“They nearly drowned her. Eh? Does that touch thee, Mother Goodhugh?” said Mistress Anne, maliciously, as she saw the old woman fall a-trembling.
“Yes, yes, yes. It was very cruel.”
“And then she was committed to prison on my father’s warrant, and perchance she will be burned at the stake.”
“Nay, nay, it be too horrible,” said the old woman, whose face was now blanched with terror.
“It is only what they’d do to thee, Mother Goodhugh, if I denounced thee for witches’ practices.”
“Then I’d denounce thee, too!” cried the old woman, turning upon her like the trampled worm.
“And, if you did, who would believe thee, thou wrinkled, ugly, spiteful crone, who goest cursing through the village, and evil-eyeing all around? Denounce me? Ha, ha, ha!” cried the girl, throwing back her head as her eyes flashed, and she looked really handsome; “Do I look like a witch?”
“No, no, no, dearie, you are lovely as woman can be,” cried the old crone.
“Then I’ll get thee burned for deceiving me!” cried Anne.
“Nay, child, nay,” cried the old woman, piteously; “thou would’st not be so cruel.”