They drownded an owd witch theer i' my grand-feyther's time--I've heerd my grandmither tell th' tale on't scores o' times.
An theer's aw mak o' tales about it, or used to be.

I hannot yeerd mony words about it o' late years.

Who's been talkin to yo, Davy ?' Louie came running up and listened.
'I doan't know,' said the boy,--'what soart o' tales ?' 'Why, they'd use to say th' witch walked, on soom neets i' th' year--Easter Eve, most pertickerlerly--an foak wor feeart to goo onywhere near it on those neets.

But doan't yo goo listenin to tales, Davy,' said Reuben, with a paternal effusion most rare with him, and born of his recent proceedings; 'yo'll only freeten yorsel o' neets for nothin.' 'What are witches ?' demanded Louie, scornfully.

'I doan't bleeve in 'em.' Reuben frowned a little.
'Theer wor witches yance, my gell, becos it's in th' Bible, an whativer's in th' Bible's _true_,' and the farmer brought his hand down on the top bar of the gate.