The Witch of Cragenstone By ANITA CLAY MUNOZ “As night doth approach an’ the storm will be a rough one, with noi- some high winds,” he said, “methinks ’twould be right fearsome for thee to’ sit alone.” Hetty appeared to deliberate the question carefully. “Happen thou had better stay awhile,” she said, with affected indif- ference, “but I warn thee if thou doth prate of nothing but thy farmyard wonders, thy churnings and thy chick- ens I shall send thee on thy way most speedily.” t Then as she saw his happy face lengthen with soberness and a look of distress come into his eyes that told her that he could not understand what he lacked in his efforts to please her she added more kindly, “But, prithee, enter Simon, an’ in passing do me the favor to bring in the milk.” EEA i He lifted the pails with alacrity, and Hetty, taking them from him, proceed- ed to pour the frothy liquid into the pans that lay in rows on the well scrubbed table, her campanion stand- ing silently at ber side admiring wist- fully the graceful turn of the small white wrists. a 4 | Having finished her task, the young | woman lifted her eyes to Kempster's face, with roguish raillery in their bright glance, “There,” she exclaimed, “in my de: sire to fil the pans quickly I did for- get to thank thee for carrying the milk. Forsooth, good Simon, lay such bad manners to thoughtlessness rather than an intent on my part to slight thee.” “Hetty"”—he stepped closer and caught her hand in his—“at times when thy words sound trifling and thy manner seen.eth hard and cold is’t because thou dost not heed, that thou’rt only a bit thoughtless, or dost thou really feel the aversion ofttimes thy words and manner do express?’ She let her roguish glance turn into a kindly one and allowed her hand to sremain in his as she answered softly: ~“Some apples, Simon, that are tart to the taste are sound at the core. Thou farmer, must I teach thee that? And for my words and ways, they are part -of me that, added all together, make ~the whole.” She turned away her head, sighing gently, and Simon imagined that she pressed his hand. “Who doth like me,” she continued pensively, “perforce must like them also, for so long ha’ we been one naught now could separate us.” Simon, putting his disengaged hand under her chin, lifted her face to his. “God knows I like thee, Hetty,” he said soberly, “an’ thy words, hard or tender, so glad I am to hear them, fall on my heart gently, like the rain on the newly sown seed.” Matters having grown too serious for the trifling little maid, she drew away hastily, exclaiming, with a light laugh: “Thy farmyard comparisons again, Si- mon! Now, forsooth, my words are like rain falling on thy crops!” : It was several hours later when Mis- tress Taunston on horseback, seated on a pillion behind her son, rode into the farmyard. The storm had continued to grow heavier, and the rain was now falling in torrents. Despite the heavy cloaks they wore, the riders were drenched to the skin as a man, one of the farm hands, rubbing his eyes as if just roused from sleeping, opened the barn door for them to enter. “Light the candle, Jacob, and 1 will hold it while thy master doth put up his horse.” Mrs. Taunston ordered from her high position. “There, that is well. Now help me to alight.” ‘When on the ground she lifted the light and, following Josiah, who was leading the horse to its stall, paused a moment to dismiss the man. . “Thou canst go now, Jacob, to th bed. I would have a word in private with thy master.” Taunston paused in the act of lifting a measure of oats to regard his mother with surprise, thinking something of unusual importance must have happen- ed that she made go much ado about it. In her storm beaten, mud besmirch- ed garments, holding the flaming can- dle above her head, she approached nearer, saying, “As brother Camett rode with us, Josiah, I had no chance to speak with thee.” He nodded a rough assent, and she, lowering her voice to a whisper, said, “My son, we spoke the other night of «