"That will be according to your own discretion!" "My dear parson," said Old Hurricane, going to the minister, "would you be so good as to retire?" "There is a fire in the woodshed, master," said Hat, leading the way. "Now, my good soul, now! You want first to be put upon your oath?" "Yes, sir." The old man drew from his great-coat pocket a miniature copy of the Scriptures, and with the usual formalities administered the oath. "Now, then, my good soul, begin--'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,' you know. But first, your name?" "Is it possible you don't know me, master?" "Not I, in faith." "For the love of heaven, look at me, and try to recollect me, sir! It is necessary some one in authority should be able to know me," said the woman, raising her haggard eyes to the face of her visitor. The old man adjusted his spectacles and gave her a scrutinizing look, exclaiming at intervals: "Lord bless my soul, it is! it ain't! it must! it can't be! Granny Grewell, the--the--the--midwife that disappeared from here some twelve or thirteen years ago!" "Yes, master, I am Nancy Grewell, the ladies' nurse, who vanished from sight so mysteriously some thirteen years ago," replied the woman. "Heaven help our hearts! And for what crime was it you ran away? Come--make a clean breast of it, woman! You have nothing to fear in doing so, for you are past the arm of earthly law now!" "I know it, master." "And the best way to prepare to meet the Divine Judge is to make all the reparation that you can by a full confession!" "I know it, sir--if I had committed a crime; but I have committed no crime; neither did I run away." "What? what? what? What was it, then? Remember, witness, you are on your oath." "I know that, sir, and I will tell the truth; but it must be in my own way." At this moment a violent blast of wind and hail roared down the mountain side and rattled against the walls, shaking the witch's hut, as if it would have shaken it about their ears. It was a proper overture to the tale that was about to be told. Conversation was impossible until the storm raved past and was heard dying in deep, reverberating echoes from the depths of the Devil's Punch Bowl. "It is some thirteen years ago," began Granny Grewell, "upon just such a night of storm as this, that I was mounted on my old mule Molly, with my saddlebags full of dried yarbs and 'stilled waters and sich, as I allus carried when I was out 'tendin' on the sick. I was on my way a-going to see a lady as I was sent for to 'tend.