“I used to be afraid of runaways,” said Lillian one day, “but I’m not afraid now, ’cause Daddy Jake is a runaway.” Lillian was only six years old, but she had her own way of looking at things.
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Lucien, who was nine, and very robust for his age; “I never was afraid of runaways. I know mighty well they wouldn’t hurt me. There was old Uncle Fed; he was a runaway when Papa bought him. Would he hurt anybody?”
“But there might be some bad ones,” said Lillian, “and you know Lucinda says Uncle Fed is a real, sure-enough witch.”
“Lucinda!” exclaimed Lucien, scornfully. “What does Lucinda know about witches? If one was to be seen she wouldn’t stick her head out of the door to see it. She’d be scared to death.”
“Yes, and so would anybody,” said Lillian, with an air of conviction. “I know I would.”
“Well, of course,—a little girl,” explained Lucien. “Any little girl would be afraid of a witch, but a great big double-fisted woman like Lucinda ought to be ashamed of herself to be afraid of witches, and that, too, when everybody knows there aren’t any witches at all, except in the stories.”
“Well, I heard Daddy Jake telling about a witch that turned herself into a black cat, and then into a big black wolf,” said Lillian.
“Oh, that was in old times,” said Lucien, “when the animals used to talk and go on like people. But you never heard Daddy Jake say he saw a witch,—now, did you?”
“No,” said Lillian, somewhat doubtfully; “but I heard him talking about them. I hope no witch will catch Daddy Jake.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Lucien. “Daddy Jake carried his rabbit-foot with him, and you know no witch can bother him as long as he has his rabbit-foot.”