Oh, but I could tell you a sad, sad story of the wickedness of witches.

When Donald and me was young, and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow with seven daughters.

It was hard times then for us all, but for her, she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children's mouths.

Butter was all she could sell.
'Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man and woman.

I'll tell you who their daughter is: she's married to Mr.
M'Curdy, who keeps the store.