It was getting quite dark then, but she could still plainly see that a witch was upon its back, belaboring it with a broomstick.

And she knew very well who that witch was.

It was the "spectre" of Dulcibel Burton--for it had a scarlet bodice on, just such as Dulcibel nearly always wore.

They two--the mare and its rider--went off sailing up into the sky, and disappeared behind a black cloud.

And Abigail was almost certain that just as they reached the cloud, there was a low rumbling like thunder.
It was noticeable that every time Abigail told this story, she remembered something that she had not before thought of; until in the course of a week or two, there were very few stories in the "Arabian Nights" that could surpass it in marvelousness.
As the mare had not returned to her old stable at Goodman Buckley's, and could not be heard of in any other direction, Abigail's story began to commend itself even to the older and cooler heads of the village.