The belief in witches, ghosts and supernatural visitants of all kinds was a common one and it was not discouraged by educated people who hoped, probably, to reconcile the ignorant to the towns by allowing terrifying superstitions of the country to remain in circulation. But Annie’s gypsy strain kept her immune from any such fears: her ancestors had traded in superstition. “And,” he went on seriously, “when the Reformers tried to meet on Cronkey-shaw Moor, it’s a known fact that there were warlocks seen.” What was seen was a body of men grotesquely decked in the semblance of the popular notion of a wizard, with phosphorescent faces and so on. Somebody was using a better way to scotch Reform than soldiers, but the trick was soon exposed and meetings and drillings on the moors were phenomena of the time. “You make too much o’ trouble o’ all sorts, John,” she said. “I canna keep fro’ thinking, Annie,” he apologized. “I’m thinking now.” “Aye, of old wives’ tales,” she mocked. “No. I’m thinking of my grandfer and of Hepplestall’s factory.” “I’m in the air,” she said. “That’s good enough for me.” She was slightly jealous of John, who had known his grandfather. Very soundly established people had known two grandfathers: John had known one, but Annie none. However, he was not to be prevented from speaking his thought. “I’ve heard my grandfer tell o’ times that were easier than these. He had a factory o’ his own--what they called a factory them days. Baby to Hepplestall’s it were. I’ll show you its ruin down yonder by the stream some day. He’s dead now, is grandfer. Sounds wonder-ful to hear me talk of a grandfer wi’ a factory o’ his own.” “Fine lot of good to thee now, my lad. I never had no grandfer that I heard on, but I don’t see that it makes any difference atween thee and me to-day.” “I’m none boasting, Annie,” he said. “I’m nobbut looking back to the times that used to be. Summat’s come o’er life sin’ then, summat that’s like a great big cloud, on a summer’s day.”