Wilfred Blanch Talman

“ THE pot simmered as the old woman stirred it with a wooden ladle. Light from the great, open fireplace showed deep wrinkles in her skin as she knelt to sprinkle herbs into the mixture. A parrot squatting on the sand-strewn floor croaked contentedly as it preened its feathers. Smoke filled the dim room.
"Ack, mijn kleintje," said the old woman, turning and speaking to the parrot, "a fine cure it will be for the child. A fine cure!"
"A fine cure!" echoed the parrot thickly, spreading its wings.
"But if the child dies, they will blame me. Already they say that I have magic. ”

“ He was not dead before Hes Brummel knocked. Last year she gave him some medicine that made him well, but tonight she bewitched little Joris so that he died.” The nodding heads became more emphatic. Auert Polhemus slapped his dusty breeches.
"She should be thrown into the mill-pond," he declared. "It is the old water test. If she floats, she is a witch, and must die. If she drowns she is innocent, and someone else has bewitched the child." ”

“ Hes Brummel, still struggling, was pushed ahead of the crowd back into the mill, the two pans of the great flour-scales were dusted carefully, and the Bible was laid on one of them.
"If the woman you say is a witch is outweighed by the Bible," said Squire Yaupy, "she is a witch beyond any doubt. On the other hand, if she outweighs the Bible, she shall go free. ”