{"id":"01KG8AM8F01NFRRDD5A0F1KYSK","cid":"bafkreige7cglmtoag3a33u3ynx77qssk7opy74dbqidpt2kh6q5vgirjge","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":10227,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:26.985Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","start_line":10167,"text":"she was ascending; whereupon, turning, and seeing no living\r\ncreature--for I was quite hidden behind my shield--seeing nothing\r\nindeed, but the apparition of the Evil One’s foot, as it seemed, she\r\ncried out, and there is no knowing what might have followed, had I not\r\nimmediately spoken.\r\n\r\nFrom the impression thus produced, my poor girl, of a very nervous\r\ntemperament, was long recovering. Superstitiously grieved at my\r\nviolating the forbidden solitude above, she associated in her mind the\r\ncloven-footed table with the reputed goblins there. She besought me to\r\ngive up the idea of domesticating the table. Nor did her sister fail to\r\nadd her entreaties. Between my girls there was a constitutional\r\nsympathy. But my matter-of-fact wife had now declared in the table’s\r\nfavour. She was not wanting in firmness and energy. To her, the\r\nprejudices of Julia and Anna were simply ridiculous. It was her maternal\r\nduty, she thought, to drive such weakness away. By degrees, the girls,\r\nat breakfast and tea, were induced to sit down with us at the table.\r\nContinual proximity was not without effect. By and by, they would sit\r\npretty tranquilly, though Julia, as much as possible, avoided glancing\r\nat the hoofed feet, and, when at this I smiled, she would look at me\r\nseriously--as much as to say, Ah, papa, you, too, may yet do the same.\r\nShe prophesied that, in connection with the table, something strange\r\nwould yet happen. But I would only smile the more, while my wife\r\nindignantly chided.\r\n\r\nMeantime, I took particular satisfaction in my table, as a night\r\nreading-table. At a ladies’ fair, I bought me a beautifully worked\r\nreading-cushion, and, with elbow leaning thereon, and hand shading my\r\neyes from the light, spent many a long hour--nobody by, but the queer\r\nold book I had brought down from the garret.\r\n\r\nAll went well, till the incident now about to be given--an incident, be\r\nit remembered, which, like every other in this narration, happened long\r\nbefore the time of the ‘Fox Girls.’\r\n\r\nIt was late on a Saturday night in December. In the little old\r\ncedar-parlour, before the little old apple-tree table, I was sitting up,\r\nas usual, alone. I had made more than one effort to get up and go to\r\nbed; but I could not. I was, in fact, under a sort of fascination.\r\nSomehow, too, certain reasonable opinions of mine, seemed not so\r\nreasonable as before. I felt nervous. The truth was, that though, in my\r\nprevious night-readings, Cotton Mather had but amused me, upon this\r\nparticular night he terrified me. A thousand times I had laughed at such\r\nstories. Old wives’ fables, I thought, however entertaining. But now,\r\nhow different. They began to put on the aspect of reality. Now, for the\r\nfirst time it struck me that this was no romantic Mrs. Radcliffe, who\r\nhad written the _Magnalia_; but a practical, hard-working, earnest,\r\nupright man, a learned doctor, too, as well as a good Christian and\r\northodox clergyman. What possible motive could such a man have to\r\ndeceive? His style had all the plainness and unpoetic boldness of truth.\r\nIn the most straightforward way, he laid before me detailed accounts of\r\nNew England witchcraft, each important item corroborated by respectable\r\ntownsfolk, and, of not a few of the most surprising, he himself had been\r\neye-witness. Cotton Mather testified himself whereof he had seen. But is\r\nit possible? I asked myself. Then I remembered that Dr. Johnson, the\r\nmatter-of-fact compiler of a dictionary, had been a believer in ghosts,\r\nbesides many other sound, worthy men. Yielding to the fascination, I\r\nread deeper and deeper into the night. At last, I found myself starting\r\nat the least chance sound, and yet wishing that it were not so very\r\nstill.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJWBYEAWFNPZ7F62GDZWF","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AM8F0JN19KBW1DG62BR7H","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:31.200Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:44.296Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}