“Then he was a chief among you?” “Yes, yes, a chief among us.—Sometimes we changed to bats and mice and harmless green frogs and hares and owls and other creatures—” “You did that when you were about to go to folk’s houses or fields to injure them?” “Yes, sirs, yes, yes—about to injure them. Then I was a dog, and Grace a little brown hare, and Dorothy a great frog, and Elspeth No-Wit a bat, and Marget Primrose—And we brewed poisons and charms in a great cauldron inside the burned cot, but at the fairy oak we made little figures out of river clay and stuck them full of pins. And there we had a feast—” “And this man?” “He sat on the green hillock beside Satan, and Satan had a black book. He gave it to him to read in while we were dancing and eating and daffing with the green men—and then the cock crew and we all flew home.” “There were many sabbats?” “Oh, yes, many!” “And this man was always among you?” “Yes, always among us.” “You say he read in a black book. But he likewise danced and wantoned as did the green men?” “Yes, yes! The pretty green men.” “Be careful now. With whom especially did he work this iniquity? Whom did he single out at each sabbat?” “Whom?—I do not know whom.... Sabbats? There are no such things. Who would leave home at night to wander round oak trees and burned cots?—Oh, home, home! Oh, my hut! I want to see my hut!” cried Mother Spuraway. “Oh, good gentlemen! Oh, Your Worships! Oh, Squire Carthew—Master Clement!—Won’t you let me go home? A poor old woman that never harmed a soul—” The Witch Judge’s voice came thundering down. “Her mind is wandering!—Thou wretched woman! Dost wish to be taken back to thy prison, and urged anew to confess?” But apparently Mother Spuraway did not wish that. She put up her two hands and said, “No, no!”—then, shrunken and shuddering, begged for more wine. They gave it to her.... “Now, whom did this sorcerer take in his arms? Was it the _maiden_ of your company?” “Yes, oh, yes! The maiden.” “The maiden of your company was Joan Heron?” “Yes, Joan Heron.” * * * * * The shafts of light were shortening, the earth wheeling toward sunset. Without clanged the bells of the great church—it was late afternoon. The people who had far to walk, though loath for the entertainment to cease, yet approved when the court rose for that day. Morning would not be long, and they purposed returning most early in order that good places might be got. The hall and the square without seethed and sounded with the dispersing crowd. Near at hand was the prison, its black mass facing the great square, the pillory in its shadow; beyond, slanting down to the river, the field where they raised the gallows. The prisoners when they were removed were taken, guarded, along by the wall, into the dark, gaping prison mouth.