Her expectations were
blighted; she became quite indifferent to everything around her, and seemed
to think of nothing but how she could best attend her mother, who was lame
and not long for this life. Her mother had begged a black kitten from some
boys who were going to drown it, and in her last illness she told Mary to
be kind to it for her sake.
When age and want had destroyed the symmetry of Mary's fine form, the
village began to consider her as one who had dealings with spirits: her cat
confirmed the suspicion. If a cow died, or a villager wasted away with an
unknown complaint, Mary and her cat had it to answer for. Her broom
sometimes served her for a walking-stick: and if ever she supported her
tottering frame with it as far as the maypole, where once, in youthful
bloom and beauty, she had attracted the eyes of all, the boys would
surround her and make sport of her, while her cat had neither friend nor
safety beyond the cottage-wall. Nobody considered it cruel or uncharitable
to torment a witch; and it is probable, long before this, that cruelty, old
age and want have worn her out, and that both poor Mary and her cat have
ceased to be.
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