He felt almost relieved when the remainder of the flock,
taking tardy alarm from the commotion of the slowly drowning
bodies, drew themselves up with tense outstretched necks,
and sidled away from the scene of danger, quacking a deep
note of disquietude as they went. At the same moment
Crefton became aware that he was not the only human witness
of the scene; a bent and withered old woman, whom he
recognized at once as Martha Pillamon, of sinister
reputation, had limped down the cottage path to the water's
edge, and was gazing fixedly at the gruesome whirligig of
dying birds that went in horrible procession round the pool.
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.
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