God find it so hard to forgive me?"
Then again she starts off in her wild song.

Once more she is silent, and listens to some noises outside. She seems
sorely distressed. Again and again she starts. The noises increase,
children's feet and voices are heard around the hut, and--is it
possible?--a stone comes whizzing through the glassless window across
the darkened space, and a heavy thump announces that it has found a
destination; another, and another follows--some come in sideways, and
one striking the window bar glances off and reaches the hearth, whence
it drives before it a lighted stick which sends out sparks on every side
and causes a faint gleam of light in the hitherto gloomy room. Shouts
of laughter accompany each stone; but the sun has set, the sonorous bell
of the distant church gives notice, too, that evening has arrived. The
children's ears catch the sound. "Away, away! Home, home!" they shout,
as they run off from the solitary hut. Out of its window at that moment
a bright light shone forth, but they did not heed it as they chased each
other down the steep mountain-side, crying out, "Good-night, old witch.
We'll stone you again, old Polly Forty Rags. If we hear any more of
your witcheries we'll make you wish you'd kept out of this country.
Good-night, and bad luck to you, Old Mog." Notwithstanding the words
they used, there was terror in the voices of most of the children. Some
of them shouted, "She's coming after us! The witch is coming after us!
She's mounting her broom, and out she'll ride. Run--run--run!" On this
the urchins shrieked louder, and ran faster and faster down the slope.
One boy, more daring than the rest, and superior in appearance to most
of them, lingered behind, and finding a stone remaining in his pocket of
those with which he had, like his companions, provided himself to attack
the old woman, he turned round once more, and flung it in the direction
of the hut, saying, as he did so, "That's my parting gift, old Moggy.
Ha, ha! I see the old lady is going to have a feast tonight, for she
has lighted up her banqueting-hall. But I would rather not be one of
the guests, though." Pleased with what he considered his own wit, he
shouted out again, and ran after his idle companions, a prolonged cry
which came from the hut hastening his steps, for he was in no degree
free from the ignorant superstition of the rest of the urchin troop.

CHAPTER THREE.

A good log was burnin