side to enjoy their agony. In fear and trembling did this poor
scarecrow puff. But its efforts, it must be acknowledged, served an
excellent purpose; for, with each successive whiff, the figure lost more
and more of its dizzy and perplexing tenuity, and seemed to take denser
substance. Its very garments, moreover, partook of the magical change, and
shone with the gloss of novelty, and glistened with the skilfully
embroidered gold that had long ago been rent away. And, half-revealed
among the smoke, a yellow visage bent its lustreless eyes on Mother Rigby.

At last, the old witch clenched her fist, and shook it at the figure. Not
that she was positively angry, but merely acting on the principle--perhaps
untrue, or not the only truth, though as high a one as Mother Rigby could
be expected to attain--that feeble and torpid natures, being incapable of
better inspiration, must be stirred up by fear. But here was the crisis.
Should she fail in what she now sought to effect, it was her ruthless
purpose to scatter the miserable simulacre into its original elements.

"Thou hast a man's aspect," said she, sternly. "Have also the echo and
mockery of a voice! I bid thee speak!"

The scarecrow gasped, struggled, and at length emitted a murmur, which was
so incorporated with its smoky breath that you could scarcely tell whether
it were indeed a voice, or only a whiff of tobacco. Some narrators of this
legend, hold the opinion, that Mother Rigby's conjurations, and the
fierceness of her will, had compelled a familiar spirit into the figure,
and that the voice was his.

"Mother," mumbled the poor stifled voice, "be not so awful with me! I
would fain speak; but being without wits, what can I say?"

"Thou canst speak, darling, canst thou?" cried Mother Rigby, relaxing her
grim countenance into a smile. "And what shalt thou say, quoth-a! Say,
indeed! Art thou of the brotherhood of the empty skull, and demandest of
me what thou shalt say? Thou shalt say a thousand things, and saying them
a thousand times over, thou shalt still have said nothing! Be not afraid,
I tell thee! When thou comest into the world (whither I purpose sending
thee, forthwith), thou shalt not lack the wherewithal to talk. Talk! Why,
thou shalt babble like a mill-stream, if thou wilt. Thou hast brains
enough for that, I trow!"

"At your service, mother," responded the figure.

"And that was well said, my pretty one!" answered Mother Rigby. "Then thou
spakest like