uting,
though they did not like to exhibit their fear to their companions. In
the first place, she lived completely alone in a hovel on the mountain
side, where, save heath, rock, and fern, there was not a single thing
on which the eye could rest; then, no one knew from whence she came,
and lights were frequently seen shining through her unglazed windows at
hours when spirits were supposed to be abroad; besides, more than once
a group of dark figures had been observed standing at twilight near
her door, and were always set down as ministering demons, awaiting the
pleasure of their mistress. Whenever a cow ceased giving milk--whenever
a lamb or pig got any disease and died--it was unanimously attributed to
the spite and venom of "Nanny the witch;" in fact, no human being could
be viewed, with more mingled feelings of fear and hate than she was
by all the inhabitants of the village. The boys still continued their
unfeeling attack; and she now was silent and gloomy, and did not menace
nor even mutter a curse, but her firmness had not left her, for her brow
was darkly bent, and her small black eyes emitted a flash of wild though
concentrated anger and revenge. Nor did those who passed from time to
time, by word or gesture discourage the young urchins from their attack;
sometimes they even stood looking complacently on, wondering at the
reckless courage of the boys, as they would not for worlds dare to rise
a hand against one so very powerful. Suddenly a louder whoop than any
they had yet given, told that they had just invented some new mode of
annoyance, and a short, hard-featured, red-headed boy, whom they called
Briney, ran whooping and hallooing towards them, bearing a large hairy
cap, which he triumphantly declared was full of rotten eggs--those
delicious affairs which smash so delightfully off an unprotected face,
and which used to be in great demand when pillories were in fashion.

"I must have first shot!" roared Briney, as he placed his burden down in
the midst, and seized one of the eggs it contained.

"Sorra a bit, Briney!" screamed another, striding before him--"I've a
betther aim nor you."

"You a betther aim!" scornfully retorted he; "thry id:" and his hand
was upraised in the act of pelting, but was as suddenly stopped and
withheld, as a pretty, tiny, fair-haired child, tripped forward from an
opposite stile; and perceiving what was going on, ran quickly to the old
woman, and laying down a pitcher that she b