Apart from her hallucination and its evil influences, she was a good and self-respecting woman. The simple cottage where she lived was visited for many years after her death, which occurred in 1813, by collectors of traditions and folk-lore, and by nearly all strangers who made a pilgrimage to Lynn. Like Lord Dexter, this woman seems to have been mildly insane. The two seemed to be confidential friends, and Dexter used to ride over to Lynn to consult with her. He was reputed to have gained a part of his wealth by the aid of her divining tea-cups. Blingo soon shod the horse. The imaginary “lord” and his plebeian poet entered the coach. The driver mounted his box, and the footman his post. There was a crack of the whip, a rush of the startled black horses, and a great cloud of dust rose again, as the grotesque vehicle wheeled away under the glimmering autumn leaves, in the direction of the blue capes of Lynn. As it passed from the view of the humble smithy, Blingo the blacksmith and Tommy Topp sat down beside each other in the open door, and discussed the import of this curious event. The effect of this harlequinade on the mind of the old blacksmith and the boy was to make them ill at ease in their simple stations of life. “This is a strange world,” said Blingo,—“a very strange, strange world. Look at Timothy Dexter. He got rich by accident, and thinks he’s a lord. Here I have to work hard all day in order to live, and pay my honest debts, and then have nothing left for old age. That man never worked as I work a day in his life. Now he’s going to see that lying old fortune-teller. It’s all wrong, yet see how he prospers! I declare I lose faith in everything.” The sun was sinking over the autumn hills in mingled lustres of vermilion and gold. The shadows were darkening in the woods and orchards. Everywhere the crickets were chirping in the fading grasses, and their lonesome notes only added to the honest blacksmith’s dissatisfaction. There are times when even a true heart becomes discouraged. “Blingo!” said Tommy, “I’m thinkin’ that _we_ might be rich.” “Are you? I should like to know how?” “We might get Moll Pitcher to tell our fortunes, as well as Lord Dexter. I have been told something that I believe is true.” “What’s that?” “I’ve been told that there is a pot of gold hidden in the High Rock of Lynn.” “Who told you _that_?” “Grandma Pennypacker.” There was a thoughtful silence. “Well, what if there is?” continued Blingo.