This is why I have thought it right to tell it. I drove down in my pony-carriage the other day, with a young lady by my side, to see the very spot where the crones' cottage used to stand, and to go through all the places where these scenes occurred. I could make them all out pretty clearly, though there is no vestige of the cottage left. We drove on to Bilsington and back towards Aldington by the same road that Mrs. Long and Tom the Bailiff drove, when they were taking the kitten back to the Gowers.
We did not see any witches for certain, and perhaps there are none left, though, as it is a good way from a railroad, I am not very sure on this point. In a secluded spot by one of the woods, there was the figure of a man seated by the side of the road breaking stones, and I thought there was something in his look more than common. It was on a hill, up which I was walking, and if I had been alone I might have stopped and tried to find out more. But as I did not want to run the least chance of the young lady with me being frightened, I only took care to walk on the side of the road between the pony-carriage and the figure, and as we passed it I laid my right hand on my heart, and pronounced that famous mystic word of power – Oh! I forgot, I must not write it, because that is forbidden, but if any little girl wants to know (boys are never curious, of course, so they won't mind not being told) she must just write me a pretty little letter and ask, and as I am very easily coaxed, I shall very likely either come and tell her, or make some arrangement by which she shall be able to find out for herself. It answered very well that day (as, indeed, it always does) and we got home quite safe. Home is the best place at which to leave one's friends, and therefore, having brought myself there in my writing, I think I will stop, and only hope that others beside myself will be interested in hearing the famous legend of the "Crones of Mersham."