Soon we found Uncle Eb with my boy David upon his knees on the veranda, and he was telling him the tale of The Witch's Bridle, which I had heard in my childhood, and we stood and listened. It was a relic of old Yankee folk-lore and immensely true. “Once there was a young man who lived with his father an' mother in a little village,” the story went. “An' there was a house in the village where a witch lived, an' it had a beautiful door. An' his mother told him that he must keep away from that house; but one night it looked so splendid that he opened the door an' went in, an' the witch spied him an' come and 8019 looked into his face an' he thought she was beautiful. An' she ast him to put on her bridle, but he said no. An' the ol' witch follered behind him as careful as a cat after a bird, an' what do ye s'pose she done?—waited until he was sound asleep an' put her bridle on him—that's what she done. Now, ye see, when a witch puts her bridle on any one it always turns him into a hoss, an' a witch's hoss can go right thro' the side of a house without makin' a hole in it, an' can jump over trees an' hills an' travel like the wind. She rode him high an' low, an' brought him back hum jest before daylight an' took off the bridle an' that changed him into a boy again. An' when he woke up he was tired out an' all of a tremble. An' ev'ry night the ol' witch come for him an' put on her bridle an' 8020 turned him into a hoss, an' rode him all over the hills an' valleys until he was about done fer, an' then fetched him back, an' ev'ry morning when he woke up he was a boy ag'in, an' was lame an' sore an' had a headache an' was sorry that he ever see the witch. He grew poor an' spindlin', an' he'd lay awake night after night to keep the witch away. But o' course he had to go to sleep some time, an' the minute he forgot himself she'd slip in an' put on the bridle an' away they'd go. An' he grew poorer an' poorer an' less an' less like a boy, an' more an' more like an animal. By an' by, he got used to bein' a hoss an' loved to go up in the air an' hadn't any more heart in him than my ol' mare. “Wal, one night, what d'ye s'pose happened? The witch come an' rode 8021 him away, an' when she got back, by an' by, an' took off his bridle, he never changed a hair, but stayed a hoss. Why? 'Cause the boy in him was all wore out an' dead as a door-nail. Fact is, hosses can stan' more'n men. An' the witch grew sick o' him, an' said she wanted a better hoss, an' give him a cut an' turned him loose in the sky. An' ev'ry night fer years he galloped over the house-tops as if he was tryin' to find suthin, an' when I went to bed I used to hear him whinny way up in the dark, an' it sounded suthin' like this:” Here he whinnied like the witch's horse, and went on: “Keep on the ground, Dave, an' mind yer elders, 'cause a boy that has his own head is apt to get it caught in the witch's bridle. Same way with a 8022