ohn. "We know the old rhyme about

"'Chickamy, Chickamy Crany Crow,
Went to the well to wash her toe,
And when she came back her chicken was gone.'

That's the rhyme we say in the game, but we never heard the story."

"I can't tell it to so many," said Chickamy Crany Crow.

"Well, tell it to me, then," replied Mrs. Meadows coaxingly. "The rest
won't listen any more than they can help."

"Well," said Chickamy Crany Crow, "one time there was an old woman
that lived near a well. For a long time nobody thought she was a
witch, but after a while people began to have their suspicions. There
was a quagmire in the road right in front of the old woman's house,
and every traveler passing that way was sure to get mud on his feet.
No matter whether he was riding horseback or in a buggy, it was all
the same. He was sure to get his feet muddy. And the mud was so black,
and thick, and heavy, that he was anxious to get it off as soon as
possible.

"It happened, too, that every time a traveler crossed the quagmire,
after getting the black, heavy mud on his feet, the old woman would be
sitting in her door smoking a cob pipe.

"'Howdy, dearie!' she would say. 'Why, you're full of nasty mud! Go
to the well yonder, dearie, and wash it off.'

"The traveler would leave his buggy and horse, or his horse and
saddle, or his bundle at the old witch's door, and go to the well to
wash his feet. When he came back everything would be gone,--witch,
horse, buggy, saddle, or bundle. The quagmire would be dried up, and
the road itself would seem to be a different road. Sometimes it would
be days and days before the traveler could find his way to the place
where he started.

"One day a traveler came along the road in a fine carriage. With him
he had a beautiful little girl with long golden hair. She had eyes as
blue and as clear as the water in the spring when the sunshine slants
through, and her skin was as white as milk. When the carriage had
crossed the quagmire, the traveler found that his feet were covered
with the black, heavy mud. He couldn't imagine how it had happened.
There was no hole in the bottom of the carriage, the door was shut
tight, and there was no way for the mud to get in. He said to the
little girl:--

"'Daughter, are your feet muddy?'

"'Not a bit, father.'

"When the carriage crossed the quagmire, there sat the old woman in
the door.

"'Howdy, dearie!' says she. 'And how did you get the nasty mud on yo