Here she went across the yard to the hedge dividing her master’s premises from those of Jemmy Boynton, thrust her head through the lilacs yet in full bloom—the white linen border of her cap turned back, setting off to great advantage her ebony complexion—and called out, “Dinah!”—then louder and sharper, “Dinah!”—no Dinah appeared. “What the old gallows ails the gal, that I must split my throat a screeching arter her!” then raising her voice to the utmost pitch—“Di-i-ina-ah!” Here Dinah’s head appeared out of a little square window in the out-house. “What’s wanting, Aunt Vi’let?” “What’s wanting?—the frying-pan’s wanting—what d’ye think?” “Laud ’a’massy, Aunt Vi’let, I forgot all about it; we had sich a rumpus here yesterday.” “Rumpus! yes, I ’spect you _had_ a rumpus! I only wonder the house wa’nt blowed away. Them as lives with witches must ’spect to ride in the air some time or ’nother.” “Hush! Aunt Vi’let,” cried Dinah, in a voice somewhat lower. Here she ran across the yard to the place of rendezvous, frying-pan in hand, and added, in a whisper, “I reckon she’s got sharp ears; I wonders sometimes how our most privatest conversations gets to her hearing.” “Has she got her cloak back?” asked Vi’let. “No, she han’t got it yet; but I ’spect she’ll get it to-day; the wind blowed it over to South fields, and it got stuck in the top of a tree. They had sich a time about it last night, I thought they’d raise the neighbors, case Tom Duckenfield wouldn’t go and look arter it, arter he’d rung the bell for nine. She ’clared she’d put him in jail for the one-and-sixpence he owed her for milk; and Tom said she’d better take care, or he’d let out about the bran, he see her steal, that old Swasey begged for his pig, to feed her cow.” “The bran from old Swasey’s pig!” exclaimed Vi’let in indignation; “I guess she needn’t steal much bran! the cow gets all her living out of our barn. She gets in when the gate is shut fast! the old witch knows how. Pete’ says he see her lift up the latch with her horns; now, what nat’ral cow, that’s _raly_ a cow, would have sense to do that, I want to know! Oh, I see’d well enough what she raly was, one night last winter.” “Why, what was it?” asked Dinah, with ears and eyes wide open for the marvelous. “Why it was just afore nine o’clock, and I heard old Tabby miaow terribly at the kitchen-door. I opened it, and in she flew, looking as if she was skeared to pieces! her tail was as big as that,” (doubling up her fist.) “So I looks out to see what it was as frightened her so, when, a standing inside the barn-door, I see’d—as true as you stand there—I see’d a woman, all in white, without n’ary head! it had a handkercher in its hand, and it kept a waving it back’ards and for’ards—” “I should ha’ swounded away dead,” said Dinah.