"It is witchcraft beyond a doubt," whispered the good wife. "I remember, now, the needles turned to stones in my hands. I lost all power to move them."
"And my feet were nailed to the hearth," answered Jason. "I, who never knew what it was to be scared in my life, could not move."
"See how the pestilent things have wounded me," added the hired man, exhibiting his thumb from which the blood was falling in heavy drops.
"Hark! I hear footsteps again," whispered the good wife.
Sure enough, slow and steady footsteps came across the turf, and a knock sounded at the door.
"I will open it," said the young man, cheerfully. "No witchcraft can harm me, save that of a bright eye and cherry lip."
He opened the door with a brave swing while uttering these words, but started back in dismay, for there, upon the gravel of the path, stood a woman with a crimson mantle over her shoulders and its hood drawn close around her face.
"Is the dame or her husband at home?" inquired the woman in a clear, rich voice that made the housewife start. "I wish to see either Jason Brown or his wife."
"If you are an honest woman and no witch, come in," answered the young man, half closing the door against her, notwithstanding his invitation.
The woman advanced to the door and pushed it gently open. Goody Brown arose with a flush on her cheek and called out, in a voice of infinite relief, "It is the lady! it is the lady!"