ch a belief Fancy and Dick were
emphatically denied just now.

Elizabeth Endorfield had a repute among women which was in its nature
something between distinction and notoriety. It was founded on the
following items of character. She was shrewd and penetrating; her house
stood in a lonely place; she never went to church; she wore a red cloak;
she always retained her bonnet indoors and she had a pointed chin. Thus
far her attributes were distinctly Satanic; and those who looked no
further called her, in plain terms, a witch. But she was not gaunt, nor
ugly in the upper part of her face, nor particularly strange in manner;
so that, when her more intimate acquaintances spoke of her the term was
softened, and she became simply a Deep Body, who was as long-headed as
she was high. It may be stated that Elizabeth belonged to a class of
suspects who were gradually losing their mysterious characteristics under
the administration of the young vicar; though, during the long reign of
Mr. Grinham, the parish of Mellstock had proved extremely favourable to
the growth of witches.

While Fancy was revolving all this in her mind, and putting it to herself
whether it was worth while to tell her troubles to Elizabeth, and ask her
advice in getting out of them, the witch spoke.

"You be down--proper down," she said suddenly, dropping another potato
into the bucket.

Fancy took no notice.

"About your young man."

Fancy reddened. Elizabeth seemed to be watching her thoughts. Really,
one would almost think she must have the powers people ascribed to her.

"Father not in the humour for't, hey?" Another potato was finished and
flung in. "Ah, I know about it. Little birds tell me things that people
don't dream of my knowing."

Fancy was desperate about Dick, and here was a chance--O, such a wicked
chance--of getting help; and what was goodness beside love!

"I wish you'd tell me how to put him in the humour for it?" she said.

"That I could soon do," said the witch quietly.

"Really? O, do; anyhow--I don't care--so that it is done! How could I
do it, Mrs. Endorfield?"

"Nothing so mighty wonderful in it."

"Well, but how?"

"By witchery, of course!" said Elizabeth.

"No!" said Fancy.

"'Tis, I assure ye. Didn't you ever hear I was a witch?"

"Well," hesitated Fancy, "I have heard you called so."

"And you believed it?"

"I can't say that I did exactly believe it, for 'tis very horrible and
wicked; but, O, h