ht of the gasping beaks that showed now and again
above the water, as though in terrified protest at this treachery of a
trusted and familiar element. Crefton gazed with something like horror
as a third duck poised itself on the bank and splashed in, to share the
fate of the other two. He felt almost relieved when the remainder of
the flock, taking tardy alarm from the commotion of the slowly drowning
bodies, drew themselves up with tense outstretched necks, and sidled
away from the scene of danger, quacking a deep note of disquietude as
they went. At the same moment Crefton became aware that he was not the
only human witness of the scene; a bent and withered old woman, whom he
recognized at once as Martha Pillamon, of sinister reputation, had
limped down the cottage path to the water's edge, and was gazing
fixedly at the gruesome whirligig of dying birds that went in horrible
procession round the pool. Presently her voice rang out in a shrill
note of quavering rage:

"'Tis Betsy Croot adone it, the old rat. I'll put a spell on her, see
if I don't."

Crefton slipped quietly away, uncertain whether or no the old woman had
noticed his presence. Even before she had proclaimed the guiltiness of
Betsy Croot, the latter's muttered incantation "Let un sink as swims"
had flashed uncomfortably across his mind. But it was the final threat
of a retaliatory spell which crowded his mind with misgiving to the
exclusion of all other thoughts or fancies. His reasoning powers could
no longer afford to dismiss these old-wives' threats as empty
bickerings. The household at Mowsle Barton lay under the displeasure
of a vindictive old woman who seemed able to materialize her personal
spites in a very practical fashion, and there was no saying what form
her revenge for three drowned ducks might not take. As a member of the
household Crefton might find himself involved in some general and
highly disagreeable visitation of Martha Pillamon's wrath. Of course
he knew that he was giving way to absurd fancies, but the behaviour of
the spirit-lamp kettle and the subsequent scene at the pond had
considerably unnerved him. And the vagueness of his alarm added to its
terrors; when once you have taken the Impossible into your calculations
its possibilities become practically limitless.

Crefton rose at his usual early hour the next morning, after one of the
least restful nights he had spent at the farm. His sharpened senses
quickly detecte