"I don't think I should be afraid of her," said the Boy.
The Knight chuckled, and without further speech got into bed and was
soon wrapped in a deep slumber. Next to a clear conscience and the open
road, a good bed at night is something to set store by.
But the Boy could not sleep for the exciting pictures that danced in his
head, and he was impatient for the morning light, that he might be on
his way to Rainbow's-End. The moon peeped in the window; the breeze made
a pleasant sound in the poplar trees; from somewhere came the music of a
little brook. To all these gentle influences the Boy finally yielded.
He was awakened by a plucking at his sleeve.
"Time to be moving," said the Knight in a hoarse whisper. "We can put on
our shoes after we leave the house."
They crept down the stair, which creaked in terrifying fashion, but a
gentle snoring from the Witch's bedroom reassured them. After they had
tiptoed out of the house and gained the road they discovered that they
had forgotten the bag of doughnuts. The Knight declared that he would
not return for a million doughnuts, but the Boy, remembering how
delicious they tasted, stole back to the door and lifted the latch
softly. Aunt Jo was still snoring, but, just as he laid hold of the
doughnuts, Pluto the cat came leaping in from the kitchen, and the Boy
had barely time to put the door between its sharp claws and himself. He
ran down the path, vaulted the gate, and looked about for the Knight.
Away down the road was a rapidly diminishing figure.
The Boy was a good runner, and he was fast overtaking the Knight, when
the latter, who had been casting anxious glances over his shoulder as he
ran, suddenly plunged into the bushes at one side of the road. The Boy
thought it wise to follow his example.
And not a moment too soon. A small whirring sound grew louder and
louder, and Aunt Jo went whizzing by on her high power autobroomstick,
leaving in her wake a horrible reek of gasoline and brimstone. But not
the Aunt Jo of the evening before. Her green eyes flashed behind the
goggles, and her face was something dreadful to behold. On her shoulder
perched Pluto, every hair erect, and spitting fire.
The Boy gasped, and hoped he had seen the last of the terrible hag, when
the whirring noise announced that she was coming back. She stopped her
broomstick directly opposite the hiding-place and began cutting small
circles in the air, the while peering sharply about.
As the Boy plunged into the thicket, he fell. As he lay there, something
cold pressed against his hand.
It was Mowgli's nose. The dog's eyes questioned his master, who had
cried out in his sleep.
"Oh, Mowgli!" he exclaimed, taking the spaniel by his shaggy ears, "did
you dream _all_ that wonderful dream? Or did you stop at the woodchuck
hole? What a shame, Mowgli, if there shouldn't really be a Knight of the
Dusty Thoroughfare, and a Princess Aralia and a Witch who makes
wonderful doughnuts!"