She took the crank from him and began laboriously to turn it. "Down in Maine where I came from I used to turn for the men when they ground their scythes—just for fun."
"Yes, fun for them that seed you do it, I reckon. Maine—Maine. That whar they uster burn witches?"
"Oh, no, they never burned any witches in Maine."
"Why, couldn't they ketch 'em?"
"Oh, they never burned any witches in this country, Uncle Jasper. That's all a fable."
The old man pondered as if searching in his mind for a forgotten name. "But," said he, "they uster burn them fellers—fellers that done sorter this way," and he began to shake his shoulders.
"Oh, you mean Quakers."
"Yes, Quakers."
"Yes, they hanged Quakers."