They were called Puckweedjinees,--little vanishers.
In a poetical point of view it is to be regretted that our ancestors did not think it worth their while to hand down to us more of the simple and beautiful traditions and beliefs of the "heathen round about" them.
Some hints of them we glean from the writings of the missionary Mayhew and the curious little book of Roger Williams.

Especially would one like to know more of that domestic demon, Wetuomanit, who presided over household affairs, assisted the young squaw in her first essay at wigwam-keeping, gave timely note of danger, and kept evil spirits at a distance,--a kind of new-world brownie, gentle and useful.
Very suggestive, too, is the story of Pumoolah,--a mighty spirit, whose home is on the great Katahdin Mountain, sitting there with his earthly bride (a beautiful daughter of the Penobscots transformed into an immortal by her love), in serenest sunshine, above the storm which crouches and growls at his feet.

None but the perfectly pure and good can reach his abode.

Many have from time to time attempted it in vain; some, after almost reaching the summit, have been driven back by thunderbolts or sleety whirlwinds.
Not far from my place of residence are the ruins of a mill, in a narrow ravine fringed with trees.

Some forty years ago the mill was supposed to be haunted; and horse-shoes, in consequence, were nailed over its doors.