ler Noonin, what makes you think so?"

"Well, for one thing, she can't shed but three tears, and them out of
her left eye," said Siller; "that I know to be a fact, for I've watched
her, and it's a sure sign. Then Daddy Wiggins, he weighed her once
against the church Bible, and she was the lightest, and that's another
sure sign. Moreover, he tried her on the Lord's Prayer, and she couldn't
go through it straight to save her life. Did you ever mind Goody
Knowles's face, how it's covered with moles?"

"Do you mean those little brown things," cried Patty, "with hair in the
middle? I've seen 'em lots of times; on her chin, too."

"Yes, dear. Well, Polly, there never was a witch that didn't have moles
and warts."

"But what does Mrs. Knowles do that's bad?" says Mary, laughing a
little, but growing very much interested.

"Well, she has been known to bewitch cattle, as perhaps you may have
heard. Last spring Daddy Wiggins's cows crept up the scaffold,--a thing
cows never did afore."

"O, but my father laughed about that. He said he guessed if Mr.
Wiggins's cows had had hay enough, they wouldn't have gone out after
some more; they'd have staid in the stalls."

"It will do very well for your father to talk," returned Siller, who was
growing more and more excited. "Of course Goody Knowles wouldn't bewitch
any of _his_ creeturs; it's only her enemies she injures. And that makes
me think, children, that it's kind of curious for us to be sitting here
talking about her. She _may_ be up on the ridge-pole of the house,--she
or one of her imps,--a hearing every word we say."

"O, dear! O, dear!" cried Patty, curling her head under Siller's cape.

"Nonsense, child. I was only in fun," said the thoughtless Siller,
beginning to feel ashamed of herself, for she had not intended to talk
in this way to the children; "don't lets think any more about it."

And with that she hurried the little girls off to bed; but by this time
their eyes were pretty wide open, as you may suppose.

CHAPTER VI.

A WITCH-FRIGHT.

Patty had forgotten all about her deep mortification, and never even
thought of Deacon Turner, the tithing-man.

"Hark!" whispered she to Mary, "don't you hear 'em walking on the roof
of the house?"

"Hear what?" said Mary, sternly.

"Those things Siller calls creeturs--on broomsticks," returned Patty.

"Nonsense; go to sleep, child."

Mary was too well instructed to be really afraid of witches; still she
la