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 and
resentful toward Fate for having taken everything from her.
She had nothing to love, and that is about as unwholesome
a condition as is possible to anyone.
It was always hardest in the spring. Once upon a time the Old Lady--
when she had not been the Old Lady, but pretty, wilful,
high-spirited Margaret Lloyd--had loved springs; now she hated
them because they hurt her; and this particular spring of this
particular May chapter hurt her more than any that had gone before.
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