Rachel, in one of her rambles, stopped at the house of farmer Jenkins.  She contrived to call when she knew the master of the house was from home, which indeed was her usual way.  She knocked at the door.  The maids being out haymaking, Mrs. Jenkins went to open it herself.  Rachel asked her if she would please to let her light her pipe.  This was a common pretence, when she could find no other way of getting into a house.  While she was filling her pipe, she looked at Mrs. Jenkins, and said she could tell her some good fortune.  The farmer’s wife, who was a very inoffensive, but a weak and superstitious woman, was curious to know what she meant.  Rachel then looked about very carefully, and shutting the door with a mysterious air, asked her if she was sure nobody would hear them.  This appearance of mystery was at once delightful and terrifying to Mrs. Jenkins, who, with trembling agitation, bade the cunning woman speak out.

“Then,” said Rachel in a solemn whisper, “there is to my certain knowledge a pot of money hid under one of the stones in your cellar.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Jenkins, “it is impossible; for now I think of it, I dreamed last night I was in prison for debt.”

“Did you indeed?” said Rachel, “that is quite surprising.  Did you dream before twelve o’clock, or after?”

“O, it was this morning, just before I awoke.”

“Then I am sure it is true, for morning dreams always go by contraries,” cried Rachel.  “How lucky it was you dreamed it so late.”

Mrs. Jenkins could hardly contain her joy, and asked how the money was to be come at.

“There is but one way,” said Rachel; “I must go into the cellar.  I know by my art under which stone it lies, but I must not tell.”

Then they both went down into the cellar, but Rachel refused to point at the stone, unless Mrs. Jenkins would put five pieces of gold into a basin, and do as she directed.  The simple woman, instead of turning her out of doors for a cheat, did as she was bid.  She put the guineas into a basin, which she gave into Rachel’s hand.  Rachel strewed some white powder over the gold, muttered some barbarous words, and pretended to perform the black art.  She then told Mrs. Jenkins to put the basin quietly down within the cellar; telling her, that if she offered to look into it, or even to speak a word, the charm would be broken.  She also directed her to lock the cellar-door, and on no pretence to open it in less than forty-eight hours.

“If,” added she, “you closely follow these directions, then, by the power of my art, you will find the basin conveyed to the very stone under which the money lies hid, and a fine treasure it will be.”  Mrs. Jenkins, who believed every word the woman said, did exactly as she was told, and Rachel took her leave with a handsome reward.

When farmer Jenkins came home, he desired his wife to draw him a cup of cider; this she put off doing so long that he began to be displeased.  At last she begged he would drink a little beer instead.  He insisted on knowing the reason, and when at last he grew angry, she told him all that had passed; and owned that as the pot of gold happened to be in the cider-cellar, she did not dare to open the door, as she was sure it would break the charm.  “And it would be a pity, you know,” said she, “to lose a good fortune for the sake of a draught of cider.”