They reached the cottage where Susan's widowed mother lived.

Susan was not there. She was gone to the parochial school.

Margaret was disappointed, and the poor woman saw it, and began

to make a kind of apology.

'Oh! it is quite right,' said Margaret. 'I am very glad to hear

it. I might have thought of it. Only she used to stop at home

with you.' 'Yes, she did; and I miss her sadly. I used to teach her what

little I knew at nights. It were not much to be sure. But she

were getting such a handy girl, that I miss her sore. But she's a

deal above me in learning now.' And the mother sighed.

'I'm all wrong,' growled Mr. Bell. 'Don't mind what I say. I'm a

hundred years behind the world. But I should say, that the child

was getting a better and simpler, and more natural education

stopping at home, and helping her mother, and learning to read a

chapter in the New Testament every night by her side, than from

all the schooling under the sun.' Margaret did not want to encourage him to go on by replying to

him, and so prolonging the discussion before the mother. So she

turned to her and asked, 'How is old Betty Barnes?' 'I don't know,' said the woman rather shortly. 'We'se not

friends.' 'Why not?' asked Margaret, who had formerly been the peacemaker

of the village.

'She stole my cat.' 'Did she know it was yours?' 'I don't know. I reckon not.' 'Well! could not you get it back again when you told her it was

yours?' 'No! for she'd burnt it.' 'Burnt it!' exclaimed both Margaret and Mr. Bell.

'Roasted it!' explained the woman.

It was no explanation. By dint of questioning, Margaret extracted

from her the horrible fact that Betty Barnes, having been induced

by a gypsy fortune-teller to lend the latter her husband's Sunday

clothes, on promise of having them faithfully returned on the

Saturday night before Goodman Barnes should have missed them,

became alarmed by their non-appearance, and her consequent dread

of her husband's anger, and as, according to one of the savage

country superstitions, the cries of a cat, in the agonies of

being boiled or roasted alive, compelled (as it were) the powers

of darkness to fulfil the wishes of the executioner, resort had

been had to the charm. The poor woman evidently believed in its

efficacy; her only feeling was indignation that her cat had been

chosen out from all others for a sacrifice. Margaret listened in

horror; and endeavoured in vain to enlighten the woman's mind;

but she was obliged to give it up in despair. Step by step she

got the woman to admit certain facts, of which the logical

connexion and sequence was perfectly clear to Margaret; but at

the end, the bewildered woman simply repeated her first

assertion, namely, that 'it were very cruel for sure, and she

should not like to do it; but that there were nothing like it for

giving a person what they wished for; she had heard it all her

life; but it were very cruel for all that.' Margaret gave it up

in despair, and walked away sick at heart.




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