‘But what about the sacrament?’ asked he.

’That was the time of the year it was.  Oh, but I could tell you a sad, sad story of the wickedness of witches.  When Donald and me was young, and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow with seven daughters.  It was hard times then for us all, but for her, she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children’s mouths.  Butter was all she could sell.

’Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man and woman.  I’ll tell you who their daughter is:  she’s married to Mr. M’Curdy, who keeps the store.  The old man and his wife were awful wicked to the widow and the fatherless.  I’ll tell you what they did.  Well, the widow’s butter failed.  Not one bit more could she get.  The milk was just the same, but not one bit of butter.  “Oh,” said she, “it’s a hard world, and me a widow!” But she was a brave woman, bound to get along some way.  So, now that she had nothing to sell to buy meal, she made curds of the milk, and fed the children on that.

’Well, one day the old man came in to see her in a neighbouring way, and she, being a good woman,—­oh, but she was a good woman!—­set a dish of curds before him.  “Oh,” said he, “these are very fine curds!” So he went away, and next day she put the rennet in the milk as usual, but not a bit would the curd come.  “Oh,” said she, “but I must put something in the children’s mouths!” She was a fine woman, she was.  So she kept the lambs from the sheep all night, and next morning she milked the sheep.  Sheep’s milk is rich, and she put rennet in that, and fed the children on the curd.

’So one day the old man came in again.  He was a wicked one; he was dreadful selfish; and as he was there, she, being a hospitable woman, gave him some of the curd.  “That’s good curd,” said he.  Next day, when she put the rennet in the sheep’s milk, not a bit would the curd come.  She felt it bitterly, poor woman; but she had a fine spirit, and she fed the children on a few bits of potato she had growing.

’Well, one day, the eldest daughter got up very early to spin—­in the twilight of the dawn it was—­and she looked out, and there was the old woman coming from her house on the hill, with a shawl over her head and a tub in her arms.  Oh, but she was a really wicked one! for I’ll tell you what she did.  Well, the girl watched and wondered, and in the twilight of the dawn she saw the old woman crouch down by one of the alder bushes, and put her tub under it, and go milking with her hands; and after a bit she lifted her tub, that seemed to have something in it, and set it over against another alder bush, and went milking with her hands again.  So the girl said, “Mother, mother, wake up, and see what the neighbour woman is doing!” So the mother looked out, and there, in the twilight of the dawn, she saw her four cows in the bit of land, among the alder bushes, and the old neighbour woman milking away at a bush.  And then the old woman moved her tub likewise to another bush, and likewise, and likewise, until she had milked four bushes, and she took up her tub, and it seemed awful heavy, and she had her shawl over it, and was going up the hill.