Presently her voice rang out in a
shrill note of quavering rage:
"'Tis Betsy Croot adone it, the old rat I'll put a spell on her,
see if I don't."
Crefton slipped quietly away, uncertain whether or no the old
woman had noticed his presence. Even before she had proclaimed
the guiltiness of Betsy Croot, the latter's muttered incantation
"Let un sink as swims " had flashed uncomfortably across his mind.
But it was the final threat of a retaliatory spell which crowded
his mind with misgiving to the exclusion of all other thoughts or
fancies. His reasoning powers could no longer afford to dismiss
these old-wives' threats as empty bickerings. The household at
Mowsle Barton lay under the displeasure of a vindictive old woman
who seemed able to materialize her personal spites in a very
practical fashion, and there was no saying what form her revenge
for three drowned ducks might not take. As a member of the
household Crefton might find himself involved in some general and
highly disagreeable visitation of Martha Pillamon's wrath. Of
course he knew that he was giving way to absurd fancies, but the
behaviour of the spirit-lamp kettle and the subsequent scene at
the pond had considerably unnerved him.
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