“Eh, did he? What did he say?”
“He never said a word; he dare not; but went down flat upon his face, and laid there till she’d gone.”
“I’d ha’ spoke to her if it had been me.”
“Nay, thou wouldn’t. It be too dreadful. Maybe she’d ha’ put a spell upon thee, and cursed thee like, and then thou’d ha’ pined away like Susan Harron. You marn’t speak to a witch when she be out o’ nights.”
“But dost think she do conjure up meal, and sugar, and bacon?”
“Why, could she get ’em if she didn’t?”
“I don’t believe about the white ghost.”
“Eh, but it be true enough,” said another. “Why, I used to see the old witch go o’ nights to dig about the Pool-house, and Mas’ Tom Croftly said, when I telled him, that it was to get burned bones to make spells with. I see her night after night, when the stones was smoking still.”
“Eh, she be witch enough,” said another. “See how she said that the Pool-house would be blown up some day, and never be builded again. I think she goes with one o’ they owls, as flits about o’ nights.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” said the woman with i the child; “and, if she do screech, see if it bean’t just like they call.”