“Oh, the sorcerer es lives on the ole wood-road. My brother who drives the stage was tellin’ me ’bout it. He sets spirits turnin’ tables, tellin’ the future, an’ nobody’ll go past his house arter dark.”
“Ah, but the elders called on him last week,” said the deacon. “Of course we couldn’t hev him in the vestry. An’ he explained to the committee thet sperrits or devils ain’t got nuthin’ to do with it.”
“Lan’ sakes! An’ you believed him?”
“Waal, my motto is allus believe your fellow-critters. An evil mind sees a lookin’-glass everyways, hey? He jest showed us how to make a table turn and answer questions. He says it’s no more wonderful than turnin’ a grindstone.”
“I guess he’s pulled the wool over the eyes o’ the Church,” said Mrs. Cattermole, sceptically.
“Not hardly! He turned thet thar table in broad daylight with the Bible open upon it, to show thet Satan didn’t hev a look in.”
“The Bible on it! ’Pears to me terrible ongodly.”
“Ongodly! Why, you an’ me kin do it—two pillars o’ the Church! I guess the Evil One couldn’t come nigh us, hey?”
“I dunno es it would turn if you an’ me was to do it.”
“You bet! It told me ’bout the future world, an’ my poor Susan’s Christian name, an’ how much to ast for my upland hay.”