FOLKLORE OF THE ALLEGHANIES. 393 



bridge across a little stream o' water. He ran and cauglit the calf 

 and cut off his ears with a knife. They always believed that the 

 old witch had turned herself into that calf, and so when she turned 

 back into a woman she wore the cap to hide that she didn't have any 

 ears. There was three sisters of 'em; it was reported they was all 

 witches, possessed of some uncommon art. John and Harriet had 

 two little pet pullets they thought a good deal of. The cap-woman 

 wanted 'em; they just fluttered an' fluttered till they died. Her 



name was JSTancy L . Well, she wanted the carpenter to make 



her a piece of furniture out of an old dirty plank she had, an' he 

 wouldn't do it. He said it was gritty and it would ruin his tools. 

 Then she got mad and said, ' I'll make you suffer in the flesh for 

 that! ' One day soon after that he was at his hog pen feedin' the 

 hogs, when suddenly he was struck down perfectly helpless, so he 

 couldn't speak. He thought it was paralytic or rheumatism. In 

 those days there was an old doctor in Staunton, Augusta County, 

 who had a kind 0' process to steam people and boil 'em in a big 

 kettle, for rheumatism. He put sump'n fireproof, a paste or oint- 

 ment, all over 'em, like the fireproof you put on buildings, an' boiled 

 'em an hour or two hours, as the case might be. The carpenter went 

 to consult him, an' he put him in a kettle that was big enough for 

 him either to stand or sit down in it; a collar was fitted tight round 

 his neck so the hot water couldn't get into his face and eyes. The 

 boilin' didn't seem to do him any good. When he got home he 

 halted about for twelve months or more. First he felt a pain in his 

 hip, and then he felt a pain by the side of his knee as if it was gradu- 

 ally workin' down; then one day there was sump'n jaggin' in the 

 calf of his leg. He put his leg up on a bench and an old gentleman 

 seen sump'n stickin' out. He took a pair of nippers an' ketched 

 holt an' pulled out a big shirtin' needle. Hugh kept the needle as 

 long as he lived, and he believed Nancy the old witch shot him with 

 it. He halted on that leg the balance of his days. ' Fve seen the 

 needle; it's God's truth! " 



A spice of profanity seems to have the virtue of embalming a 

 witch story in the mountain memory. A rustic maiden who lives 

 with her family on one of the loneliest hilltops in the Alleghanies, 

 only to be reached on foot or horseback, makes this contribution to 

 the folklore of the region: 



" An old lady not far off had three daughters, and she was going 

 to learn 'em to be witches. They had to sit on the hearth by the 

 fire and take off their shoes and grease their heels so as to go up 

 the chimney, and they were not allowed to speak. The mother was 

 to go first and the girls were to follow. The old lady and the two 

 foremost ones had all got up safe, but the last girl, when she was 



