“No,” said Mrs. Meadows, as Chickamy Crany Crow tried to pull her hand away; “you must stay right here and tell the children the story of the Witch of the Well.”

 

“They know it already,” said Chickamy Crany Crow, trying to hide behind Mrs. Meadows’s chair.

 

“No, we don’t,” exclaimed Buster John. “We know the old rhyme about

“‘Chickamy, Chickamy Crany Crow, Went to the well to wash her toe, And when she came back her chicken was gone.’

 

[Pg 156] That’s the rhyme we say in the game, but we never heard the story.”

 

“I can’t tell it to so many,” said Chickamy Crany Crow.

 

“Well, tell it to me, then,” replied Mrs. Meadows coaxingly². “The rest won’t listen any more than they can help.”

 

“Well,” said Chickamy Crany Crow, “one time there was an old woman that lived near a well. For a long time nobody thought she was a witch, but after a while people began to have their suspicions. There was a quagmire³ in the road right in front of the old woman’s house, and every traveler passing that way was sure to get mud on his feet. No matter whether he was riding horseback or in a buggy, it was all the same. He was sure to get his feet muddy. And the mud was so black, and thick, and heavy, that he was anxious to get it off as soon as possible.

 

“It happened, too, that every time a traveler crossed the quagmire, after getting the black, heavy mud on his feet, the old woman would be sitting in her door smoking a cob pipe.

 

“‘Howdy, dearie!’ she would say. ‘Why, [Pg 157] you’re full of nasty mud! Go to the well yonder, dearie, and wash it off.’

 

“The traveler would leave his buggy and horse, or his horse and saddle, or his bundle at the old witch’s door, and go to the well to wash his feet. When he came back everything would be gone,—witch, horse, buggy, saddle, or bundle. The quagmire would be dried up, and the road itself would seem to be a different road. Sometimes it would be days and days before the traveler could find his way to the place where he started.

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