child's body, as is the general manner of nursing
amongst all classes of the Natives.

On being questioned as to the cause of his raising the tumult, he declared
that he was walking quietly on the roadway with his party, when the old
woman (who was in custody) had touched him as he passed, when immediately
his heart sickened, and he was sensible she had bewitched him, for she was
still devouring his heart and feasting on his vitals.[2] 'I will certainly
kill her!' he added, 'if she does not restore me to myself and my child
likewise!'--'When was your child attacked?'--'About four days since,'
answered the angry father.

'Good man!' replied my friend; 'you must be under the influence of
delusion, since you told me just now, the woman is a stranger to you, and
that you never saw her before; how could she have bewitched your child
then four days ago? I am sure weakening fears or illness has taken
possession of your better feelings; the poor creature looks not like one
who possesses the power you ascribe to her.'

The old woman threw herself at the feet of my friend, and implored his
protection, reiterating her gratitude to him as her preserver from the
fury of an angry populace, who had already beaten her with slippers on her
head, as a prelude to their future harsh intentions towards her. She
stretched out her hands to touch him and bless him, as is the custom with
the lower orders of women to their superior of either sex, but the
multitude insisted she should not be allowed to let her unhallowed hands
fall on the good Mussulmaun gentleman; in a second was to be heard the
invocations of Hindoos and Mussulmauns, on their several sources of
supreme aid, to save the gentleman from her power, for all the mob felt
persuaded the old woman was a witch.

'Be assured you are mistaken, I, at least, have no fears that her touch
can harm me;' responded my friend. 'Exercise your reason--is she not a
human being like ourselves? True she is old and ugly, but you are really
wicked in accusing and ill-treating the poor wretch.' They were silenced
for a few minutes, then declared she must be a witch, for her feet were
crooked, she was desired to exhibit them, and they were found to be
perfectly good straight feet.

My friend inquired of the old woman who she was; she answered, 'A poor
mazoorie[3] (corn-grinder), my husband and my sons are grass-cutters, our
abode is in the serai (inn for travellers), we are poor, but honest
people.'