An old woman was the sole occupant of that cheerless hut on the bleak
hillside just described. She sat, on that evening, on a low stool
before the hearth, on which a few clods of peat, smouldering slowly with
some scarcely dry sticks on the top of them, served as an apology for a
fire, and threw out the smallest possible heat to warm the shrivelled
palms held up ever and anon before it. As she sat, occasionally rocking
herself backwards and forwards, she sang, in a voice which sometimes
sounded high and shrill, till it rose into almost a shriek, and then
again sank down into a long-continued moan. She uttered words often
with great rapidity, though even the poor creature herself might
scarcely have been able to explain the burden of her song. The gentle
breeze, pleasant in the cheerful sunshine, sighed through the rents in
the tottering walls, and amid the branches of the solitary, crooked
pine-tree, which bent its riven head over the building, its distorted
limbs creaking and groaning as they swayed to and fro; while an owl
shrieked his twit-to-hoo to the departing sun, as he prepared to go
abroad with other creatures of the night in search of prey; and cold
grey twilight covered the mountain-side. There still sat the lone old
woman, crouching over the mocking fire. Dark and drear was the hovel--
floor it had none, save the damp, cold earth--nor was there a chimney or
other outlet for the smoke, except a hole which a branch of the
ill-favoured pine-tree had made in the roof, in one of his most restless
moods. More light came through this hole than through the window, the
broken panes of which were stuffed with rags, dry grass, and heather,
though not tight enough to prevent the wind from whistling, and the
rain, snow, and sleet from driving in upon the wretched inmate. Except
where the solitary gleam of cold evening light fell upon the crouching
figure of poor Mountain Moggy, all else in the hovel was gloom and
obscurity. Little, however, did Moggy heed the weather. Winter or
summer, chilling blasts or warm sunshine, the changeful seasons brought
no change to her. Her brain was on fire, her heart cold and forlorn,
"icy cold, utterly forlorn and deserted," so she says, and all feeling
for outward things has long since departed.
Why does Moggy start, clasp her bony hands, open wide her almost
sightless eyes, and mutter, "Yes, yes--that's it. Forgive us our
trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us. But it's hard,
very hard to forgive our foes. Does God find it so hard to forgive me?"
Then again she starts off in her wild song.
Once more she is silent, and listens to some noises outside. She seems
sorely distressed. Again and again she starts. The noises increase,
children's feet and voices are heard around the hut, and--is it
possible?--a stone comes whizzing through the glassless window across
the darkened space, and a heavy thump announces that it has found a
destination; another, and another follows--some come in sideways, and
one striking the window bar glances off and reaches the hearth, whence
it drives before it a lighted stick which sends out sparks on every side
and causes a faint gleam of light in the hitherto gloomy room. Shouts
of laughter accompany each stone; but the sun has set, the sonorous bell
of the distant church gives notice, too, that evening has arrived. The
children's ears catch the sound. "Away, away! Home, home!" they shout,
as they run off from the solitary hut. Out of its window at that moment
a bright light shone forth, but they did not heed it as they chased each
other down the steep mountain-side, crying out, "Good-night, old witch.
We'll stone you again, old Polly Forty Rags. If we hear any more of
your witcheries we'll make you wish you'd kept out of this country.
Good-night, and bad luck to you, Old Mog." Notwithstanding the words
they used, there was terror in the voices of most of the children. Some
of them shouted, "She's coming after us! The witch is coming after us!
She's mounting her broom, and out she'll ride. Run--run--run!" On this
the urchins shrieked louder, and ran faster and faster down the slope.
One boy, more daring than the rest, and superior in appearance to most
of them, lingered behind, and finding a stone remaining in his pocket of
those with which he had, like his companions, provided himself to attack
the old woman, he turned round once more, and flung it in the direction
of the hut, saying, as he did so, "That's my parting gift, old Moggy.
Ha, ha! I see the old lady is going to have a feast tonight, for she
has lighted up her banqueting-hall. But I would rather not be one of
the guests, though." Pleased with what he considered his own wit, he
shouted out again, and ran after his idle companions, a prolonged cry
which came from the hut hastening his steps, for he was in no degree
free from the ignorant superstition of the rest of the urchin troop.