Presently they came to the Witch's cottage, snuggled away in a hollow
and hidden from the road by a tangle of witch hazel shrubs. The Boy
rather expected a dark, forbidding hut of sinister outlines, but here
was as pretty a cabin as ever you saw, weathered a pleasing gray, with
green blinds and a tiny porch overrun with Virginia-creeper.
The Knight strode boldly up the path, the Boy following less
confidently. No one answering the summons at the porch, they tried the
kitchen door. It was open, and they stepped inside. The Witch was not at
home, but evidently she was not far away, for a fire was crackling in
the stove and a kettle singing over the flames. An enormous black cat
got up lazily from the hearth and rubbed himself against the visitors
with a purr like a small dynamo.
With the familiarity of a relative the Knight led the way about the
house. One door was locked. "This," said he, "is Aunt Jo's dark room, in
which she develops her deviltry. This"--opening the door of a little
shed--"is the garage."
The Boy peeped in and saw two autobroomsticks.
"The small green one is her runabout. The big red one is a touring
broomstick, high power and very fast; you can hear her coming a mile
off."
They returned to the sitting room, and the Boy became greatly taken with
Aunt Jo's collection of books. Some of these were: "One Hundred and One
Best Broths," "Witchcraft Self-Taught," "The Black Art--Berlitz Method,"
and "Burbank's Complete Wizard." The Boy took down the "Complete
Wizard," but he was not able to do more than glance at the absorbing
contents before the clicking of the gate announced that the Witch had
returned.
Aunt Jo was a sprightly dame of more than seventy years, very thin, but
straight and supple, and with hair still jet black. Her eyes were
gray-green or green-gray, as the light happened to strike them; her
cheeks were hollow, and a long sharp chin slanted up to meet a long
sharp nose. Ordinarily, as the Knight had hinted, she was no doubt an
unholy terror, but to-day she was in the best of humors, and her eyes
twinkled with good nature.
"I just stepped out," she explained, "to carry some jelly and cake to
one of my neighbors, a woodcutter's wife. The poor woman has been ill
all the summer! Mercy! if I haven't had a day of it!" She dropped into
a chair, brushing a fly from the tip of her nose with the tip of her
tongue. "How is everything in Rainbow's-End?" she asked. "I suppose +She+
is as bad as ever."
"Worse," replied the Knight, fetching a sigh. "And +She+ never takes a day
off, as you do."
"Well, Henry, it's your own fault, as I've told you a thousand times. If
you hadn't been so soft-hearted-- But mercy! that's no way to be talking
on my holiday."
"So!" said the Boy to himself. "This wandering knight is the King of
Rainbow's-End and the father of the Princess. I have a friend at court
indeed."