For all he knew to the
contrary, it might be Martha herself to whom he was speaking. It
was possible that Mrs. Spurfield's maiden name had been Pillamon.
And the gaunt, withered old dame at his side might certainly
fulfil local conditions as to the outward aspect of a witch.
"It's something about some one called Martha Pillamon," he
explained cautiously.
"What does it say?"
"It's very disrespectful," said Crefton; "it says she's a witch.
Such things ought not to be written up."
"It's true, every word of it," said his listener with considerable
satisfaction, adding as a special descriptive note of her own,
"the old toad."
And as she hobbled away through the farmyard she shrilled out in
her cracked voice, "Martha Pillamon is an old witch!"
"Did you hear what she said?" mumbled a weak, angry voice
somewhere behind Crefton's shoulder. Turning hastily, he beheld
another old crone, thin and yellow and wrinkled, and evidently in
a high state of displeasure. Obviously this was Martha Pillamon
in person. The orchard seemed to be a favourite promenade for the
aged women of the neighbourhood.
"'Tis lies, 'tis sinful lies," the weak voice went on.
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