He recognized her as a member of the farm
household, the mother or possibly the mother-in-law of Mrs.
Spurfield, his present landlady, and hastily formulated some
pleasant remark to make to her. She forestalled him.
``There's a bit of writing chalked up on the door over
yonder. What is it?''
She spoke in a dull impersonal manner, as though the
question had been on her lips for years and has best be got
rid of. Her eyes, however, looked impatiently over
Crefton's head at the door of a small barn which formed the
outpost of a straggling line of farm buildings.
``Martha Pillamon is an old witch'' was the announcement
that met Crefton's inquiring scrutiny, and he hesitated a
moment before giving the statement wider publicity. 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.
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