"Old Nimrod, the hunter, declared, (and he had spent his whole life in the mountains), that she was 'Queen of the Witches' and lived in the dark hollow of a great tree, far down in a deep rocky glen, where panthers and owls with wildcats and rattlesnakes dwell. Once when he saw her, he said she was leading a pack of fierce wolves along on the side of the mountain; and again she was holding a live panther close to her breast and rocking it to sleep in her arms. "At any rate, wherever she lived, so marvelous indeed was she skilled in the art of making candy, that her praises were sung by the children far and near; and strangest of all was the fact that, should you once eat a little bite of it, the sweetness and flavor it left in your mouth lasted for over a week, while its memory lasted a lifetime. Years might pass silently away and the children who had once tasted of 'Aunt Twaddles'' candy grow up and be married, yet they could never forget it, though they tried; while stranger still was the fact that a mere recollection was sure to bring tears to the eyes, nor could one cease crying until he went home and forgot about it. "In proof of this part of my tale let me say; I remember one day as I stood quite hidden from view amid the green alder-berry bushes that grew on the bank of the river, I beheld 'Aunt Twaddles' coming slowly down the edge of the stream. Her big bag was heavily laden with herbs, and, as the sun was quite high in the heavens, she paused in the shade of a tree near the foot of the steep path for a moment of rest before starting up the dangerous face of the cliff, for she needed all of her strength to go up. "Just as she had comfortably seated herself on a log, I noticed a little old man tottering across the long foot-bridge that led over from the village. He was hurrying along, rapping his feet and his staff on the boards as fast as his seventy-odd years would allow. His long, snow-white hair waved on the midsummer breeze, while the long flaps of his old-fashioned coat were dangling about his thin, wabbly legs in a manner too funny for anything. "As he drew near, I noticed that there were real tears in his eyes, and his withered old cheeks were much stained where they had fallen. Carefully I watched him as he drew near, and, with a feeling of deepest respect bowed low as he said in a tremulous, squeaky voice: "'Good morning, Aunt Twaddles. Would you mind giving an old, life-long friend another bit of your candy?' "In a second 'Aunt Twaddles' arose. "'No sir!' she cried, with a frown, 'I gave you plenty of it, Sir, when you were a good little boy. Tobacco seems to be your favorite candy now from the appearance of your stained white beard, so you get none of mine.'