“There used to be a great many more witches than there are now,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “I reckon it’s because folks have more business of their own to attend to; or, it may be a change in the climate. I hear old people say that the winters are colder now than they used to be, and the summers hotter. Maybe that has something to do with it. Anyhow, something has happened to thin the witches out.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Rabbit; “I’ve noticed that they are scarcer than they used to be, but I never inquired into the whys and wherefores. They never bothered me, and I never bothered them.”

“Well, when I first came here,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “I noticed Jimmy Jay-Bird bringing sand and mortar every Friday, and it occurred to me that he was preparing to lay the foundations of a witch’s house in this country. So I says to myself, says I, ‘I’ll keep an eye on Jimmy, and see where he gets in and out; for, surely, he doesn’t come by way of the spring.’ But Jimmy Jay-Bird was pretty slick, and it was some time before I found out where he came down and went out. By some means or other, he had discovered the big hollow poplar on the spring branch, and he was coming and going that way.”

“I know where it is,” said Buster John.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “It is the oldest and the biggest tree in the whole country next door. But as soon as I found that Jimmy Jay-Bird was using it as a passageway, I drove a peg in the hole and put an end to his schemes, whatever they may have been. I don’t know where he carries his sand and mortar now, and I don’t care.

“But I didn’t start out to tell anything about Jimmy Jay-Bird,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger, after pausing a moment. “I was thinking about the way a witch was caught by a boy no bigger and not much older than our young friend here.”

“Tell us about it, please!” cried Buster John enthusiastically.

“Well,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “it’s not much of a story. You can’t take a handful of facts and make a story of them unless you know how to fling them together. The best I can do is to tell it just as it happened as near as I can remember.

“When I was a little bit of a fellow—now don’t laugh!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, seeing Mr. Rabbit wink at Mrs. Meadows,—“I mean when I was in my teens. Well, when I was younger than I am now, an old witch lived not far from our house. Her eyes were red around the rims, and her eyeballs looked as if they had been boiled. Everybody called her Peggy Pig-Eye, and she answered to that name about as well as she did to any other. Near her house there lived a man who had a wife and a son. He was a tolerably well-to-do man, and all the neighbors thought very well of him. But he used to go to town every sale-day, and at night he would come home feeling very gay. I don’t know what there was in town to make him feel so gay, but I know that he used to come by our house singing at the top of his voice and cutting up all sorts of shines.

“Well, one night when he was going back home whooping and yelling, he saw something dark in the road before him, and he rode his horse at it full tilt. The horse seemed to have little taste for such sport, for he snorted and wanted to shy around the dark object. But the man clapped spurs to the horse and drove him right at it. The black thing ran, and the man spurred his horse after it. It ran down the road, then across an old field and back into the road again, the man pursuing it as hard as he could make his horse go. Finally it ran into Peggy Pig-Eye’s yard and under her house, and the man went clattering after it. Just as he pulled his horse up (to keep the animal from running broadside into the house) the door opened, and Peggy Pig-Eye put her head out.

“‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she cried. ‘And you are after me, are you? Very well!’ With that she clapped the door to, and the man rode on home, not feeling as lively as he had felt.

“Now, it happened that this man was a great hunter. He had a pack of fine dogs, and he was very fond of them. He hunted deer with them by day, and raccoons and ’possums by night. The first time he went hunting after riding into Peggy Pig-Eye’s yard was at night. He didn’t go very far from his house before his dogs struck a warm trail and went scurrying towards the big swamp at a great rate. A negro, who went along to carry the light and cut the tree down, shook his head and declared the dogs were not barking to suit him. He said there was more whine than growl to the noise they were making.

“Anyhow, the dogs went scurrying to the big swamp, and the man and the negro followed as fast as they could. The dogs treed right at the edge of the swamp, and when the man and the negro got there, they were barking up a big poplar. The negro held his torch behind him so as to ‘shine’ in the raccoon’s eyes,—if it was a raccoon,—but he could see nothing.

“‘Cut the tree down,’ said the man.

“The negro shook his head, but he whacked away at the poplar with his axe, and cut it so that it would fall away from the swamp. The tree fell with a tremendous crash, and the dogs rushed into the top limbs, followed by the man and the negro. But before they could wink their eyes, something tall and white walked out, and cried:—

“‘You are always after me!’

“The negro threw down the torch and the axe, and ran home as fast as he could. The dogs tried hard to catch the white thing, whatever it was, but as soon as they got near enough to bite it, they tucked their tails between their legs and ran howling back to their master.

“This happened every time the man went out to hunt raccoons and ’possums. The dogs would strike a warm trail not far from the house, run to the edge of the swamp, and bay up a tree, and then when the tree was cut down, something tall and white would walk from the top limbs, and cry out:

“‘You are always after me!’

“The man thought it was very queer, but he wasn’t frightened. He said to himself that if he couldn’t catch raccoons and ’possums, maybe he could catch a fox. So he called up his dogs one morning just about day, mounted his horse, and started out to catch a fox. Before they had gone a hundred yards from the house, the dogs found a warm trail and began to follow it in lively style. The man spurred his horse after them and harked them on. They ran around in a wide circle, and presently something white flitted by the man, with the dogs after it in full cry. As it went by it screamed out:— “‘You are always after me!’

“Then it disappeared, and after a while the dogs came back, panting as hard as if they had run forty miles. The man went back home and sat by the fire and studied about it, and the more he studied the worse he was troubled. He sat so long without saying anything that his little boy asked him what the matter was, but the man shook his head, and said there were some things that children ought not to know. The boy was fourteen years old, and very small for his age, but he had plenty of sense, and was very brave. He told his mother that his father was in some deep trouble, and begged her to find out what it was, and tell him about it.

“So the little boy’s mother set herself to work to find out what was troubling her husband. She pressed him so hard with questions that he finally told her about his strange adventures while out hunting. The wife was so frightened that she begged her husband not to go hunting any more, but to give up his dogs and attend to business that was not so dangerous.

“The man promised that he would hunt no more raccoons or ’possums or foxes, but he said he needed his dogs to hunt deer. The woman told her son all that her husband had said to her, and after that the little boy made it a habit to go off in the woods and sit at the foot of a big chestnut-tree, and wonder what it was that ran before his father’s dogs.

“Matters went on this way until finally one day the man said he would go out and catch a deer. He called his dogs, especially Old Top, the oldest one of all. Top was a big hound, and hunted nothing else but deer, and he was never known to fail to run down and catch the deer he got after. Old Top went along when he was called, but it was very plain to the little boy, who was watching, that he didn’t go willingly. Anyhow, Old Top went, though he looked back at the little boy and wagged his tail knowingly more than once.

“Before the hunter got out of hearing, the dogs struck a trail and pursued it in the direction of the big woods beyond the creek. For a long time the little boy listened to the dogs running. Sometimes they seemed to come nearer, and then they would go farther, and finally the sound of their trailing died away altogether.

“After waiting and listening for some time, the little boy went into the woods and sat at the foot of the chestnut-tree. While he was sitting there thinking, and watching the big black ants chase each other up and down the tree, he heard the bushes shake, and suddenly a little old man appeared before him.

“‘Heyday!’ said the little old man. ‘You are too young to be thinking. Leave thoughts for old people; you should be at play.’

“‘But sometimes,’ replied the little boy, ‘children have to think, too. It doesn’t make my head ache to think.’

“‘I see, I see!’ exclaimed the little old man; ‘your name is Three Wits. Three Wits, how are you? I hope you are well. You ought to have come here a little sooner. There is a famous hunt going on in these woods. It passed here awhile ago—a fool on a frightened horse and seven crazy dogs galloping after Satan’s sister. Oh, it is jolly! Stay where you are, Three Wits. This famous hunt will pass this way again directly, and you will have a plain view of it.’

“After a while the little boy heard the dogs coming, and presently he saw the strangest sight his eyes had ever beheld. Going through the woods as swift as the wind, he saw a great white Stag. On the back of the Stag, and holding to its antlers, was an old woman. She was grinning horribly, and her gray hair was streaming out behind her like a ragged banner. The Stag, bearing the old woman, rushed through the woods and disappeared. Then came the dogs in full cry, and after the dogs came the little boy’s father, spurring his horse and yelling in the excitement of the chase.

“‘What do you think of it, Three Wits?’ asked the little old man, laughing.

“‘I don’t like it,’ replied the boy. ‘That man is my father.’

“‘Your father!’ cried the little old man. ‘Oho! That alters the case. Well, well! Let’s see—let’s see!’

“The little old man took from the wallet he had on his back a thick book with a red cover. Then he sat at the foot of the chestnut-tree and turned the well-thumbed leaves until he found the place he was hunting for. He closed the book, but kept his forefinger between the leaves, and took the little boy’s hand in his.”