Once upon a time seven little maids of Padstow Town met together in
Beck Lane to play a game called 'The Witch in the Well.' As they stood
waiting for the child who was to act the witch, an old woman dressed
in a steeple-hat and chintz petticoat came down the lane towards them.
'What are you doing here, my pretty maids?' she asked.
'Waiting for our witch,' answered the children, wondering who this
strange-looking, oddly-dressed old woman could be. 'We are going to
play "Witch in the Well."'
'Are you?' said the queer old body. 'I used to play that nice game
when I was young like you, and should love to play it once again
before I die. The little maid who was to have been your witch tumbled
down on the cobble-stones in the market-place and hurt herself as she
was coming hither,' she added, as they stared at her in amazement,
'and won't be able to play with you to-day. Will you let me be your
witch instead of your little friend?'
'If you like, ma'am,' answered one of the children, after a hasty
glance at her companions for consent.
'Thank you,' cried the old woman. 'It will be the most exciting game
you ever played in all your life;' and, lifting her petticoats as
if to display her high-heeled shoes and red stockings, she hobbled
across the road to a well under a Gothic arch.
When the old crone had taken her seat inside the ancient well--and
which was called the Witch's Well--Betty, the child who was to play the
Mother in the game, took the other six little maids to a tumble-down
cottage opposite the well, and the game began.
The Little Mother told her children--who were called after the six
working days of the week--that she was going down to Padstow Town
to sell her eggs, and that they must not leave the cottage, as the
Witch o' the Well was about.
'Mind the old witch doesn't come and carry you away,' the wee maids
said one to another when the Little Mother had gone.
As they were saying this, the old woman in the chintz petticoat and
steeple-hat came to the door, and looked over the hatch.
'May I come in and light my pipe?' she asked.
'Iss, ma'am,' said Tuesday, unfastening the hatch; and when the old
crone had come in and lighted her pipe, she crooked her lean old arm
round Monday and took her away.
'Where is Monday?' asked the Little Mother when she had come back to
her cottage, quick to see that one of her children was gone.
'An old woman came to light her pipe and took her away,' said Tuesday.
'It was the old Witch o' the Well,' cried the Little Mother. 'I'll
go and see what she has done with her.'
And across the road to the well she went, and, stooping down and
looking in, she saw an old woman sitting in the back of the well
smoking a pipe.
'Where is my little maid Monday?' she demanded sternly.
'I gave her a piece of thunder-and-lightning [37] and sent her to
Chapel Stile to see if the waves were breaking on the Doombar,'
answered the witch, knocking the ashes out of her pipe.
'I am off to Chapel Stile to look for Monday,' said the Little Mother,
returning to the cottage. 'Be sure you don't let the old witch come
in whilst I am away.'
Betty's back was no sooner turned than the same old woman came to
the door.
'May I come in and light my pipe?' she asked.
'Iss, if you please, ma'am,' said Tuesday, forgetting her mother's
injunction.
The old crone came in, lighted her pipe, and took away Tuesday!
'Mind the old Witch o' the Well don't come and take you away like she
did Monday and Tuesday,' the children were saying to each other when
Betty came back from her fruitless search for Monday.
'What! has the bad old witch come and taken away Tuesday?' cried the
Little Mother. 'Dear! what ever shall I do now? I can't find Monday,
and now my poor little Tuesday is gone!'
She rushed across the road to the well where the old witch was sitting,
as before, calmly smoking her pipe.
'What have you done with Tuesday?' she demanded.
'I gave her a piece of saffron cake and sent her out to Lelizzick to
ask Farmer Chapman to sell me a bag of sheep's wool for spinning,'
the witch made answer.
'I am going out to Lelizzick to look for Tuesday,' said the Little
Mother, rushing back to her children. 'Be sure you don't let the old
witch come in. If you do, she will take you all away, and then what
shall I do without my dear little maids?'
Betty was scarcely out of sight when a steeple-hat was seen at the
window, and a pair of eerie eyes looked in.
Before the children could shut the door and its hatch, the old witch
had come into the cottage.
'A puff of wind blew out my pipe,' she said. 'May I light it with a
twig from your fire?'
'Iss,' answered Wednesday somewhat doubtfully. 'But Mother told us
we were not to let you come in, because, if we did, you would take
us away as you did Monday and Tuesday.'
'Did she?' cackled the witch, taking a bit of stick from the fire
and thrusting it into her pipe. 'Well, I only want one of you now,'
and looking round the room, her glance fell on Wednesday, and crooking
her arm round her, she carried her off to the well.
'I have been out to Lelizzick and can't find Tuesday,' cried the Little
Mother, coming into the cottage as the witch, with Wednesday under
her arm, disappeared into the well. 'Oh! where is Wednesday?' looking
round the room and seeing another of her children missing.
'The old witch came in before we could shut the door, and took our
little sister away,' said the children.
'This is wisht news, sure 'nough,' wailed the Little Mother, and off
she rushed to the well, where the witch was sitting smoking.
'What have you been and done with Wednesday?' she asked angrily.
'I gave her a bit of figgy-pudding, and sent her to Place House to
ask if Squire Prideaux's housekeeper would kindly give an old body
a bottle of their good physic to cure her rheumatics.'
'I'm going up to Place House to see if Wednesday is there,' said
the Little Mother, looking in at the window of the cottage. 'If the
witch should come to the door whilst I am away, don't let her come in,
whatever you do!'
When she had gone to Place House, an old mansion standing above Padstow
Town, the old witch left the well, and before the children saw her,
she had pushed open the door, and stood in the doorway, looking in.
'May I come in and light my pipe?' she asked.
'No,' answered Thursday.
But she came in, nevertheless, and having lighted her pipe, she caught
up Thursday and took her across to the well.
'What! has the witch been here again, and taken away
Thursday?' exclaimed the Little Mother when she came back from Place
House without finding Wednesday, discovering that another of her
children was gone.
'Iss,' sighed Friday. 'She came over the doorsill before we saw her.'
'This is too dreadful!' cried the poor Little Mother. 'I shall soon
have no little maids left to call my own!' and wringing her hands,
she went across the lane to the well.
'What have you been and done with Thursday, you bad old witch?' she
demanded.
'I gave her a piece of limpet-pie, and sent her to London Churchtown
to buy me a steeple-hat and a broom,' the witch made answer, rudely
puffing her pipe in Betty's face. 'If you go there in Marrowbone Stage,
[38] you will perhaps find her.'
'I am off to London Churchtown in Marrowbone Stage to look for
Thursday,' cried the Little Mother, returning to her cottage in great
haste and excitement. 'Keep the door and hatch locked and barred
till I come back, and then, if you are good children and do as I bid,
I will bring you home each a gold ring.'
When the Little Mother had driven away in Marrowbone Stage to London
Churchtown in search of Thursday, Friday saw the witch leave the well
and cross the road to their cottage.
'Shut the door quickly and bar it,' she cried to Little Saturday.
And Saturday had but slipped the bolt into its socket when the old
hag was at the door, knocking loudly to be let in.
'My pipe has gone out again,' she shrilled through the keyhole. 'May
I come in and light it?'
'No!' answered Friday. 'Mother said you would take us away as you
did poor Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, if we let you in.'
'I must come in and light my pipe,' insisted the witch. 'And if
you don't open the door, I'll come through the keyhole;' and as the
children would not open the door, through the keyhole she came!
Having lighted her pipe and unbolted the door, she caught up both
children and carried them away, and when the tired Little Mother
returned from London Churchtown in a fruitless search for Thursday,
she found to her dismay not only Friday gone, but dear Little Saturday!
She hurried to the well in an agony of despair.
'Where is Friday and Little Saturday?' she cried.
'I gave them each a herby pasty, [39] and sent them to Windmill with
grist to grind for to-morrow's baking,' answered the witch, spreading
her petticoats over the dark water of the well.
'Tired as I am, I must go to Windmill to look for my dear children,'
said the poor Little Mother, with a sigh. 'P'r'aps I shall meet them
coming back; and up the lane she went on her way out to Windmill.
When she came back to the well the old witch had smoked her pipe,
and was sound asleep and snoring.
'I have been all the way out to Windmill, and I could not see Friday
and Little Saturday anywhere,' cried the Little Mother, shaking the old
hag roughly by the shoulder. 'Where are they, you wicked old witch?'
'Friday and Little Saturday came back soon after you had gone to look
for them,' said the witch, opening her eyes and yawning.
'Where are they?' demanded the Little Mother.
'With Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday,' answered the witch,
knocking the ashes out of her pipe.
'And where is Monday and the others?'
'Upstairs,' answered the witch.
'Whose stairs?' asked Betty.
'My stairs,' returned the witch.
'Shall I go up your stairs and bring them?' asked the Little Mother
eagerly.
'Your shoes are too dirty,' cried the witch.
'I will take off my shoes,' said Betty.
'Your stockings are too dirty,' protested the witch.
'I will take off my stockings.'
'Your feet are too dirty,' protested the old hag.
'I will wash my feet,' said the Little Mother.
'No water would wash them clean enough to climb up my stairs,' cried
the witch.
'I'll cut off my feet,' persisted Betty, determined that no excuse
should stop her from getting to her children.
'The blood would drop and stain my stairs,' said the witch.
'I'll tie up my stumps,' cried the Little Mother.
'The blood would come through,' howled the witch.
'Then, what shall I do to get up your stairs?' said the Little Mother,
with a cry of despair.
'Fly up!' cackled the old hag.
'But I can't fly without wings,' wailed Betty.
'Get wings,' cried the witch, with a sneer.
'How can I?' asked the poor Little Mother helplessly.
'I leave that to your clever wits to find out!' snapped the witch. 'And
let me tell you that until you can fly you will never see Monday and
your five other children again, nor get them out of my clutches!' And
with a 'Ha! ha!' and a 'He! he!' the witch pulled her petticoats
round her and disappeared under the dark waters of the well.
'My dear life!' ejaculated Betty, now really frightened. 'I believe
that old woman who played the game with us was a real witch, and wasn't
pretending at all, and has really and truly taken Monday, Tuesday,
and all the others away.' And she sped away down to the quay where
she lived with her terrible news.
There was a great to-do when the children's friends learned what had
happened, and there was bitter woe and lamentation when, after days
and days of searching, the poor little souls could not be found.
A year went by, and all this time Betty, the child who had acted the
'Mother' in the game, never forgot her six little friends. They were
seldom out of her thoughts, and she longed for a pair of wings to
fly up the witch's stairs; and the more she wanted wings, the more
impossible they seemed to get.
One evening in the beginning of June--the very same day, as it
happened, that she and her little companions had met together at the
Witch's Well to play the game--she was passing the well, when a little
white dog ran out of a garden close by, and came and licked her shoes.
She was fond of dogs, and, as she patted it, to her amazement it
began to talk to her just like a human being, which almost scared
her out of her wits.
'Please don't be afraid of me,' he said, wagging his stump of a tail
as Betty backed into the hedge. 'I am only a dog in shape. I was a
little boy before the dreadful old Witch o' the Well turned me into
a dog, or what looks like a dog.'
'Were you really a boy once? And do you know the Witch o' the
Well?' asked Betty, trying to get over her fears in her interest in
what he told her.
'Alas, I do!' answered the dog. 'She is my mistress, and I have to
follow her about all day long, and am never free of her except at
night, when she is riding about on her broom. Then I have to haunt
certain lanes to make silly superstitious people believe I am a
ghost. The old Witch sent me to this lane a few days ago, and very
glad I was, because I hoped to see you.'
'Whatever for?' asked Betty, still very much afraid of this strange
dog, with his human-like voice.
'Because I know your little friends Monday and the others.'
'Do you really?' cried the child. 'I am glad!--Where are they?'
'In the witch's house, away on a dark moor, in her upstairs chamber,'
answered the little white dog, with a wag of his tail, 'and where they
will have to stay--so the witch says--until the little maid who played
"Mother" in the game is able to fly upstairs after them.'
'Then, I'm afraid they will have to stay there always,' said Betty,
her eyes filling with tears. 'Can't you get up the witch's stairs
and bring them down?'
'The stairs are almost as steep as a tower,' answered the dog; 'and
even if I could climb them, the door of the chamber where they are
shut up is locked, and a spell worked upon the lock that nothing can
open save a pair of wings and music.'
'What kind of music?' asked Betty.
'I haven't the smallest idea,' answered the dog. 'I only know that
it has to do with you.'
'Are my dear little friends happy?' asked Betty, hardly noticing the
dog's last remark.
'They are most unhappy,' said the dog. 'They have nothing to cheer
them, poor little souls, save the forlorn hope that perhaps one day
their dear Little Mother Betty will be able to fly and get them out
of the witch's power.'
'If I only knew how to fly, how quickly I would get up those
stairs!' said Betty. 'There is nothing I can do, is there, to get a
pair of wings?' she asked wistfully. 'Nobody who can help me to get
wings?' she added, as the little white dog seemed to bend his head
in thought.
'Nobody but the Wise Woman of Bogee Down,' he answered, after
considering a few minutes.
'I have heard of that strange old body,' said Betty. 'My mother often
told me about her. She is very clever and wise, she said, and used
to make simples for sick folks. She is terribly old now--a hundred
and twenty, I think she told me.'
'That or more,' said the dog. 'But aged as she is, she is not too
aged to work a kindness for anybody that asks her, particularly if
it be against the Witch o' the Well.'
'Will she help me to get wings, do you think?' asked Betty eagerly.
'If it is within her power, I am certain she will,' returned the little
white dog. 'Why don't you go and see her, and tell her the old Witch
o' the Well has shut up six dear little maids, who were unfortunate
enough to play the game with her a year ago, and that they cannot be
set free until you, who acted the "Mother" in the game, can fly up
to their rescue?'
''Tis a long way to Bogee Down,' answered Betty, 'but I'll go there
to-morrow, all the same, if I can.'
'That is well,' cried the little white dog. 'You will not seek her
help in vain, I am sure, especially if you tell her the witch's little
white dog Pincher sent you. Now I must be off, for the old witch is
up on her broom, and if she should happen to see us talking together,
her horrid old cat would sclow [40] our eyes out. Good-bye, dear
little Betty, and give thee favour in the sight of the Wise Woman';
and with another wag of his tail he vanished.
Betty hardly slept a wink that night, thinking of her six little
friends shut up in the witch's tower, and so ardently did she desire
wings to fly up to their help that she got up and dressed before
the sun was risen. He was just rising over the golden towans on the
east side of the river as she left her mother's house for Bogee Down,
a wild, picturesque, but lonely tableland about four miles from the
ancient town.
It was so early that nobody was up except herself, and the doors of
the Crown and Anchor were still closed as she walked over the quay,
down the slip, and across the beach to the south quay.
The child went out of the town the nearest way to the downs, up
through a side road called the Drang, and up Sander's Hill.
When she got up to Three Turnings, which commanded a view of the river
and Padstow low in the hollow of the hills, she climbed a stile and
looked down to see if she could see the quay.
The river was now very beautiful with reflections of the dawn, and
its pale-blue water was flushed with tenderest rose and gold. There
was a flush on the rounded hills, and a gleam of light on the distant
tors--Rough Tor and Brown Willy. There was a ship in full sail coming
up the harbour, followed by a company of white-breasted gulls, which
also caught the light.
The sun was high in the sky when Betty reached Bogee Down. Now she
had got there she did not know in what part of it the Wise Woman
lived. As she sent her glance over the wild down, gorgeous with yellow
broom and other down flowers, she thought she saw blue smoke rising
from a hedge a short distance up from Music Water, a delightful spot
where Sweet-Gales, Butterfly Orchises, Bog-Asphodels grew, and where
a clear brown musical stream ran down between the fragrant flowers,
which made the place that June morning very beautiful.
The child went up over the down where she had seen the smoke rising,
and found a hut huddled under a high blackberry hedge.
She knocked at the door, which was half open, and a thin cracked
voice called out:
'Come in and tell me what has brought thee to this lonely down.'
Betty obeyed, but not without fear; and as she pushed the door open,
she saw sitting in front of a peat fire on the hearthstone the bent
form of an old woman with her back to the door. She was quaintly
dressed, after the manner of ancient dames of the sixteenth century,
and on her head she wore a cap as white as sloe blossom.
The old dame did not look round as Betty entered, but when the child
had said all that Pincher the little white dog had told her to say,
and had asked if she would kindly help her to get wings to fly up
the witch's stairs, she suddenly glanced at her over her shoulder,
with the brightest, keenest eyes the girl had ever seen, and which
seemed to look into her pure young soul.
Evidently Betty's earnest little face pleased her, for she smiled
and said kindly:
'Pincher was a wise dog to send you to me. But, let me tell you, you
have asked me to do an almost impossible thing. Yet, fortunately for
those poor shut-up little maids, it is not quite impossible; but it
will depend on yourself, whether your love and pity for your little
friends is strong enough to do all that is required of you.'
'I'll do anything if I can only get wings to fly with, and see Monday,
Tuesday, and the others again,' broke in Betty, with all a child's
eagerness.
'Alas! the will that is strong and eager to do is often weakened by
the flesh that is frail,' said the Wise Woman, with a shake of her
head; 'but the question now is, Are you willing to live with me,
an old woman, in this out-of-the-way place, for a year and a day,
if 'tis required, and do all I bid you willingly, without asking a
single question?'
'A year and a day is a long time to be away from home,' said Betty
honestly. 'Still, I am willing to stay with you all that time and do
your bidding if my mother will let me.'
'That is well!' cried the Wise Woman. 'Now go back to Padstow Town and
get your mother's consent, and return to me to-morrow about this time.'
Betty's mother was very glad to let her little girl go and live with
the Wise Woman, for she was very poor, and had twelve children.
The next day, when Betty was returning to Bogee Down, which she did by
the same road as before, with her clothes done up in a bundle under
her arm, who should she see, leaning over a gate, at a place called
Uncle Kit's Corner, but the old Witch o' the Well, smoking her pipe!
'Whither away, my little dear?' cried the witch, as the child drew
near the gate.
'To get a pair of wings to fly up your stairs to see Monday and the
others,' answered Betty promptly.
'Ha! ha! That's too funny!' cried the witch. 'As well try to cut
a piece from the blue of yon sky to make yourself a gown as to get
wings to fly up my stairs.' And she laughed and laughed until she
nearly choked herself.
'The witch may crow like an evil bird now,' cried the Wise Woman when
Betty told her what the witch had said; 'but I shall hope to live to
hear her screech like a whitnick [41] before that time has passed.'
When the little maid had undone her bundle, and put away her small
belongings, the old woman told her to go to the settle, which stood
by the fireplace, and take out from its seat a little bag of feathers,
and separate one from the other and lay them on the table.
'That will be an easy thing to do,' said Betty to herself; and
lifting the seat, she found a dinky bag stuffed full of feathers,
rainbow-coloured, but so matted together that they were nothing but
a soft ball.
'P'r'aps this is to make me a pair of wings,' said Betty; and seating
herself on the settle, she set to work with a will.
But the feathers were not easily disentangled, as she soon found,
and when evening came she had only succeeded in disentangling one
tiny feather from the matted mass.
The Wise Woman neither looked nor spoke to her until the sun sank
down behind the downs, when she told her to return the bag to its
place in the settle, and then get her supper and her own and go to bed.
'I have only got one little feather to put on the table,' said poor
little Betty, when she had put the bag back into its place.
'You have done better than I feared,' said the Wise Woman quietly. 'It
is something to have untangled even one feather from its companions. It
is a sign that it is quite possible that you may be able to fly.'
When they had had their supper, which consisted of black bread and
goat's milk, Betty lay down in a bed made of dried grass and bracken,
in the corner of the room, and slept the sleep of well-doing.
'It will take me a whole year to untangle all these feathers,' said
the little maid to herself the next day, when she again sat down to
her task, which she did when she had got her own and the Wise Woman's
breakfast, and had swept and sanded the hut. ''Tis dreary work, sure
'nough!'
'Pity, love, and patience will do wonders,' said the Wise Woman,
who seemed to have the gift of thought-reading, and what she said
comforted the child not a little.
Every day for six long months Betty sat in the settle most of the
day separating feather from feather, and it was not until the end
of that time that the last feather was laid upon the table, and so
bright and beautiful did they look that she said they looked as if
they had been dipped in a rainbow.
The Wise Woman did not tell her what they were for, but she was sure
they were to make her a pair of wings. 'And how beautiful they will
be when they are made--brighter than a sunset!' she whispered to
herself as she lay down to sleep that night.
When Betty awoke the following morning, she looked at the table to
see if the feathers were safe, and saw, to her dismay, the Wise Woman
sweep them into the skirt of her gown and take them to the door and
shake them out on the down.
'Aw, my beautiful feathers!' ejaculated the child, springing up in
her bed, when as she did so the ancient dame broke into a chant,
and all she could make out of it was that now the spell was broken
they must go with all speed to the Queen of the Little People and
get her permission to help in the undoing of another spell.
When the chant had ceased, Betty, still more amazed, saw a great cloud,
that looked more like winged flowers than feathers, float away over
the downs towards the sea.
'I don't believe they were feathers at all!' cried Betty to
herself. 'And, aw dear! how am I to get my wings now?'
She longed to ask the Wise Woman to tell her why she had flung the
feathers away, but remembering what the old body had said, that she
was to ask no questions, whatever she saw or heard, she kept back
the words on her lips.
She was very cast down when her work of many days was gone--she knew
not whither.
When she had had her breakfast and had done all her little chores, the
Wise Woman bade her search in the seat of the settle for a black stone,
which, she told her, she must rub till it was the colour of life.
After much searching, she found the stone of curious shape wrapped
in soft leather, which her old friend said she could use to rub the
stone with.
Betty again set to work with a will, but rub as hard as she could,
no rubbing seemed to affect the blackness of the stone, and at the end
of a week it seemed blacker than ever. She was much troubled at this,
and the Wise Woman, who read her thoughts, told her not to despair,
as its blacker blackness was a sign that all would be well, and that
she was in a fair way of getting wings to fly up the witch's stairs.
'How?' was on Betty's lips, but a warning look from the Wise Woman's
wonderful bright eyes made the question die unspoken.
For many a week longer the girl rubbed the sable stone--patiently
and quietly most of the time, but there were days when she felt like
throwing the stone out of the window and running away home to her
mother. But pity for her poor little friends shut up in the witch's
chamber made her persevere with her task.
One day, when she was almost worn out with rubbing, she saw a faint
glow come into the stone, which, as she rubbed harder and quicker
than ever, grew brighter and brighter, until it lay in her hand as
red as a poppy.
'The stone is all afire!' she cried, taking it to the Wise Woman.
'It is the colour of life at last,' said the ancient dame, gazing at
it with her wonderful bright eyes; 'and another spell loosened to the
witch's undoing,' she muttered, half to herself. And noticing that
Betty was listening with all her ears, she told the child to look
in the settle for a box, and when she had found it to put it on the
table and lay the stone within it.
There was only one box in the settle, which, though small, was most
exquisitely carved all over with wings--wing interlacing wing--and
as Betty set it on the table and put the stone into it, she thought
she had never seen such a lovely box.
The next morning, when she awoke, she saw the Wise Woman at the door
of the hut with the stone in her hand, and she heard her chanting:
'Go the way thy sisters went--the way of the west wind, and ask the
King of the Wee Folk to give thee permission to help in the undoing
of an evil wrought by the Witch o' the Well;' and Betty, staring with
all her eyes, saw the ancient dame fling the stone out on to the down,
along which it rolled at a rapid rate, burning as it went with a rosy
splendour. It went the way the feathers had gone.
Betty dressed quickly, and busied herself about the hut, to keep
herself from asking if the stone was really a stone, for she did not
believe it was, and she ached to know.
When they had had breakfast, and the hut was cleaned with fresh
scouring-sand, the Wise Woman asked her, if she had the chance of
being made into a bird, what little bird would she like to be.
'A thrush,' said Betty. 'I should love to be a little thrush, because
it sings so sweetly in the dawn.'
'It is a good choice,' cried the Wise Woman--'the best you could have
made. Now go down to Trevillador Wood, and every thrush you see in it,
ask him to give you a feather for Love's sake.'
'I do not know where Trevillador Wood is,' said the child, 'nor the
way thither.'
'It is in a valley in Little Petherick,' returned the Wise Woman. 'It
is not a great way from here, and easy to find if you follow a
little brown stream from Crackrattle, that runs down through the
valley to the wood. Crackrattle is away there, on Trevibban Down,'
pointing to the opposite down, which was only separated from Bogee
by a narrow road. 'By going up across Trevibban you will soon get to
Crackrattle. Now go, my dear, and go quickly.' And Betty went.
The child was ever so thankful to be out of doors again, after having
been cooped up in the hut for so many months, particularly as it
was the birds' singing-time. Birds were singing everywhere on the
downs, and their music gushed from furze-brake, from thorn-bush and
alder; and when she came to Music Water she heard linnets fluting,
and sweet wild notes came from budding willows by the side of the
rippling stream. Larks were also singing--lark answering lark with
such wonderful melody in the blue upper air that she told herself
she had never heard such lovely sounds before.
The downs, in spite of all the bird-music, were not so beautiful nor
so full of colour as when she came to stay with the Wise Woman. They
were now as brown as Piskey-purses, she said, and only lightened here
and there by granite boulders, where they caught the rays of the sun,
by yellow gorse, and splashes of silver lichen.
It did not take the girl very long to cross Music Water's full stream
to reach the road that parted the two downs; but it took her some time
to get to Crackrattle, as the way up to it was thick with brambles
and furze.
When she drew near that part of the down which commanded a grand view
of the country and sea as far up as Tintagel, she turned her gaze
towards Padstow Town, and saw the river twisting in and out of the
hills on its way out to the open sea. She also saw the two great
headlands, Stepper Point and Pentire, that guarded the entrance
to Padstow harbour in that far-away sixteenth century, as they do
to-day, and her glimpse of them and the blue river seemed to bring
her home quite close to her; and when she reached Crackrattle stream,
she followed it down the long, deep valley with a happy heart.
When she came to a wood, which she was sure in her mind was Trevillador
Wood, she heard the thrushes singing and filling the place with
music. Every cock thrush was doing his very best to out-sing his
brother thrush. It was mating-time, and each little songster in
speckled grey was trying to win a little mate by his song.
The first thrush that Betty saw--and he was a master singer and
made the wood ring--was on the uppermost branch of a horse-chestnut
just beginning to bud, and when he had finished his entrancing song,
she lifted up her voice and said:
'Dear little grey thrush, please give me one of your feathers, for
Love's sake.'
She wondered as she begged if the bird would understand her language;
but he did quite well, and, what she thought was still more wonderful,
she understood his!
'I will give you a feather gladly,' he piped in his own delicious
thrush way. 'It is the beautiful spring-time, and the thrushes'
courting-time; and because you beg a feather for Love's sake, I will
pluck one that lies over my heart.' And the dear little bird did
so, and flung it down into Betty's outstretched hands; and when she
had caught it, he burst out into exquisite melody, and he was still
singing, as she went down the wood lovely with budding trees.
From every thrush she saw she asked a feather for Love's sake, and
she was not refused once, and by the time she had gone the length
of the wood her apron was full of thrushes' feathers, plucked from
breast and wing, tail and back!
'Were the song-thrushes willing to give their feathers?' asked the
Wise Woman when Betty got back to the hut.
'Ever so willing!' cried the little maid, opening her apron to show
what a lot she had got.
'It is more than enough,' she said. 'Put them into the box where the
stone lay.'
The following morning when the child awoke there was a mournful sound
coming up from the sea, which they could command from the door of
the hut, and the Wise Woman said it was a sign that a great storm was
being brewed by the Master of the Winds, and that before the day was
over he would send the great North-Easter across the land.
'I am sorry,' she said, 'as it will hinder our work, and perhaps I
shall die of the cold before we can help you to fly.'
Betty wanted terribly to ask the Wise Woman who beside herself would
help her to get wings, but she dared not ask a single question,
and felt it was very hard she could not.
Before the day had closed in, the bitter north wind, which was
accompanied by snow, had come. It broke over the downs in great fury,
and made the poor old woman shiver over her fire with the misery of
it. The next day and the next it blew, and the more it blew, and the
faster it snowed, the more the ancient dame shivered and shook; and
all day long she kept Betty busy piling up dry furze on the hearth,
till there was none left to put.
When she realized that all her winter store of peat and firewood was
burnt, she moaned, and said she was sure she should die of the cold.
'And if I die,' she added sadly, 'the witch, like the north wind,
will have it all her own way, and you will never be able to fly up
her terrible stairs.'
This distressed the poor little maid very much; for she had become
quite fond of the Wise Woman, and wanted her to live for her own sake
as well as for Monday's, Tuesday's, and the others'.
When the fuel was all burnt, and the Wise Woman too cold even to
shiver, Betty said that when it stopped snowing she would go out on
the downs and look for something to burn; and when it stopped she went.
The downs were many feet deep under the snow, and there was not a
furze-brake nor a hillock to be seen anywhere; and the down opposite
was as smooth as a sheet spread out on grass to dry.
As Betty was searching for wood, and could not find even a stick, a
hare came speeding over the snow from Crackrattle. She watched it till
it crossed over to Bogee, and saw, to her surprise, that it was making
straight for her. When it drew near it stopped, with eyes that made
her think of the witch's eyes, and as it gazed, the hare disappeared,
and in its place stood the old witch herself, steeple-hat and all!
Betty was dreadfully frightened, and before she could rush back to
the hut, the witch had come quite close to her, and asked her what
she was doing out there in the cold.
'Looking for firewood for the poor old Wise Woman's fire,' answered
Betty. 'And I can't see any,' she added sadly.
'Of course you can't,' laughed the witch. 'Sticks under three feet
of snow are as difficult to find as a furze-needle in a wainload of
hay. It will comfort you to know that you won't find even a stick,
and that before the north wind has turned his back on the downs,
the Wise Woman will have died of the cold, and you will cry your
eyes out for wings to fly up my stairs!' And cackling and jeering,
she disappeared, and Betty saw a gray hare running away over the snow
down to Music Water, now as silent as the downs themselves.
The little maid was returning to the hut with an icicle of despair
at her heart, when a white dog ran across her path, and looking down,
she saw it was Pincher, the witch's dog.
'Don't let what my bad old mistress said distress you,' he cried,
licking Betty's cold little hand. 'She does not want you to look
for sticks, and came here on purpose to prevent you. She is quite as
anxious that the Wise Woman should die as you and I are for her to
live. She is as clever as she is vile, and she knows that a woman
over a hundred could not possibly live long in awful weather like
this unless she has a good fire to keep her warm.'
'But why does she want the Wise Woman to die?' asked the little maid.
'Because she fears the wisdom of her long years can help you to fly
up her stairs. And this fear brought her to Bogee Down to-day. She
made me come with her, which is fortunate; for poking about whilst
she was talking to you, I discovered a great faggot of wood dry as
a bone, and under it a pile of peat.'
'Where?' Betty asked eagerly.
'Close to the hut under a hedge,' answered the dog. 'And if you will
allow me I'll come and help you to get it out. The witch is so happy
in her belief that she has discouraged you from looking for sticks
that she won't miss me yet.'
And he led the way to the side of the hut, where, under a tangle of
brambles, Betty saw a huge bundle of sticks, dry and brown.
They set to work with a will--she with her eager young hands, he with
his strong white teeth--and soon got it out from under the hedge and
into the hut, where, to their distress, they found the Wise Woman
lying face down on the hearthstone, apparently lifeless.
Betty, girl-like, began to sob, believing the poor old woman was dead,
which made Pincher quite angry, and he told her with a growl to put
off her weeping till a more convenient time, and see if she could
not kindle a fire with the sticks they had brought, whilst he tried
to lick life back into her poor old body.
It was just the stimulus the child wanted. She mopped away her tears,
and piled wood on the fire and set it alight; and Pincher, the dog,
licked the poor old woman's face and hands with his warm, moist tongue.
Their efforts were not in vain, and they soon had the joy of seeing
her open her eyes and stretch out her hands to the blaze.
'Thank you for all your kindness, dear Pincher,' said Betty, when
the dog said he must go. 'If I can ever do you a kindness in return,
just ask me and I'll do it if I can.'
'Remember me when you can fly up the witch's stairs,' said the dog,
with an appealing look in his eyes that Betty never forgot.
'Then you really believe I shall be able to fly up those stairs some
day?' she asked.
'I am almost certain you will, and so is the witch. You cannot
live with people for generations without being able to read their
faces. The witch's face is an open book to me now, and it tells me
that she is not only afraid you will fly, but that it will happen
soon. So fearful is she of this that a few days ago she actually wove
another spell on the door leading up to the tower where the little
maids who played the game are kept.'
'Do you ever get mouth-speech with the poor little dears?' asked
Betty wistfully.
'Never. But I sometimes see them at the barred window of their
chamber. It isn't often they have time even for that, for the old
witch keeps them spinning all day long. Farewell, dear! I must go. If
the faggot of sticks is all burnt and the turf before the cold goes,
don't go out again in search of more firewood. There is danger
abroad. If the Wise Woman is in danger of sinking under the cold,
just lay your warm heart against her heart, and all will be well.'
The dreadful weather still continued, and when the faggot was all
burnt, the dame again began to shiver and shake with cold, and said she
should die this time, as there was no warmth left to keep life in her.
Betty was once more greatly distressed on her old friend's account,
and declared she would go out on the downs to look for firewood in
spite of what might happen to herself; but as she was going, the Wise
Woman again tumbled, face down, on the fireless hearth.
As the girl picked her up (she was not the weight of a witch) and laid
her on the settle, she remembered what the dog had advised her to do
if the cold overcame the old woman again, and, lying down beside her,
she pressed her warm young body against her aged body, and soon she had
the joy of knowing that life was creeping back to the feeble old frame.
When the Wise Woman opened her eyes and saw the child's face close
to hers, and felt her kind young arms about her, she said, with a
tremble in her voice:
'Thou art a dear little maid. Thou hast rekindled the feeble flame
of my life, proving to me that Good is greater than Evil, and Love
stronger than Hate. I shall not die now before thou hast gotten thy
wings. Get up, open the door, and call across the snow three times,
"Little Prince Fire, come away from the Small People's Country and
keep the Wise Woman warm till the cold goes!"'
Betty made haste to obey, and when she had opened the hut-door wide
she called three times, as she was told, and then waited to see what
would happen.
In a minute or less there appeared on the edge of the down a bright-red
glow like a poppy in the eye of the sun. After burning there a minute
or so it came like a flash over the snow towards the hut. As it came
close, she saw it was the very same stone that she had rubbed for so
many, many weeks.
It flashed like a ruby into the hut, and as it did so she thought
she saw, through the soft rosy haze that seemed to envelope it,
a tiny laughing face.
When she turned to see where the stone had gone, behold it was on the
hearthstone, burning away like a tiny faggot, and the Wise Woman was
sitting beside it with her withered old hands held out to the blaze!
It was so remarkable and queer that Betty could not at first believe
the evidence of her own eyes, and rubbed them to make sure she was
not dreaming. But it was no dream, for the miserable little hut, which
a few minutes before was cold as Greenland, was now as warm as a zam
[42] oven, and there was a soft glow all over it.
She sat down on the settle to enjoy the comfort of this wonderful fire,
and she felt so warm and lovely after the terrible cold that it made
her drowsy, and in a little while she was in a sound sleep. She never
knew how long she slept, she only knew that when she awoke the wind
and the snow had all gone, and the down birds were chanting a morning
song outside the window. The stone was also gone, and the Wise Woman
nowhere to be seen.
As she was wondering what had become of the latter, the old woman
came into the hut with her apron full of green furze, and seeing the
child wide awake, she cried:
'Get up, sleepy-head! The cold has left the downs this longful time,
and the thrushes in Trevillador Wood have built their nests and are
beginning to lay. Haste to the wood and get a bottleful of bird-music.'
'Where is the bottle?' asked Betty, getting up and looking about her.
'You will find one in the settle made of the Small People's crystal,
into which you must ask every thrush you hear singing to his mate to
drop a note to make a song with. Ask him to give it you for Gratitude's
sake. When the bottle is full to its neck make your way back to the
hut, and the first living thing you see after you have left the wood
ask it to return with you to the Wise Woman. Ask it also to come for
Gratitude's sake.'
After the child had eaten some food and had found the bottle, which
was ever so tiny, and clear and bright as diamonds, she started for
Trevillador Wood.
The cold had indeed all gone, as the Wise Woman had said, and the
downs were all the better for the great storm that had swept over
them. The snow had kept the earth warm, and had been a soft warm
blanket to all the downflowers, and now the furze blossom was all
manner of lovely shades of gold, and the soft spring air full of its
fragrance. Music Water was all alight with marsh-marigolds, and the
catkins of the grey-green willows were dusted with gold.
The snow had also been kind to the trees in Trevillador Wood (the
Thrushes' Wood, Betty called it), and had wrapped all the baby buds
and tender leaves in dainty white furs, and when the little maid
entered the wood she saw, to her surprise, that most of the trees
were dreams of beauty, with glistering leaves, and some of them were
almost as brightly coloured as that strange stone, Little Prince Fire,
as the Wise Woman had called it.
So delighted was she with all she saw that she forgot what she had
been sent there for, until a thrush near startled the wood with a
burst of melody. He was singing to his mate, for, drawing nearer,
she saw, low down in a bush, a little hen thrush on her nest.
'Please, little grey-bird, [43] will you drop a note of your song
into this bottle for Gratitude's sake?' she asked, holding up the
bottle to the singing thrush.
'Gladly,' piped he, 'especially as you ask it for Gratitude's sake. We
have just received our first great blessing, which I may tell you is
a tiny blue egg.'
'Give the child two notes,' piped a happy little voice from the
nest. 'My heart is brimming over with joy for the warm wee thing
under me.'
'Thank you for your kindness,' said Betty. 'But, if you please, little
thrushes, the Wise Woman who lives on Bogee Down above Music Water,
who sent me to this wood, said I must only ask for one note from each
thrush I heard singing.'
'That is right,' chirped the little cock thrush. 'Always obey those
older and wiser than yourself.'
'Ask the child what she wants thrushes' notes for,' chirped the voice
from the nest. 'She didn't say, did she?'
'I forgot to tell you that,' struck in Betty. 'It is to make a
song with.'
'I thought so,' piped the little cock thrush, and flying down, he
put one of his most delicious notes into the tiny bottle, and in
another second he was up on his bush again, singing deeper and more
entrancingly than before, gratitude being the keynote and the chief
utterance of his song.
Betty went down the wood with that music in her soul, and begged
every thrush she heard singing to give her a note of his song.
Whether every bird's heart was also full of gladness for the freckled
blue eggs in its dear little nest we cannot say, but they all gave
willingly of their best, and before the child had gone through
Trevillador Wood, the bottle of Small People's crystal was full to
the neck with thrush-music.
Coming back, she saw two red squirrels sitting on their haunches at
the foot of an oak-tree, eating nuts.
Said one squirrel to the other squirrel:
'There is a dear little maid from Padstow Town here in the wood
collecting music from the thrushes. It is the same child who, unknown
to herself, undid a cruel spell which the Witch o' the Well cast over
Prince Fire, a near relative of the King of the Little People. She
turned him into a black stone, and a stone he had to be till somebody
could rub it the colour of flame.'
'You don't mean to say so?' cried the other squirrel. 'This is news.'
'I thought it would be,' said the squirrel that spoke, arching his
handsome tail with importance. 'Perhaps it will also be news to you
to hear that this same little maid has actually untangled the dear
Little Lady Soft Winds from that great Skein of Entanglement into
which the wicked old witch tangled them, and from which nobody,
not even the Wee Folk themselves, was able to free them.'
'However did she manage to do it?' asked the second squirrel.
'Only the Wise Woman of Bogee Down could answer that question. But the
thrushes believe, and so do I, that love and pity for six little maids
whom the witch has shut up somewhere gave patience to her fingers to do
what the Wise Woman bade her do; and because her heart was full of love
for these poor little maids, whom she hoped by her obedience to get out
of the witch's power, she unwittingly set free the other poor little
prisoners--the Lady Soft Winds and Prince Fire, the King's cousin.'
'And has she got her own little friends out of the power of the witch
after all her love and patience?' asked the squirrel.
'Alas! not yet; but we all hope she will soon. The Small People are
her friends now, especially those she set free. And it is told that
they are going to turn her into a flying creature of some sort. Some
say a bird, but nobody knows for certain. We are all on the alert
to see what will happen. They say the Lady Soft Winds whispered to
the daffodowndillies last evening that Prince Fire had already begun
to make a pair of wings for her to fly up the witch's stairs. But it
may be only talk. And yet--there! the dear little maid is coming. Not
another word, remember. She understands our language, and bird language
too. The Wise Woman, it is said, put something on her tongue when she
was asleep one day, when Little Prince Fire came from the Wee Folk's
country to keep the Wise Woman's hut warm;' and then, catching sight
of Betty's eyes bent upon him, he rushed up the trunk of the oak,
followed by his companion.
'Well, those little funny things have told news, sure 'nough,'
laughed the child to herself when the pretty little squirrels had
vanished, 'and have told me all I ached to know without asking a
single question. To think that the little feathers were the dear
Little People; and that queer black stone was one too, and that they
are going to help me fly up to Monday and the rest!'
And she danced with delight as she thought of it, and the wonder was
she did not dance the thrushes' notes out of the bottle.
When she was out of the wood, and walking up to Crackrattle, she
remembered what the Wise Woman had told her, that the first thing she
saw with wings she must ask it to return with her to the hut; but the
only winged creature that she noticed as she went up the valley was a
large butterfly--or what she thought was a butterfly--on a great stone.
'The Wise Woman cannot want a butterfly to go back with me to her
house,' said Betty to herself. 'But perhaps I had better ask it to
come;' and speaking gently, so as not to frighten away the lovely
thing on the stone, she said: 'Little butterfly, please will you,
for Gratitude's sake, come with me to the Wise Woman's hut?' and to
her amazement the tiny creature answered back:
'Gladly will I go with you. But, excuse me, I am not a butterfly. I
am one of the Lady Soft Winds whom you freed from the tangle into
which the old witch threw us.'
It began to rise on its azure wings as it spoke, and as it rose Betty
saw it was indeed a fairy. It had the dearest little face she had ever
seen, and as for its eyes, they were bluer than its own wings, and
its soft, round cheeks were a more delicate pink than the cross-leaved
heath that flowered on the downs early in the summer.
It flew on beside her, and Betty was so taken up with watching it
that she did not notice when she got up to Crackrattle that a dozen
other fairy-like creatures were flying over the downs towards her,
until they were quite close.
'We are the Lady Soft Wind's sisters,' they said, 'and out of deep
gratitude to you we have come to go with you to the Wise Woman's hut.'
'Have you really, you little dears?' was all Betty could find words
to say. 'Come along, then.'
And they came, and were a rhythm of colour as they flew beside her,
or, as the child expressed it, 'a little flying garland of flowers.'
Thus accompanied, Betty came to the hut, where, in the doorway,
stood the Wise Woman, leaning on her stick, evidently awaiting her
and her companions' arrival.
'We have come,' said one of the little creatures.
'I felt certain you would,' said the Wise Woman, making a curtsey,
'and a thousand welcomes. If the child has brought the thrushes'
notes everything is ready.'
'She has brought them,' put in another tiny voice, 'and they are
impatient to sing.'
'Then please follow me,' said the Wise Woman, going into the hut;
and in flew all the lovely little creatures, with gentle fanning of
wings, which made a soft breeze as they came.
'Prince Fire is already at work,' said the Wise Woman, pointing to
the box, and Betty, who had followed the Little Lady Soft Winds, saw,
sitting in the box amongst the thrushes' feathers, a small person
dressed in red, busy making wings! He was Little Prince Fire, and a
very great person in the Small People's World.
'My dear life! aw, my dear life! What shall I see next?' cried the
little Padstow maid to herself; and what more she would have said is
not known, for at that moment the Wise Woman took the tiny crystal
bottle out of her hand and put it into the box beside the dinky
person within.
'The Lady Soft Winds have arrived, your Royal Highness,' she said,
'and Betty, the little Padstow maid, is also here.'
'Good!' piped the tiny man. 'Bid them sing the Making Song.'
'We require no bidding, Prince Fire,' said a little Lady Soft Wind,
with gentle dignity, as she and the others alighted on the table. 'Out
of gratitude and love we have come from afar to sing this song, knowing
well, unless we sang it, you would never complete the wings. We,
as well as you, can never repay the little maid of Padstow Town for
releasing us from the witch's spell.'
The voice had hardly died away when all the radiant fairies began
to wave their wings, at first slowly, and then rapidly, in a kind of
rhythm, and sang very softly as they waved them.
Betty watched them with all her eyes, and whether it was the movement
of their wings or the curious song they sang, with its hush-a-by
kind of tune, she felt ever so drowsy, just as she had felt when
Little Prince Fire blazed away like a faggot on the hearthstone,
and sitting down on the settle, she fell asleep with the two first
verses of the song in her ears:
'We Wee Folk together
With music and feather
The gift of the birds--
The little grey-birds--
Do make her a thrush
All sweetness and gush.
Lallaby! Gallady!
'And the Little Prince Fire
Her sweet song will inspire,
That she may fly high
Where little maids sigh,
And undo the spell
Of the Witch o' the Well.
Lallaby! Gallady!'
The next thing she heard was the Wise Woman telling her to rise up
and move her wings, and Betty, nothing loth, lifted herself from the
settle and found she was all air and lightness, like the Little Lady
Soft Winds themselves, and could fly about the hut with the greatest
ease; the feeling of flying was altogether delightful!
The Lady Soft Winds watched her flight with the deepest interest, and
Prince Fire, who was sitting on the edge of the carved box, watched
too; that he approved of her flying powers it was plain to see,
for his bright eyes never left her wings.
'What am I now?' asked Betty at last, perching on a beam, and looking
down sideways bird fashion on the Wise Woman.
'You are a little grey thrush,' said the Wise Woman, her withered
face a big smile.
'And now, little grey thrush, away to the east, where the witch's
house looms out dark and strong against the gold of the morning sky,'
said the Lady Soft Winds, 'and fly up her terrible stairs and set
your six little children free, as you did us.'
'Yes; away to Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday,' cried Little Prince
Fire.
'And Thursday, Friday, and Little Saturday,' struck in the Wise Woman.
'Away, away, little grey thrush!' cried they all, singing as they
cried. 'The sun is rising behind the Tors, and the time is come for
our little thrush to fly and sing. Then, away, away!'
Their little thrush wanted no further urging, and with one full,
clear, melodious note, which filled all the small fairies with delight,
it flew out of the hut, followed by the gentle winnowing of the Lady
Soft Winds' wings.
So glad was Betty, the little grey thrush, at being on her way to
see those dear little maids that she flew faster than ever thrush
flew before, and the sun was not yet over the Tors when she reached
a grim old house standing all alone on a brown and desolate moor,
with its back to the golden sunrise.
Instinct told the little grey thrush that it was the witch's house,
and alighting on a blasted tree, close to its spell-bound door, she
began to sing with all her might; and so joyous and so triumphant
was her song that it seemed to bring gladness and hope even to that
desolate spot.
As Betty, in her bird form, sang on, the old witch came round the
corner of her house, dragging her unwilling feet as she came. When
she lifted her bad old eyes and saw a grey thrush high on the tree,
singing with all its cheerful heart, she turned green, and hearing
the door of the tower leading up the stairs--where Monday and all the
other little maids were shut up--groaning as if in pain, she sank in
a heap on the ground, and began to groan and moan too.
The bird sang on, and its whole body was one shake with its music,
and the more thrilling was its song, the more the witch moaned and
groaned. Then, when its last triumphant note rang out, the great door
opened, as if pushed back by some magic power, and revealed a flight
of very steep stairs. The witch gave a piercing howl when she saw the
door open wide, for she knew that the small grey thrush's music had
broken her spells, and that she was completely in the power of that
little singing bird.
When the door of the tower was as wide open as it could go, the thrush
gave three flaps of its wings, and then it flew out of the tree, and
in through the doorway of the tower, up and up the witch's stairs. And
at the top of the stairs was a small room, where six little maids
sat spinning.
They were so busy, and the hum of the wheels was so loud, that none
of them noticed the entrance of the grey-bird until it broke into a
song from the window-sill.
'Why, it is a dear little thrush!' cried Friday, who was the first
to notice it. 'How ever did it get up here? It must be the bird we
heard singing so beautifully outside just now;' and all the children
stopped their spinning-wheels to look at it.
'Did it really fly up the witch's stairs?' asked Thursday, resting
her sad, soft eyes on the thrush, whose heart was beating so against
its speckled breast at the sight of those dear little maids that it
couldn't tell them at first who it was.
'It did,' answered Monday, 'and its flying up here makes me think of
our Little Mother Betty, who played the game with us. Will she ever
be able to fly up the witch's stairs, I wonder?'
'I am afraid not,' said one of the other children, with a sigh. 'I
have given up all hope of her ever doing that now.'
'You are wrong, my dears,' cried the thrush, finding its voice at
last. 'I am Mother Betty, turned into a dinky bird for your sakes,
and have flown up the witch's stairs!'
And it flapped its wings, jerked its tail, and behaved altogether in
a most extraordinary manner, for the children's faces of amazement and
hope nearly sent it mad with joy. And then, as if it must relieve its
feelings still more, it burst into a most enchanting song, which was
answered outside the tower by a series of joyful barks from Pincher,
the witch's dog.
'It must be Little Mother Betty,' said Monday, leaving her
spinning-wheel. 'I can hear her own voice in the song.'
Then all the other little maids left their wheels to gaze at the bird.
'Are you really Betty who played the "Witch in the Well" with us that
terrible day?' they asked.
'Indeed I am,' sang the thrush. 'I have come to take you away from
here. Now follow me down the stairs and out of the house.'
'The stairs are so steep,' began Saturday, with frightened eyes.
'Don't be afraid, dear little Saturday,' sang the bird. 'It will be
as easy as thinking. Come along, all of you.'
The six little maids followed the bird out of the room and down those
wall-like stairs, and in a minute or less were outside the witch's
house, where they found the old hag in the act of mounting her broom.
They were met at the door by Pincher the dog, who welcomed them with
joyful barks and wagging of tail; and then, finding his mistress had
fled, he looked up at the little grey thrush, who was wheeling round
and round the children's heads out of sheer gladness, and begged her
to give chase to the witch. 'For,' said he, 'if she goes out of your
sight before you have commanded her to do something, you are in danger
of having to retain your thrush-shape.'
'I am glad you told me,' said the thrush, and it was about to fly after
the witch, when it recalled to mind what the dog had said the day he
helped to drag the faggot of wood into the hut: 'Remember me when you
have flown up the witch's stairs.' 'I have been up the witch's stairs
and down again,' it said, alighting on the ground beside him. 'Is
there anything I can do for you, Pincher? I am here to do it if I can.'
'I long to be set free from the power of the witch,' said the little
dog, fixing his gentle eyes on the bird, 'and to be restored to my
own shape. If you bid the witch do this, though it will be vinegar
and gall to her, she is bound to obey you by the merit of your wings
and your song. I long exceedingly to be myself again.'
'You shall,' sang the little grey thrush.
And then, telling the children to mount Footman's Horse [44] and
follow hard after her and the witch, it flapped its wings again,
and flew after the old hag on her broom, and Pincher the dog and the
six little maids sped after them.
Over the moor and across the downs they all went like the wind, the
witch keeping well in advance. Uphill and downhill and through the
lanes they flew, and never once did they stop till they came to Place
Hill, where the great stone gateway of Place House stood greyly out
from a background of beech-trees and oaks. Here the six little maids
stopped to get breath, but the old hag, though ready to drop from
her broom with fatigue, paused not a second, and went on down the
hill with little Thrush Betty, and Pincher the dog close behind her.
'The witch is out of sight!' cried Monday, as the old hag and the
little grey-bird disappeared round a corner.
'So she is!' said Friday.
And they all whipped up their tired little steeds, and away they
sped down the steep hill in pursuit of the witch; but they did not
overtake her until she got to the well, when they stood watching to
see what would happen.
The old hag slid off her broom, and, looking cunningly about her,
as if in search of the thrush, which was on top of the wall above the
well, she made a quick step to the well, and put her foot on its ledge.
'Sing, sing, dear Thrush Betty!' cried the small white dog in great
distress, or the witch will disappear into the well before you can
command her to do what you said.'
And Betty, the little grey-bird, flew into a tree, and began to sing
with all its might once more. And as it sang, the old hag crept back
from the well, and stood in the middle of the road, with a terrible
look on her face.
Now, being a witch, and one of the worst of her kind, she could not
endure anything so pure and sweet as the small bird's song; every note
it sang was an agony to listen to, and, knowing in her wicked soul
that its music had crushed all her evil power, she begged permission
in a humble voice to be allowed to go into the well.
'You may go,' sang little Thrush Betty; 'with one condition, which
is that you turn Pincher back into a boy!'
'Please ask me something less hard!' pleaded the witch, cringing before
the little bird. 'Pincher will be mine no longer if I do that, and I
cannot do without my faithful little dog. Where I go, he must also go.'
'That he shall not!' sang the thrush. 'I command you, by the merit
of my wings and the power of my song, to remove your spell from this
poor little boy!'
'To lose my little white dog is worse than having the Lady Soft Winds
and Prince Fire set free from my spells!' muttered the witch. 'Worse
even than losing the six little maids who played the game with me
and did all my spinning.'
'Give him back his own self this very minute,' sang the little grey
thrush, 'or else----'
If a threat was implied in the sentence, the witch understood it, for,
with a howl of rage, she made a pass with her broom over the dog. As
she did so, the dog vanished, and in its place stood a young boy,
dark and very handsome, dressed in clothes of a bygone age!
The six little maids stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment, and
as they stared as only little maids can, the witch made for the well.
'Please sing once more, little Thrush Betty,' cried the boy in a voice
it knew so well. 'This last song will quite end the power of the bad
old witch, and keep her down in the bottom of the Witch's Well until
she repents of all she has done.'
'That will be never!' snarled the witch; and with a horrible cry,
which even the victorious song of the little grey thrush could not
drown, she splashed into the well. And when Monday, Tuesday, and the
other little maids could get that cry out of their ears, the well
and its quaint old arch were no longer to be seen, and near where
it had stood was dear little Betty, their friend, who had played the
'Mother' in the game, looking very little altered, only a few inches
taller, and standing beside her, holding her hand, was the boy, who,
in his dog-shape, had done so much for them all.
'Now let us go home to our mothers,' cried Friday.
'I have no mother to go to,' said the boy sadly, as he hesitated to
go with the happy children. 'Mine died long ago, and I have no home.'
'Our mothers shall be your mother,' cried the little maids, 'and you
will never lack anything if you come with us.'
So they all came down through Padstow Town, the boy in their midst.
Nobody noticed them till they reached Middle Street, a straight cobbled
street with quaint houses on either side, when a 'Granfer man' [45]
spied them, and shouted the news that the long-lost children had come
back, and the whole street rushed out to welcome them.
Thursday lived at the bottom of this street, and Betty thought she
ought to see her safely home; but the child's mother had already
heard of their arrival, and came out to meet them and to clasp her
own little maid to her heart.
Monday's home was in a narrow street called Lanedwell, and when she
was safe within her parents' house and arms, the other five little
maids and the handsome boy, accompanied by a great crowd, went on
their way to the market, where Saturday lived.
As they came out of Lanedwell Street, a house across the market stood
full in view. It was one of the quaintest of buildings, of Tudor
date, with an outside flight of stone stairs leading up to its side
entrance under the eaves. Little Saturday's eyes glistened when she
caught sight of this house, for it was her own dear home. Her father
happened to be at the top of the stairs looking over the wooden rail
as the children drew near, and he nearly fell over into the street
below when he saw his own long-lost little maid.
Through a narrow passage, called the Blind Entry, the children and
crowd of people poured, and they only got through when Saturday's
father was down the steps and over to the Entry to greet them.
'There is the "George and the Dragon"!' cried Thursday, pointing to
an inn at the bottom of a street as they crossed the market.
'Iss,' said Betty, with a smile; 'and St. George is still slaying
the Dragon!' gazing up at the sign hanging above the door.
'Perhaps the Dragon is even more difficult to conquer than the Witch
o' the Well,' put in the boy, eyeing with great interest the inn's
sign, on which was painted in glowing colours England's patron saint,
with uplifted sword to slay the Dragon.
'Ever so much more, I reckon,' responded Betty.
Another small street brought them to the quay, where the other four
little maids' homes were, as well as Betty's, and to their exceeding
joy they saw their fathers and mothers and all their relations and
friends coming to meet them. And what a meeting it was, and what a
welcome they had!
Never since the day when the two ships, which the people of this
ancient town sent fully equipped to help in the siege of Calais
in Edward III.'s reign, came safely back was there such rejoicing,
so the old 'granfer men' said.
Every vessel in the harbour hoisted its flag in honour of the
children's return and the overcoming of that wicked old witch.
The boy, when Betty told how she had got her wings that enabled her to
fly up the witch's stairs, was made much of by the people of Padstow
Town, and the friends of those seven little maids almost fought who
should have him for their own.
How it was settled there is no need to tell, save only that he lived
on Padstow quay, and that he and Betty were always friends and loved
each other dearly; and when they grew up they married, and were as
happy as the summer is long.