“Sure enough! Sure enough! I hed furgot how high ’twar,” and the stranger came up and peered with them over the river. “I ain’t seen this spot fur a good many seasons, folkses,” he said, his eyes fixed upon the cavities of the great cliffs across the bend. The cow was munching the half-withered grass by the roadside; the dogs laid their tired bones down among the fallen leaves and went to sleep; Rosamond on her throne among the household goods sat in the red after-glow of the sunset, all flushed and gilded, and swung one plump bare foot, protruding its pink dimples from beneath her blue checked homespun dress, and planted the other foot recklessly upon her discarded dappled calico sunbonnet which she suffered to lie among the quilts. “I tell ye what,” he added, still looking about at the darkling forests, at the swift current below the stern grim cliffs, at the continuous shifting shimmer reflected upon the upper arch of the hollows, “you-uns hev got mo’ resky ’n ever I be, ter bide ’roun’ this hyar spot when it begins ter be cleverly dark.” Both boys looked quickly at him. “Hain’t ye hearn what the old folks tells ’bout them hollows in the rock?” “Naw!” they exclaimed together. Skimpy’s eyes were distended. He felt a sudden chilly thrill. Ike, although as superstitious as Skimpy, experienced an incredulity before he even heard what this man had to say. “Waal,” resumed the stranger, and he lowered his voice, “the old folks ’low ez the witches lie thar in the daytime—ye know they never die—an’ the yearth grants ’em no other place in the day, so they takes ter the hollows in the rock. An’ thar they keeps comp’ny with sech harnts ez air minded fur harm ter humans—folks ez hev been hung an’ sech. An’ then in the evenin’-time they all swarms out tergether.” Skimpy glanced over his shoulder. It was doubtless his fancy, but the foolish boy thought he saw a black head thrust suddenly out of one of the hollows and as suddenly withdrawn. Now Skimpy was afraid of nothing that went about in the daytime, and indeed of nothing human and mortal. Witches, however, were, he felt, of doubtful destiny and origin, malevolent in character, and he had a vaguely frightful idea concerning their physiognomy and form. He revolted at the prospect of a closer acquaintance. “Kem on, Ike,” he said hastily, clutching his friend’s sleeve, “let’s go home.” And he peered fearfully about in the closing dusk. But Ike was steadily studying the stranger’s face, and the man looked at him though he addressed Skimpy. “Yes; it’s better ter be away from hyar betimes. They air special active in the full o’ the moon.” It had risen before the sun had set, and ever and again, from fleecy spaces amongst the ranks of the dark clouds, its yellow lustre streamed forth in myriads of fine fibrous lines slanting upon the tumultuous palpitating purple vapors massed about it. Sometimes a rift disclosed its full splendor as it rode supreme in the midst of the legions of the storm.