The words came from an old woman, and were addressed to a cat. Neither of them was an attractive-looking object. The old woman was very old, having a face all over minute wrinkles, a pair of red eyes much sunken, and the semblance of a beard under her chin. The cat, a dark tabby, looked as if he had been in the wars, and had played his part valiantly. His coat, however, was less dilapidated than the old woman's garments, which seemed to be composed mainly of disconnected rags of all colours and shapes. She sat on a three-legged stool, beside a tiny hearth, on which burned a small fire of sticks. "Nobody cares for us, Gib: nobody! They call me a witch--the saints know why, save that I am old and poor. I never did hurt to any, and I've given good herb medicines to the women about; and if I do mutter a few outlandish words over them, what harm does it do? They mean nothing; and they make the foolish girls fancy I know something more than they do, and so I get a silver penny here, or a handful of eggs there, and we make shift to live." She spoke aloud, though in a low voice, as those often do who live alone; and the cat rose and rubbed himself against her, with a soft "Me-ew!" "Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou art alive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!" and she stroked her uncomely companion. "How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There'll be nobody coming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib-- it's the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what's that?" She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went to the door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, and said once more,--"Me-ew!" "Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn't wonder. Come in, then--there's nought to fear,"--and she opened the crazy door of her hut. "Well, can't you come in--must I lift you up? Why, what--Mary, Mother!" Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, the old woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door, and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been an infant's, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturated hair.