In one place yawned a great rift, or cavern, as if the rocks had been violently twisted and wrenched apart, and a mighty bowlder lodging in the rift had roofed it over, making a cavern of most seductive darkness and depth. This was the Devil's Den; and after we had picked our pail full of berries, we sat down there to rest. “Sam, do you suppose the Devil ever was here?” said I. “What do they call this his den for?” “Massy, child! that 'are was in old witch times. There used to be witch meetins' held here, and awful doins'; they used to have witch sabba' days and witch sacraments, and sell their souls to the old boy.” “What should they want to do that for?” “Wal, sure enough; what was it for? I can't make out that the Devil ever gin 'em any thing, any on 'em. They warn't no richer, nor didn't get no more'n this world than the rest; and they was took and hung; and then ef they went to torment after that, they hed a pretty bad bargain on't, I say.” “Well, people don't do such things any more, do they?” said I. “No,” said Sam. “Since the gret fuss and row-de-dow about it, it's kind o' died out; but there's those, I s'pose, that hez dealins' with the old boy. Folks du say that old Ketury was a witch, and that, ef't ben in old times, she'd a hed her neck stretched; but she lived and died in peace.” “But do you think,” said I, now proposing the question that lay nearest my heart, “that the Devil can hurt us?” “That depends consid'able on how you take him,” said Sam. “Ye see, come to a straight out-an'-out fight with him, he 'll git the better on yer.” “But,” said I, “Christian did fight Apollyon, and got him down too.” I had no more doubt in those days that this was an historic fact than I had of the existence of Romulus and Remus and the wolf. “Wal, that 'ere warn't jest like real things: they say that 'ere's an allegory. But I 'll tell ye how old Sarah Bunganuck fit the Devil, when he 'peared to her. Ye see, old Sarah she was one of the converted Injuns, and a good old critter she was too; worked hard, and got her livin' honest. She made baskets, and she made brooms, and she used to pick young wintergreen and tie it up in bunches, and dig sassafras and ginsing to make beer; and she got her a little bit o' land, right alongside o' Old Black Hoss John's white-birch wood-lot.