"There air a shanty," Mother Moll went on, "a child alone, and dead things layin' about and there air a—a—"
The two heads were now bent directly over the pot. Tess caught her breath in a sob. Was Daddy Skinner coming back to the shanty? The dragon blood sputtered, boiling higher and higher, over the heat of the fire, as the witch dug it upward from the bottom of the kettle.
"A prison cell and a man," ended Moll.
"Be there humps?" gasped Tess.
An acquiescent nod came from the gray-grizzled head. Tessibel wound her fingers about the arm-bone of the hag.
"Air there a cross with a Christ hangin' on it?"
The witch looked deeper into the dark mixture, her eyes squinting to narrow slits, and Tess continued:
"A hangin' Christ that air hurt, and be there thorns a-diggin' in Him?"
Deeper and deeper into the sizzling pot stared the faded blue eyes of the hag, the dark wide-spread ones of the girl following every movement of Ma Moll's hand.