est of whiffs,
to be sure; but it was followed by another and another, each more
decided than the preceding one.

"Puff away, my pet! puff away, my pretty one!" Mother Rigby kept
repeating, with her pleasantest smile. "It is the breath of life to ye;
and that you may take my word for."

Beyond all question the pipe was bewitched. There must have been a
spell either in the tobacco or in the fiercely-glowing coal that so
mysteriously burned on top of it, or in the pungently-aromatic smoke
which exhaled from the kindled weed. The figure, after a few doubtful
attempts at length blew forth a volley of smoke extending all the way
from the obscure corner into the bar of sunshine. There it eddied and
melted away among the motes of dust. It seemed a convulsive effort; for
the two or three next whiffs were fainter, although the coal still
glowed and threw a gleam over the scarecrow's visage. The old witch
clapped her skinny hands together, and smiled encouragingly upon her
handiwork. She saw that the charm worked well. The shrivelled, yellow
face, which heretofore had been no face at all, had already a thin,
fantastic haze, as it were of human likeness, shifting to and fro
across it; sometimes vanishing entirely, but growing more perceptible
than ever with the next whiff from the pipe. The whole figure, in like
manner, assumed a show of life, such as we impart to ill-defined shapes
among the clouds, and half deceive ourselves with the pastime of our
own fancy.

If we must needs pry closely into the matter, it may be doubted whether
there was any real change, after all, in the sordid, wornout worthless,
and ill-jointed substance of the scarecrow; but merely a spectral
illusion, and a cunning effect of light and shade so colored and
contrived as to delude the eyes of most men. The miracles of witchcraft
seem always to have had a very shallow subtlety; and, at least, if the
above explanation do not hit the truth of the process, I can suggest no
better.

"Well puffed, my pretty lad!" still cried old Mother Rigby. "Come,
another good stout whiff, and let it be with might and main. Puff for
thy life, I tell thee! Puff out of the very bottom of thy heart, if any
heart thou hast, or any bottom to it! Well done, again! Thou didst suck
in that mouthful as if for the pure love of it."

And then the witch beckoned to the scarecrow, throwing so much magnetic
potency into her gesture that it seemed as if it must inevitably be
obeyed, li