THE WITCH IN THE CREAM. 



A TRUE STORY. 



The old stone farm-house in which my 

 grandmother Hved had beneath it what 

 I thought a very interesting- cellar. The 

 floor was plastered and whitewashed like 

 the walls, to ensure the place from rats 

 and other intruders, as well as to keep it 

 cool. From the walls, flat stones project- 

 ed, serving as shelves on which the butter 

 and milk were kept. For years the milk 

 had had a shelf to itself near the window. 



One summer morning, while Grandma 

 and I were sitting on the porch waiting 

 for breakfast, the little colored servant 

 came to us with wide-open eyes, saying : 

 ■"La, Missy, jes look at dis milk-pan!" 

 We looked, and saw, to our disgust, that 

 the inside of the pan was covered with 

 sand and grime, while the milk, which 

 usually was coated with rich, thick cream, 

 was thin and poor. "Why, Janey," said 

 Grandma, "you didn't put milk away in a 

 pan like that, did you ?" "La, no, Missy," 

 said Janey, "nobody wouldn't nebber put 

 milk away in a dirty pan." "This is very 

 strange," said Grandma. "You will have 

 to throw the milk away, Janey, and be 

 especially careful to have the pan clean 

 this evening." "Yes'm," said Janey, "I 

 will." 



The following morning, however, the 

 milk had to be thrown avv^ay again, as the 

 pan was in a worse condition than on the 

 preceding morning. "I don't understand 

 it," said Grandma. "It can't be rats, nor 

 mice, for there is no way for them to 

 come in." "They couldn't climb into a 

 tin pan eight inches high, at any rate," I 



said, "and if they jumped in they would 

 drown." Janey shook her head know- 

 ingly and said, "It's witches. Missy, dat's 

 jes what it is." A light board was placed 

 over the milk that evening, but we found 

 that the marauder pushed it off in the 

 night. We felt that we must come to 

 Janey's conclusion about the witches, if 

 the mystery were not solved soon. 



In the afternoon of the third day of 

 these experiences we were sitting on the 

 back porch with our sewing, both of us 

 half asleep, when chancing to look up I 

 saw a rat go scudding across the yard. 

 Straight to the cellar window he went, 

 and, approaching one corner, thrust his 

 nose under the sash. He gave a mighty 

 tug, pushed one paw under, and soon, by 

 pushing and pulling with nose and with 

 paws, he crept through the window. 

 From my position on the porch I could 

 see all that was happening in the cellar. 

 He jumped to the milk shelf, turned 

 around, raised himself on his forepaws, 

 and clasped the edge of the milk pan with 

 his hind ones. 



He then threw his tail into the pan, 

 whisked it rapidly over the milk, coating 

 it with cream, and licked it. This he re- 

 peated until he had a full meal, or at least 

 until he had skimmed all the cream. 



He started homeward then, and I was 

 so much amazed that I didn't attempt to 

 stop him. On the following morning he 

 was caught in the steel trap set just inside 

 the window for him. 



Elizabeth Roberts Burton. 



169 



