chimneys and square windows and with spruces growing thickly
all around it. The Old Lady lived there all alone and there
were weeks at a time when she never saw a human being except
Crooked Jack. What the Old Lady did with herself and how she
put in her time was a puzzle the Spencervale people could not
solve. The children believed she amused herself counting the
gold in the big black box under her bed. Spencervale children
held the Old Lady in mortal terror; some of them--the "Spencer
Road" fry--believed she was a witch; all of them would run if,
when wandering about the woods in search of berries or spruce
gum, they saw at a distance the spare, upright form of the Old
Lady, gathering sticks for her fire. Mary Moore was the only
one who was quite sure she was not a witch.

"Witches are always ugly," she said decisively, "and Old Lady
Lloyd isn't ugly. She's real pretty--she's got such a soft
white hair and big black eyes and a little white face. Those
Road children don't know what they're talking of. Mother says
they're a very ignorant crowd."

"Well, she doesn't ever go to church, and she mutters and
talks to herself all the time she's picking up sticks,"
maintained Jimmy Kimball stoutly.

The Old Lady talked to herself because she was really very
fond of company and conversation. To be sure, when you have
talked to nobody but yourself for nearly twenty years, it is
apt to grow somewhat monotonous; and there were times when the
Old Lady would have sacrificed everything but her pride for a
little human companionship. At such times she felt very bitter