“Devil take ye.” the man growled, “prob’ly a familiar.”
familiarFour hundred souls in the village held that Agnes Monson was a witch. She was eighty-five years old and lived alone in Rose Cottage. The few with good sense or learning knew that Agnes, despite her white hair and wrinkled face, was a good woman. She cured all sorts of ailments with herbal remedies. Indeed, she dispensed them mixed in holy water; the medicine to be taken after reciting prescribed prayers. On the other hand, helping out young women who’d got themselves into trouble blighted her reputation. Not that anyone had any real proof of this, but word soon spread around the villages. Besides, this wasn’t the only gossip concerning Agnes Monson. There were those who swore that the old woman was rich. Rumour had it that sh
