"She won't burn." "Nay," said another, "it be very terrifying; but she'll be dead 'fore they burn her, if they don't be smart. Think of it, though: Mother Goodhugh going to be burned for a witch." "I don't quite like the old woman to be burnt. How wist she looks!" said the young mother, as she stared at the preparations. "Hold thy tongue, do," said another; "the country be better without her." "Ay, it was time something was done now the holy father's gone, and Parson Peasegood won't do naught to exorcise the witch." "You went to him, didn't a?" "Ay, I went to him and told him o' Mother Goodhugh's doings, and how she put a spell on our cow, and evil-wished neighbour Lewin's boy." "What did he say?" "Laughed at me and puffed smoke in my face. `Go to,' says he, `for a fool. Thou must get some one to sew some more buttons on thee. Mother Goodhugh be no witch.'" "Did he say that?" "Ay, that he did, and when Betsy Goodsell saw the white sperrit o' Sweet Mace, in the wood near the high rocks and went and asked parson to lay it, he got in such a rage that Betsy had to go." "She should ha' took him an offering and then he would." "She did. She took him a two-pound lump o' the fresh butter from her cow after putting a lump o' salt i' the churn to keep out the witch, and told him what she wanted done, and he ups with the butter and throws it at her, and it stuck on the door-post till Mistress Hilberry come and took it off; and when she heard what was wanted she said Parson ought to do it, and then he called her a silly fool." "What did she want Parson to do?" "To do, why, to lay the spirit that kept walking uneasily night after night. Ay, and it keeps walking now, as a dozen Roehurst folk could tell, only they won't speak about it for fear of doing themselves ill." "What did Betsy want him to do?" "Why, just go and cut a piece o' turf off her grave about a hand-breadth long and a hand-breadth wide, and lay it on the holy table in the church, and after that be done the spirit rests and doesn't trouble people any more." "He might ha' done that," said the young mother. "I should say it would be wise to get a bit off Mother Goodhugh's grave by-and-by to keep her from walking." "Eh, but you'll never find grass grow upon her grave, lass. It will always be black and scathed like." "Nay, they'll never bury her in no grave. She'll be scattered in dust and ashes to the four winds o' heaven." "Or the other place," said one of the women, sententiously, and then they all watched the preparations. "Hush! Look!" cried the young mother in an excited whisper; and a strange murmur ran through the crowd as, at a sign from Sir Thomas, whose florid face was blanched, and blotched with livid patches, a man ran into the cottage with a rough torch. Master Peasegood saw that the end had come, and, pressing against the pile of faggots which reached up round the victim's neck, he reached over one hand and touched her cheek.