). Well done, Ann. I was but now wishing to see
you. Sit you down and lay off your cloak. Why, how pale you look,
Ann! Are you sick?

_Ann._ You know best.

_Olive._ I? Why, what mean you, Ann?

_Ann._ You know what I mean, in spite of your innocent looks. Oh,
open your eyes wide at me, if you want to! Perhaps you don't know
what makes them bigger and bluer than they used to be.

_Olive._ Ann!

_Ann._ Oh, I mean nothing. I am not sick. Something frightened me
as I came through the wood.

_Olive._ Frightened you! Why, what was it?

_Phoebe._ Oh, what was it, Ann?

_Ann._ I know not; something black that hustled quickly by me and
raised a cold wind.

_Phoebe.