"When the great bag, which she always carried slung over her shoulder, was filled with herbs almost to bursting, she would start at the bottom of this high cliff, and, aided by the scrubby bushes that grew from the dark fissures in the mountain's time scarred face, she would manage in some mysterious way to drag her full five hundred weight with its load to the top, and then disappear in the mountain woodland above.
"It was not only a tiresome, but likewise a dangerous journey, for there were few places where she could catch her toes in the steep rock; and as she climbed slowly upward, and with much difficulty felt for each foothold, her great body swayed and staggered upon the face of the cliff, while she puffed and blew from her toil so loudly that her heavy breathing could plainly be heard far across in the village of Harpers Ferry.
"Never did she go up the cliff but that great boulders would break loose under her ponderous tread, and tumbling headlong with mighty bound, would dash down the steep mountain-side and land with a roaring crash in the bed of the river below, where to this day they may be seen choking the tide of the stream in a great rocky mass.
"In many ways this strange woman was more odd than she looked. She was not very high, but so terribly spread out that she was equally as tall when lying down as when standing up; and if, like a turtle, she might have drawn in her feet and her head, she could have rolled about over the ground like a great ball—but of course she was not a turtle.
"The garments, too, that she wore, both in make and material, were strange to look upon. Her skirt, which could never have been made for another, was fully a foot too long. It entirely concealed her feet, which could not have been small, and so caused her to stumble and trip that often indeed have I wondered how she could get along with her big bag of herbs over a level road, much less up a path on the face of the cliff, that even the bravest of hunters and mountain-men dared not attempt to climb. Thus she went stumbling along in her own silent, industrious way.
"And now comes the strangest thing of all about this wonderful, fat woman.
"Many are the grown people that have passed her while busy at her labor of herb gathering, yet not for a moment would she stop work to talk with any of them. If they smiled, she might look up and smile in reply; but if they asked her a question she would answer it with such an uncivil grunt that they were glad to pass rapidly along on their way.
"But should she happen to meet with a group of gay children, this strange, fat woman was sure to drop her big bag of herbs, and pausing for a long jolly chat, would unbosom her goodness of heart and draw from her ponderous pockets handful after handful of candy and pop-corn balls, taffy and chocolate drops, the like of which for sweetness and flavor, no mortal man had ever made.
"Nor was she in the least inclined to be stingy for she would give the children as much of her sweets as they could eat and then bid them good-bye with a kiss and a parting blessing. For so many years had she thus kindly treated the children that they watched for her coming and going day after day and were ever on the lookout to greet her, with tears of joy in their eyes.
"The name of this fat woman was 'Twaddles;' and as nobody thereabout knew just whether she was a Miss or a Mrs., the children had nicknamed her 'Auntie,' although that might have been as big a mistake as either of the other two names. But it sounded motherly and sweet to her ears, and, as its mention was sure to bring forth an abundance of bon-bons and candies, all of the grown people as well as the children called her 'Aunt Twaddles.'