“Of course I didn’t believe that; but she certainly looked rather weird, standing there among the trees wearing a cloak with a pointed hood, such as witches always wear in story-books, with her skirt, that was gathered into a sort of bag in front, full of roots and herbs. “Do you know, Miss Jule, of whom Mr. Hugh bought this land? Somehow, I didn’t think that it belonged to anybody.” “He bought it from the town,” answered Miss Jule, slowly. She was watching her line with interest, for the bobber would now and then give a dive and then whirl about. “Years ago the place belonged to a farmer, a Scotchman of the thrifty old stock who could make a living anywhere; and I’ve heard my father say that it was a fine old farm, and yielded a good income when the town had only two market days a week--Wednesday and Saturday --and depended upon the produce from the neighbourhood. When this farmer died, his son, who was a sailor, came ashore, married a pretty cousin from over seas against her people’s wish, and tried to work the farm. But he was a born rover, and the easy days for farming among these rocky hills had passed. In a few years he went to sea once more, and was never heard of again. Then his wife struggled along with her little boy, and for some time made a fair living from selling milk and poultry, renting pasture, working the fields on shares, and such like, hoping to keep things together until her boy could take charge. Of course he was lonely, and as he grew up craved companionship, and finally went off, I think to a cousin who did something in Australia. “The mother stayed on alone, and for a while seemed to do well. I fancy the son sent her money. But the old house burned down, and she grew more and more crabbed, and of late years has had nothing to do with her neighbours, and would let no one into her house, she having moved into a small cottage on the north road when the farmhouse was burned. Different people have tried to help her; but she is proud and unmanageable, they say. The town finally took the farm for unpaid taxes and--ah! I’ve lost that fish, and it was a good one, too,” ejaculated Miss Jule, stopping her story as the line tautened and hung loose again. “One thing, I’m quite sure by the way the small fish dodge about that there are some big pickerel here that keep them moving, and we shall not catch any pan fish for luncheon.” “But, Miss Jule, what became of the old woman when her land was sold, and why did they call her a witch?” asked Anne, who was much interested. “She will be taken care of at the town farm, and it’s not such a bad place, either. As to the name of Herb Witch, I think people gave it to her because she puzzled them by going about the woods at all times of day and night and gathering plants they thought only weeds. Then she always minded her own business, and never complained, which always aggravates people who do not do likewise.”