countenances evinced resistance of such a stubborn character that Edward at length volunteered to go with them.  Then it was all right, and presently returned the most laughable procession that was ever seen—­Wash with his arms at right angles, bearing his grains of moulding grain on a burdock leaf which he held at as great a distance as the size of the leaf and the length of his arms would admit, his neck craned out and his eyes so glued to the uncanny corn that he stumbled over every stick and stone that lay in his path; Mercy next, with ludicrous solemnity, bearing her unsightly burden on the end of a corn-stalk; Apollo last, his weasel’s paw and muskrat’s tail deposited in the toe of an old brogan which he had found by the roadside, brown and wrinkled and stiff, with a hole in the side and the ears curled back, and which he had hung by the heel to a long crooked stick.  On they came, the crowd around them following at irregular distances, surging back and forth, advancing or retreating as they were urged by curiosity or repelled by fear.

It was now getting dark, so Dr. Rutherford, having had the table removed, brought forth three large plates filled with different colored powders.  On one he placed Mercy’s frog, on another Wash’s corn, and on the third the muskrat’s tail and weasel’s paw taken from Apollo’s shoe.  Then we all waited in silence while with his hands behind him he strode solemnly back and forth in front of the three plates.  At length the bees had ceased to hum; the cattle had come home of themselves, and could be heard lowing in the distance; the many shadows had deepened into one; twilight had faded and darkness come.  Then he stood still:  “I am the great Dr. Rutherford, the witch-doctor of Boston!  I will now set fire to these witch’s eggs, and if they burn the flames will scorch her.  She will scream and fly away, and it will be a hundred years before another witch appears in this part of the country.”

He applied a match to Apollo’s plate and immediately the whole place was illuminated by a pale blue glare which fell with ghastly effect on the awestricken countenances around, while in the distance, apparently near the “big gate,” arose a succession of the most frightful shrieks ever heard or imagined.  Then the torch was applied to Mercy’s frog, and forthwith every nook and corner, every leaf and every blade of grass was bathed in a flood of blood-red light, while the cries grew, if possible, louder and fiercer.  Then came Wash’s corn, which burned with a poisonous green glare, and lashed its sickly light over the house and yard and the crowd of black faces; and hardly had this died away when from the direction of the big gate there slowly ascended what appeared to be a blood-red ball.

“There she goes!” said the great Dr. Rutherford, and we all stood gazing up into the heavens, till at length the thing burst into flames, the sparks died away and no more was to be seen.

“Now, that is the last of her!” impressively announced the witch-doctor of Boston; “and neither she nor her sisters will dare come to this country again for the next hundred years.  You can all make your minds easy about witches.”