ppet since I've
been a witch but methinks this the finest of them all. 'Tis almost too
good for a scarecrow. And, by the by, I'll just fill a fresh pipe of
tobacco, and then take him out to the corn-patch."

While filling her pipe the old woman continued to gaze with almost
motherly affection at the figure in the corner. To say the truth,
whether it were chance or skill or downright witchcraft, there was
something wonderfully human in this ridiculous shape bedizened with its
tattered finery, and, as for the countenance, it appeared to shrivel
its yellow surface into a grin--a funny kind of expression betwixt
scorn and merriment, as if it understood itself to be a jest at
mankind. The more Mother Rigby looked, the better she was pleased.

"Dickon," cried she, sharply, "another coal for my pipe!"

Hardly had she spoken than, just as before, there was a red-glowing
coal on the top of the tobacco. She drew in a long whiff, and puffed it
forth again into the bar of morning sunshine which struggled through
the one dusty pane of her cottage window. Mother Rigby always liked to
flavor her pipe with a coal of fire from the particular chimney-corner
whence this had been brought. But where that chimney-corner might be or
who brought the coal from it--further than that the invisible messenger
seemed to respond to the name of Dickon--I cannot tell.

"That puppet yonder," thought Mother Rigby, still with her eyes fixed
on the scarecrow, "is too good a piece of work to stand all summer in a
corn-patch frightening away the crows and blackbirds. He's capable of
better things. Why, I've danced with a worse one when partners happened
to be scarce at our witch-meetings in the forests! What if I should let
him take his chance among the other men of straw and empty fellows who
go bustling about the world?"

The old witch took three or four more whiffs of her pipe and smiled.

"He'll meet plenty of his brethren at every street-corner," continued
she. "Well, I didn't mean to dabble in witchcraft to-day further than
the lighting of my pipe, but a witch I am and a witch I'm likely to be
and there's no use trying to shirk it. I'll make a man of my scarecrow,
were it only for the joke's sake."

While muttering these words Mother Rigby took the pipe from her own
mouth and thrust it into the crevice which represented the same feature
in the pumpkin-visage of the scarecrow.

"Puff, darling, puff!" she said. "Puff away, my fine fellow! Your li