Yan and the Witch
The Sanger Witch hated the Shanty-man's axe
And wildfire, too, they tell,
But the hate that she had for the Sporting man
Was wuss nor her hate of Hell!
—Cracked Jimmie's Ballad of Sanger.
Yan took his earliest opportunity to revisit the Sanger Witch.
"Better leave me out," advised Sam, when he heard of it. "She'd never look at you if I went. You look too blame healthy."
So Yan went alone, and he was glad of it. Fond as he was of Sam, his voluble tongue and ready wit left Yan more or less in the shade, made him look sober and dull, and what was worse, continually turned the conversation just as it was approaching some subject that was of deepest interest to him.
As he was leaving, Sam called out, "Say, Yan, if you want to stay there to dinner it'll be all right— we'll know why you hain't turned up." Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek, closed one eye and went to the barn with his usual expression of inscrutable melancholy.
Yan carried his note-book—he used it more and more, also his sketching materials. On the road he [200] gathered a handful of flowers and herbs. His reception by the old woman was very different this time.
"Come in, come in, God bless ye, an' hoo air ye, an' how is yer father an' mother—come in an' set down, an' how is that spalpeen, Sam Raften?"
"Sam's all right now," said Yan with a blush.