here ever was," cried the
corroborative Mr. Gammon. "The trouble is they ain't hunted out and
brought to book for their infernal actions. There's hundreds and
hundreds of folks goin' through this life pestered all the time with
trouble that's made for 'em by a witch, and they don't know what's
the matter with 'em. But they can't fool me. I know witches when I
see 'em. And when she turns herself into a cat and--"

"Does _what_?" demanded the Cap'n, testily.

"Why, it wa'n't more'n three nights ago that I heard her yowlin' away
in my barn chamber, and there she was, turned into a cat most as big
as a ca'f, and I throwed an iron kittle at her and she come right
through the bottom of it like it was a paper hoop. There, now! What
have you got to say to that?"

"That you are about as handy a liar as I ever had stand up in front
of me," returned the Cap'n, with animation. He whirled on Hiram and
gesticulated at the books. "Do you mean to tell me that you're
standin' in with him on any such jing-bedoozled, blame' foolishness
as this? I took you to be man-grown."

"It's always easy enough to r'ar up in this world and blart that
things ain't so," snapped Hiram, with some heat. "Fools do that thing
right along. I don't want you to be that kind. Live and learn."

"Witches or no witches, cyclopedy or no cyclopedy, what I want to
know is, do you want to have it passed round this community that the
two of us set here--men that have been round this world as much as
we have--and heard a man tell a cat-and-kittle story like that, and
lapped it down? They'll be here sellin' us counterfeit money and gold
bricks next."

Hiram blinked a little doubtfully at Mr. Gammon, and his rope and
gander, and probably, under ordinary circumstances, would have
flouted that gentleman. But the authority of the encyclopedia gave
his naturally disputatious nature a stimulus not to be resisted.
Beating the page with the back of his hand, he assembled his proof
that there had been witches, that there are witches, and that there
will be more witches in the future. And he wound up by declaring that
Mr. Gammon probably knew what he was talking about--a statement that
Mr. Gammon indorsed with a spirited tale of how his ox-chains had
been turned into mighty serpents in his dooryard, and had thrashed
around there all night to his unutterable distress and alarm. Again
he demanded investigation of his case, and protection by the
authorities.

In this appeal