They went on and soon reached the edge of the sombre trees on the opposite side, and then the question was, of course, which way were they to go. Gorbo was of opinion that they had better go as straight as they could and keep their eyes open for anything like a witch’s house, but Baldry suggested that they should sit down comfortably and shout for Mother Meldrum at intervals and see if she would turn up. And considering the vast extent of the dark woods both proposals seem to me ridiculous.
The question was settled for them by the sudden appearance of a man who came walking out from the wood. He was dressed in a woollen jerkin and hose and instead of a hat he had a hood with a cape to it, as in the pictures of the cheaper sorts of mediæval people, and he carried in his hand a little packet done up in leaves. From the expression of his face they judged he was not a nice man. He stared at them for an instant and then spoke angrily:
“Oh, yes, a man can’t buy a little curse without a lot of busybodies following him about! I’m not going to use it on you, am I?”
“We hope better things of you, sweet chuck,” replied Baldry. “All we want is the way to Mother Meldrum’s place.”
“Oh, then all you have to do is to follow this little path.” The man appeared to be greatly relieved. “But she’s out of curses; I got the last one. You see there’s been rather a run on them lately.”
“We’ve only come for a couple of blessings,” said Baldry, as he took Sylvia’s hand and ran along the little path, followed by the others. They heard the man shouting that in that case they were going to the wrong shop, but they did not stop to argue the matter, and in a few minutes they found themselves deep in the shadow of tall mournful trees that shut out all but little chance glimpses of the sky. On either hand they could see patches of black swampy water, but the track was fairly plain (giving a hint that Mother Meldrum did a brisk business) and they went along at a good rate. There were no birds or cheerful little animals in this horrid place, but there were—as they soon became aware—bats.
Compared to these the bats of the twisted trees were little pets. These measured six feet or more across the wings and they had beaks of enormous size, from which issued hoarse bubbling sounds. Sylvia, who liked bats as much as she liked black-beetles, pulled her napkin cap over her eyes (she still wore this little stolen head-dress) and shuddered; but it was too late to think of turning back now however much she would have liked to. She kept close under Gorbo’s arm, and in time she began to be more used to them; after all they only flopped about and bubbled, and did not bite, which is the main thing.
At length, late in the afternoon, after a journey that was very tiring to the young ones, they came to a part where the forest seemed a little clearer and lighter and not so swampy. The track went on for another half-hour’s travel and then they saw before them a house which they knew must be Mother Meldrum’s, if only because nobody but a witch would select it for a home.