A WITCH STORY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1107, 19 May 1893, Page 10

A WITCH STORY.

The story I am about to tell you is curious as having been told by an old colored woman of Virginia, a slave "before the war," and one who can neither read nor write.

Years ago there lived in Virginia a gentleman named McKin, who was greatly respected by all who knew him. He was rich; he was kindly; he had the good wishes of all his neighbors; he was an excellent master and a good friend. He owned a great deal of real estate, and among it was the finest mill property in the county. < It was known as McKin's grist mill, and was very valuable. He always kept a miller there, and of course the miller had his men, and a thriving business was carried on for years. Meanwhile Mr. McKin remained a bachelor and lived in the old family mansion with his mother and Bisters until the former died and the latter married, and people began to say that now no doubt McKin himself would marry.

However, neither/maid nor widow of the place could flatter herself that the bachelor's attentions were "particular." He lived alone with "his large retinue of servants for a year, and at last astonished his friends by marrying a lady who was an utter stranger to everyone, a very beautiful young woman who had golden hair, great black eyes, a skin like cream and a brown* mole on her left cheek. /.;

He gave a great supper to introduce her, and she was admired by all. Her dress was exquisite. ' She sparkled with jewelry, and a magnificent cluster ring which she wore on the middle finger of the right hand attracted much attention. It was, like all the rest, a gift from Mr. McKin.

The host did his best. The supper was delightful; there wasva band of music from Eichmond; there were roses everywhere. Mr. McKin had tried to make to make the affair a splendid one, but when it was over the guests began to acknowledge to one another that they were disappointed. Why they could not say. Perhaps Mrs. McKin.was cold in her manner. Some people could not help * being that. But they had not been happy, and in old times, every one had enjoyed''themselves so much at the McKins'. v.

Then some one hinted that the house servants did not like their new lady, and liked still less her foreign maid, little and dark and withered as an old monkey. "No," old Phoebe, the cook, had said to some one, "we all don't like madame's maid—we all don't like her. We got no right to talk about de madame nohow. But madame's maid, she jes' a nigger, same as de rest, and we all reckon she mighty cur'us*rmighty cur'us." The day after the party was Saturday. Mrs; McKin professed herself weary and remained in bed until supper time. Sunday morning, however, she rose. As she was eating breakfast her husband spoke of the hour, v

"We shall have to, make some haste, my dear," he said, "in order to be at church in season."\ y It was some time before his wife an- : sweredhim; then she said: "I will not go to church today.".. "I am very .anxious that you should, * my dear," Mr. McKin said. "It will be expected of us." "You can go alone," she answered coldly.

•VAlone, the first Sabbath after my marriage!" he cried. $ "Oh, my dear, impossible! See what I' have bought for you; for the occasion." And he took from a table a small parcel, unfolded it and handed to Mrs. McKin a beautiful little prayer book bound in blue velvet, with silver clasps, and her name on the corner in silver letters. As he placed it before her she uttered a low cry and fainted away. The maid rushed to her and they carried her to her room, where thenceforward she remained. From that moment Mr. McKin's beautiful young wife seemed to be bedridden. She never left her pillow. •■ Mr. McKin consulted the most celebrated physicians. None of them could discover what ailed her. Her maid nursed her continually. Mr. McKin was not encouraged to enter the room; he always made his wife's head ache when he spoke to her. Finally he contented himself with a brief call of inquiry every morning. f He was a very unhappy man, more unhappy than in his bachelor days. Old Phoebe began to tell strange stories to her friend, the housekeeper at the hotel.

"Marsy Jack mighty nigh done broke his heart," she would say. "I'ze mighty sorry for Jack, but we all jes' despises de madam. She sick in bed all day, but in de night I reckon she mighty well—yes'm, she mighty well den, and she get up and dress sheself and eat a big supper and go out ob de do'. Yes'm, she do. And dat little chipmunk of a maid she go along wid her, and dey done come back jes' befo' sun up. Yes'm, we all knows dat de libin truff,"

"Why don't you tell your Marse Jack?" the housekeeper asked. "Dere ain't nobody dast tell dat yar to Marse Jack McKin," said Phoebe;

And nobody did dare. But soon it was whispered everywhere that Mrs. McKin had a lover whom she went to meet in the pine woods at midnight. But there was something else that Mr. Jack McKin was to hear shortly. There was trouble at his mill, and the trouble was of a supernatural sort—the millei and his men had seen a ghost.

One by one the men had been frightened away, and the miller was alone at his post. At last he came up to the McKin mansion one day and resigned his mniership. He was reluctant to give his reasons, but finally did so. The ghosts —there were two of them —manifested themselves every night. They were not to be frightened away, and did mischief to the grain and set fire to the mill in various places, though he had always found the flames in time to put them out. Now they threatened to kill him if he was not out in three days. "I am amazed to hear such a story from a white man of intelligence," was Jack McKin's comment on tho tale. "Some one is evidently trying to frighten you away. Remain, and on the night they threaten to take your life the sheriff and his men shall be with you." Finally the miller returned to the mill and at dusk on the third day was seen alive and well by people who came with grist. When the sheriff and his men came stealthily through the woods an hour later the mill was perfectly dark. They lighted their lanterns and went through it, calling the miller by name, but receiving no answer, until ' they found him in his own room lying on his face, a pistol in his hand, an overturned lamp beside him, dead. He had been Bhot through the heart. There was no living human being in the old mill, and for a long while nobody went near it. At last people began to say that the miller had shot himself by accident and that the negroes had frightened him. Another miller applied for the place and remained three days. In fact, to cut a long story short, the only other miller who dared to brave the warning that the ghost gave them all was found dead, as the first one had been.

The mill was soon spoken of as haunted by every one. No one would work there, and finally Mr. McKin closed it, and it was left to itself and to the ghost.

All this while Mme. McKin remained an alleged invalid, shut in her room all day, watched by her maid and talked of in whispers by her servants.

No one believed McKin's mill would ever run again, but one day a tall, strong, broad shouldered young fellow walked up the steps of the McKin mansion, asked to see the master, and begged to be allowed to take charge of the grist mill.

"I've heard the story," he said, as Mr. McKin began to explain. "I don't believe in ghosts, and they can't scare me anyway. I'm in hard luck, and I'm a good miller. Trust me and your mill shall work better than ever. You'll do me a service, and I'll do, you one."

In vain Mr. McKin set before him the fact that two millers had been already killed therein the haunted mill. The young giant declared that he should not be, and finally the gentleman engaged him.

The mill was opened and the miller set to work. He took with him into the mill a Bible, a revolver and a large, sharp ax. For the first two nights he saw nothing, but heard noises like the falling of ■ heavy millstones upon the floor above and feet upon the stairs. He had expected something like this and remained in his room reading his Bible by the light of a shaded lamp. On the third night, having heard the same noises and quietly disregarded them, his door was dashed, open and a hideous form entered. It was something between a woman and a great bird of prey. It wore fluttering white robes, and had instead of hands great black claws. It floated toward him through the air, and behind it came another like unto it, but smaller.

The first creature swooped downward and made a clutch at the lamp. As it did so he snatched his revolver from his belt and fired, emptying all the chambers. The strange beings vanished with a wild shriek, but in a moment they entered again. This time the largest one made a furious clutch at the lamp. As she did so he lifted his ax above his head, and with one blow severed the hideous black claw from what looked like a shriveled human arm; then he hurled his Bible at the head of the smaller fiend. Instantly screams, oaths and horrible curses filled the air. The strange beings vanished and silence reigned. The black claw dropped to the table. It was such a hideous sight that the miller covered it with a cloth, that he might not see it. He kept watch all the night, and early in the morning Mr. McKin, who had been told that firing had been heard in the mill, came to make inquiries. The miller told his tale, and Mr. McKin complimented him on his bravery. Of course he was desirous of seeing the amputated claw, and the miller proudly drew away the cloth. Behold! there lay upon the table, not a claw, but a woman's beautiful hand—aright hand, on the middle finger of which gleamed, a gpletjdid ; cluster, diamond, rpg. At the

sight'of this horror "seized the miller, and Mr. McKin seemed about to die. He knew the hand; he knew the ring. Then, without a word, he walked out of the mill and homeward and into his wife's chamber. She was in her bed, as usual. The maid, pale, and with a great bruise upon her forehead, interposed to prevent his approach. "Madame is very ill," she said. "Out of my way, woman!" he cried and pushed her aside. Then, bending over his wife's bed, but without his usual show of tenderness, he said sternly: "Show me your hand." She thrust forth her left one. "The other," he said. She uttered a scream and turned down the counterpane, but there was none to show—only a bandaged stump, from which the hand had been severed. The next morning the whole village was in wild excitement, for Jack McKin, whom they all knew and loved so well, had gone to the graveyard and there shot himself through the heart beside his mother's grave. And the servants had told their tale and the miller his, and there was the lady's hand, with the ring upon it, to be seen by all. "Burn the wretches," a man cried, and a band of men, both black and white, bore down upon the McKin mansion. They entered the door and marched up the stairs and into madame's room, but there was no one there. Nobody had seen the two women depart, but they were gone and were never seen again, and since that time no fool has ever entered the old mill and it has slowly fallen into decay. The lady's hand, however, is still preserved in spirits in the town hall, and the old negro who acts the part of watchman declares that at midnight it always changes to a hideous black claw. However, no one else ever witnessed this transformation.—Mary Kyle Dallas in Fireside Companion. Shot While Going For a Doctor. It was in Pittsburg some seven years ago that my wife woke me up one night and fiaid that our little boy was very sick and would Igo for a doctor. I said of course I would, and slipping into my clothes I grabbed my hat and started out. When I reached the first corner, I passed a stranger who was running the other way. I cut diagonally across the street and ran toward the center of town. Pretty soon I heard footsteps some distance back, and then several Bhots were fired. I felt* as though some one had thrown a stone and struck me on the leg, but I couldn't run any more worth a cent. I stumbled down and then drawing myself up put my hand where I felt the pain and found that my leg was moist with blood. I easily realized that I was shot. The possessor of the revolver drew up before me panting for breath and exclaimed, "You will rob people, will you?" It was a policeman. I began to upbraid him most thoroughly. Explanations nor execrations did not help the matter any, and I was taken in a patrol to the station. I repeated my 6tory and insisted that a doctor should be sent to my house. The desk sergeant finally did as I wished, and our family doctor called at the house, and later came by the station. It did not take me long to convince the station officers that I was not the party, and was set at liberty and removed to my home. When I was able to get around again, I sued the city for $5,000, and I got it.—lnterview in St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Importance of a Daily "Quiet Hour." A paper recently read at a conference of women was on "Quiet Hours" and set forth the importance-of "reflection as an element of true activity," urging the avoidance of the error of looking on action as the only form of work. "We all need ripening hours," says the writer. "We cannot give out what we have not taken; we cannot comfort if we have not ourselves been comforted." This advice is specially pertinent to the busy women of the day, who in their new found opportunities have developed a zeal that is keeping them at almost ceaseless work. If such could realize that rest is another form of work and calm thought a valuable preparation for activity, a double blessing would be gained for them.— Chicago Tribune. "Making Up" In Boston. The fact that Boston women are "making up" more this season than usual is now recognized. This practice originated among the society women who have been much abroad, where a "smart" woman makes up as regularly as she dresses herself. The practice is spreading here now among the younger girJs, so that it is, now sometimes difficult to tell at first sight whether a woman be a lady or net.. One of the belles who came out a few seasons ago looks like a china doll, her cheeks being all too rosy. It seems a shame to find, young married women and | girls of 20 turning to rouge and powder. I —Boston Gazette. Evidence of Gootl Faith. "Of course you are willing to work," observed the lady. "How can you doubt it," protested the tramp when after a short rest he attacked with renewed vigor tho chicken