“I be afeared, I say,” insisted Joe, feigning to tremble violently. He considered himself a wag, and had quite a following of the village good-for-noughts. “’Tis a witch, sartin sure ’tis a witch. Don’t ye go for to overlook I, Ann Kerley, for I tell ’ee I won’t a-bear it!” As the unconscious Ann drew nearer he squatted down behind the gate-post, loudly announcing that he was that frayed he was fair bibbering. Two or three of the others made believe to hide themselves too, pretending to shiver in imitation of their leader; and peering out like him between the bars of the gate. Such unusual proceedings could not fail to attract the old woman’s attention, and she paused in astonishment when she reached the spot. “Why, whatever be to do here?” she inquired. Joe uttered a kind of howl, and burrowed into the hedge. “She be overlookin’ of we,” he shouted. “The witch be overlookin’ of we.” “Don’t ye take no notice, my dear woman,” said Abel Bond, the man who had before spoken. “They be but a lot o’ silly bwoys a-talkin’ nonsense.” “Witch!” cried Joe. “Witch! witch!” echoed the rest. Ann looked from one to the other of the grinning faces that kept popping up over the rail, and disappearing again. “Whatever be they a-talkin’ on?” she gasped. “You be a witch, Ann,” cried Joe. “If you was served right you’d be ducked in the pond. E-es, that you would.” A small boy, fired with a desire to distinguish himself, picked up a clod of earth, and flung it at her with so true an aim that it grazed her cheek. “Take that, witch!” he cried. Joe, not to be outdone, threw another; pellets of earth and even small pebbles began to assail the old woman from the whole line. Abel Bond promptly came to the rescue, knocking the ringleaders’ heads together, and impartially distributing kicks and cuffs among the remainder. “Bad luck to the witch!” cried the irrepressible Joe, wriggling himself free; and the shout was taken up by the rest, even as they dodged the avenger. “Bad luck, yourself,” retorted poor Ann, trembling with wrath and alarm. “I’m sure nar’n o’ ye do deserve such very good luck arter insultin’ a poor wold ’ooman what never did ye no harm.” And she went on her way, grumbling and indignant. But when she had reached her own little house in the “dip,” and had walked up the flagged path between the phlox bushes and the lavender, and pussy had come rubbing against her legs in greeting, her anger cooled; and by the time her kettle had begun to sing over a bright wood fire, and she had laid out her modest repast of bread and watercress, she fairly laughed to herself. “Lard! they bwoys be simple!” she said. “They did call I a witch, along o’ my havin’ tied my handkercher over my head. Abel did give it to ’em, but I reckon he didn’t hurt ’em much. Bwoys! there, they do seem so hard as stoones very near. ‘Witch!’ says they. Well, that’s a notion.” She chuckled again, and set down a saucer of milk for the cat to lap.