streets, or hobbled on before her with bowed
heads and ridiculous affectation of infirmity. Thanks to her evil name,
none of them ever ventured to actually assault the poor old creature,
and their taunts she bore with patient meekness, going ever quietly upon
her accustomed, peaceful way.

The older villagers regarded her with a pity that was half pity and half
disgust. Those fearful hands they never could forget, nor the bowed
figure, nor the strange working of the lips. Therefore, they held her in
a sort of dreading, but still her lonely life, and her patient,
uncomplaining spirit, moved their hearts. Then a vague
tradition--nothing more, for neither kith nor kin had ancient Hannah--a
vague tradition said that she had once been very beautiful; that when
she was in her fresh and lovely youth, some strange misfortune had
fallen upon her, and that she had worn since then--most innocently--the
mark of a direful tragedy. One lady, old, nearly, as Aunt Hannah, but
upon whom there had never fallen any blight of poverty or wrong, loved
the poor creature well, and she only, of all the inhabitants of the
village, frequently entered the cottage where the 'Black Witch' dwelt.
This lady, it was said, had known her when both were young, and carried
forever locked in her heart the story of that saddened youth. None
called good Mrs. Marjoram a witch. _Her_ face was clear, her smile
bright, her eyes sparkling, and she bore her years with an upright and
cheerful carriage.

The little, one-storied house where Aunt Hannah dwelt was situated in a
hollow just out of the village, in the shadow of a grove of tangled
hemlocks and pines. It consisted of two rooms only, with an unfinished
attic overhead; and before her door the poor old soul might be seen any
pleasant day, sitting meekly in the sun. She could neither knit nor sew
as other old women do, but she sat there waiting patiently for the time
when her kind Father should call her home, to lose forever the blackness
that clung to her in this weary world.

She did not live here entirely alone, for, true to the universal
reputation of witches, she kept, not one cat only, but several; all
black cats, too. It was the only fancy she indulged in, the only luxury
she allowed herself, and it was sad that this harmless freak should cost
her so many taunts. Sometimes the boys tried to kill her cats, aided in
the murderous attempt by the village dogs, but no dog ever came back
scatheless from th