“Oh, give it to her!” cried Wise Olaf. “Give it her, and let us be on!” Cautioning the children to play on the bank until their return, they formed in a group at the base of the hill, where the path led up to Witch Mary’s hut. Black Eric cracked his whip. The men picked up long sticks, all except Silent Sven. Viking cruelty shone in their faces. The women would have clung to their arms, but the men shook them off and started ahead, Black Eric leading. It was a tangled path, knotted across by roots of trees and shrubs. The branches of the trees interlaced above, forming a shady arch. All along, beside the way, slender spires of blue vervain lifted their purple blossoms to the random sun. “See,” said Kaisa, awed by the luxuriant growth. “See how thick it is. And witches have always used it in their caldrons. No wonder it grows here!” “But the vervain,” protested Olga, “the vervain grew on Mount Calvary, and it has the power of healing.” “You will say next, I suppose,” Kaisa retorted, “that it has been watered by the old witch’s tears!” “Come on, you women!” called Wise Olaf. “Do not lag behind!” The women became silent, not stopping again to take note of the flowers beside the way. They panted after the men, who were climbing rapidly. “Can you see the hut?” called Kaisa, pausing to get her breath. “No, the trees have grown up about it. And don’t _talk_--she’ll hear us.” “I’d no idea it was such a hard hill.” Kaisa’s face was red; her eyes were wildly excited. “Do you think they will kill her?” whispered Olga. “Even Sven looked fierce.” “‘Twould serve her right.” As they neared the top the women too picked up stout sticks. “Just to help us climb,” suggested one, as if ashamed. “I want no stick,” said Olga, but she stopped for a moment with the others. “Oh, look! You can see the river from here--just the place, I believe, where the girl was drowned!” The men called them again, and by the time they had caught up, the top of the hill was reached. They paused a moment at the edge of the clearing. Young trees had grown so high that they overshadowed the hut. The wind rattled through the leaves in hollow whispers. They saw the hut at last, sagging between the branches. The stovepipe had fallen, but still clung to the rotted shingles. The one window overlooking the river was broken and had not been repaired. “It was a poor hut, at best,” said the old man. “Let us not be too hard on her.” “Ho!” blustered Eric, swinging around to face the speaker savagely. “You are already weakening, are you?” A debating silence followed, then the old man decided. “No, she must be driven out.” They made their difficult way through tangled weeds and shrubs to the door, which faced the woods behind. “You rap,” said Black Eric. “One of you, any one.” “Not I.” Wise Olaf shook his head. The others shrank back. “What about _you_?” Silent Sven again challenged the leader. “You--you are afraid to!”