6. CHAPTER VI.
SHE WAS A WITCH!
The traveler continued his way down the valley, along
the banks of the brook, in a very cheerful and contented
mood. He seemed to be much amused at something, and
at times a gay laugh would escape from his lips; or muttering
“parbleu!” or “ma foi,” he would give his splendid
sorel the rein, and scour along in pure merriment of
heart.
The beautiful morning, it is true, was partly the cause
of this singular conduct on the part of Doctor Thomas.
There is nothing so inspiriting, as a ride on a magnificent
morning in October, just after a comfortable breakfast,
and through a fair land—such as our traveler was traversing.
The Virginia mountains are at all times beautiful
and commanding, but their attractions are greatly enhanced
by the “fall days.”
The sun, by this time, had climbed above the heights
of the “Third Hill,” and was flooding the whole valley,
with fair bright light, and laughing in the waves of the
little streamlet, and scattering his fire-tipped arrows into
the obscurest depths of the old, close-set pines, which
clothed the “Sleepy Creek” mountain side, until every
mossy rock, and fallen trunk was visible. Moreover, it
flashed from the myriad colors of the autumn leaves—the
purple of the maple, the yellow of the little alder-tree,
and the crimson berries of the dogwood. These beautiful
mountain dwellers seemed to rejoice in the warm, pure
light, and through them ran gay breezes, that like merrily-flying
children, scattered behind them a rustling mirth
and laughter.
Half an hour's ride brought the stranger in sight of a
small dwelling, situated on the western slope of the valley,
and surrounded with dark-waving, slender-trunked pines.
The roof was thatched, and many little ornaments about
the gate, and door step, and windows seemed to denote
that it was the residence of a female.
The stranger hastened on joyfully, and throwing himself
from his horse, which he secured to a bough, ran to
the door, and knocked. It was opened by a tall, elderly
female, of refined appearance, and with a very calm manner.
She was clad, however, in a very singular dress.
She wore a man's collar secured by a black cravat, something
enveloped her figure from the waist up, not unlike
an ordinary boy's roundabout, and her feet—coming
out plainly from her short skirt—were cased in elegant
moccasins of deer-skin, ornamented with beads, and fringe.
Behind this singular figure, a table was visible, on
which a host of jars and retorts, and small machines were
heaped, and the air of the room was very strongly perfumed
with sulphur. The stranger saw all this at a
glance, and smelling the sulphur, thought of hunter John
and his superstition. But he had no time for further
thought; the elderly female looked at him a moment
with great astonishment apparently, then seemed to
struggle with her recollections, then—when the stranger's
face assumed its ordinary pleasant smile—came
forward and fell upon his neck, crying and smiling
through her tears.
“Welcome, welcome,” said she, “I got your letter and
have waited long for you. Come in.”
And kissing the stranger affectionately, with tears of
joy in her eyes, she drew him into her dwelling. The
door closed behind them.
