One seldom sees them.
Truxton King and Mr.Hobbs were not long in disposing of their lunch.

It was too cold for comfort in their draughty dining-room, and they were not invited to enter the inhospitable gates.

In half an hour they were wending their way down the north side of the peak by gradually declining roads, headed for the much-talked-of home of the Witch in Ganlook Gap, some six miles from Edelweiss as the crow flies, but twice that distance over the tortuous bridle paths and post roads.
It was three o'clock when they clattered down the stone road and up to the forbidding vale in which lurked, like an evil, guilty thing, the log-built home of that ancient female who made no secret of her practices in witchcraft.

The hut stood back from the mountain road a hundred yards or more, at the head of a small, thicket-grown recess.
A low, thatched roof protruded from the hill against which the hut was built.

As a matter of fact, a thin chimney grew out of the earth itself, for all the world like a smoking tree stump.