One summer's day, two years or so after this, Moses was half sick with a "run-round" on his finger, and consented to go up in the spinning-chamber and play with Patty: he never played with girls when he was well. Dorcas was at the little flax-wheel spinning linen, and Patty was in a corner under the eaves, with her rag babies spread out before her,—quite a family of them. The oldest granddaughter was down with brain fever, and she wanted Moses to bleed her. Moses did it with great skill. When he practiced medicine, he pursued the same course Dr. Potter did, their family physician; he bled and "cupped" Patty's dolls, and gave them strong doses of calomel and "jalap."

"Dorcas," said Dr. Moses, looking up, with his jackknife in the air, "what's a witch?"

"A witch? Why, we call Patty a little witch sometimes when she tangles the flax and tries to spin."

"O, I never!" exclaimed Patty, "only just once I—"

"No, no; I mean a real witch," pursued Moses. "You know what I mean. Betsey Gould's mother puts Bible leaves under the churn to keep 'em out of the butter."

"Bible leaves!" said Dorcas. "How did Mrs. Gould's Bible happen to be torn?"

"I don't know; but she puts horseshoes top o' the door, too," added Moses; "you know she does, Dorcas, and lots of other folks do it. What sort of things are witches? And what makes father and mother laugh about 'em, when other folks are so afraid?"

"Because father and mother are wiser than most of the people in this little town. Perhaps I ought not to say it, Moses, but it's the truth."

It was the truth, and Moses knew it very well. He was only talking to amuse himself, and to hear what Dorcas would say. You must remember this was more than sixty years ago, and Perseverance was a poor little struggling town, shut in among the hills, where the stage came only twice a week, and there were only two news-papers, and not very good schools. The most intelligent families, such as the Lymans, Potters, and Chases, laughed at the idea of witches, but there were some people who believed in them, and that very night little Patty was to have her head filled with strange stories.

You remember Siller Noonin, who was at Squire Lyman's when Patty was born? She was a widow, with not much of a home of her own, and was always going about from house to house nursing sick people, and doing little odds and ends of work. To-day she had dropped in at Squire Lyman's to ask if Mrs. Lyman had any more knitting for her to do. In the nicely sanded sitting-room, or "fore-room," as most of the people called it, sat Dr. Hilton, leaning back upon the settle, trotting his foot. He called himself a doctor, though I suppose he did not know much more about the human system than little Doctor Moses, up in the spinning-chamber. When old ladies were not very well, he advised them to take "brandy and cloves, and snakeroot and cinnamon;" and sometimes, if they happened to feel better after it, they thought Dr. Hilton knew a great deal.

"You are just the person—ah, I wanted to see," said Dr. Hilton to Priscilla; "I've been all round looking you up."

"Now that's strange, for I was on my way to your house," said Siller, putting her hand to her side. "I don't feel well right here, and I didn't know but you could tell me of some good bitters to take."

Dr. Hilton felt Siller's pulse, looked at her tongue, and then said, with a wise roll of the eye, which almost set Rachel to laughing, "I would advise you, ma'am—ah, to get a quart—ah, of good brandy, and steep some cloves in it, and some—ah,—some—ah,—"

"Snakeroot and cinnamon," chimed in Rachel, looking up from her sewing with a very innocent face.

Now that was exactly what the Doctor was going to say, only he was trying to say it very slowly, so that it would sound like something remarkable, and he did not like to have the words taken out of his mouth. No doctor would have liked it.

"Well, well, young woman," said he rising from the settle in a rage, "if you understand medicine better than I do, miss, I'll give up my patients to you, and you may take charge of 'em."

"Beg pardon, sir," said Rachel; "I only wanted to help you. You seemed to have forgotten part of your bitters."

It was very rude of Rachel to make sport of the Doctor, even though he was only a quack; and her mother told her afterwards she was surprised to see she was no more of a lady.

"Mark my words, Rachel," said Mrs. Lyman, "those who are careless about other people's feelings will have very few friends."

Rachel blushed under her mother's glance, and secretly wished she were as careful of her words as her sweet sister Dorcas.

But I was going to tell you that Dr. Hilton had been looking for Priscilla, because he wished her to go and keep his house a few days while his wife was gone on a visit. Siller told Mrs. Lyman she was always very lonesome there, because there were no children in the house and begged that "the two small girls" might go and stay with her till she got a little used to it,—one night would do.

Mrs. Lyman very seldom allowed Mary or Patience to be gone over night; but to oblige Priscilla, who was always such a good friend of the children in all their little sicknesses, she consented.

"I shall take them with me to prayer meeting in the evening," said Siller.

"Very well," replied Mrs. Lyman.

The little girls had never visited at Dr. Hilton's before, and were glad to go, but Patty did not know how much it would cost her. The house was very nice, and the white sand on the parlor floor was traced in patterns of roses and buds as fine as a velvet carpet. On the door-stone, at the east side of the house, stood an iron kettle, with flaming red flowers growing in it, as bright as those on Mary's sampler. Mary said it seemed as if the kettle had been taken off the stove and set out there to cool.

After a nice supper of hot biscuits, honey, cheese, and spice-cake, they all started for prayer meeting, locking the house behind them; for Dr. Hilton had business in the next town, and was to be gone all night.

Patty was not in the habit of sitting remarkably still, even at church on the Sabbath; and as for a prayer meeting in a school-house, she had never attended one before, and the very idea of it amused her to begin with. It was so funny to see grown people in those seats where the children sat in the daytime! Patty almost wondered if the minister would not call them out in the floor to recite. The services were long, and grew very dull. To pass away the time, she kept sliding off the back seat, which was much too high for her, and bouncing back again, twisting her head around to see who was there, or peeping through her fingers at a little boy, who peeped back again.

Mary whispered to her to sit still, and Siller Noonin shook her head; but Patty did not consider Mary worth minding, and had no particular respect for Siller. Finally, just at the close of a long prayer, she happened to spy Daddy Wiggins, who was sleeping with his mouth open, and the sight was too much for Patty: she giggled out-right. It was a very faint laugh, hardly louder than the chirp of a cricket; but it reached the sharp ears of Deacon Turner, the tithing-man,—the same one who sat in church watching to see if the children behaved well, and he called right out in meeting, in a dreadful voice,—

"Patience Lyman!"

If he had fired a gun at her head it would not have startled her more. It was the first time she had ever been spoken to in public, and she sank back in Mary's arms, feeling that all was over with her. Other little girls had had their names called out, but they were generally those whose parents did not take proper care of them,—rude children, and not the sort with whom Patty associated.

O, what would her mother say? Was there any place where she could go and hide? Sally Potter would never speak to her again, and Linda Chase would think she was a heathen child.

She didn't care whether she ever had any new clothes to wear or not; what difference would it make to anybody that lived out in the barn? And that was where she meant to live all the rest of her days,—in one of the haymows.

Kind sister Mary kept her arm round the sobbing child, and comforted her, as well as she could, by little hugs. The meeting was soon over, and Patty was relieved to find that she had the use of her feet. So crushed as she had been by this terrible blow, she had hardly supposed she should be able to walk.