There was a little shabby patch of grass in front of the house, but behind and at the sides it was closely surrounded by trees and thick bushes. It seemed to be mostly roof—an untidy roof of thatch that reached nearly to the ground in some places and twisted up into gables here and there over ugly little windows like eyes. Although it was by no means a big house it looked somehow as if it had rather a lot of little lopsided secret rooms, and it had what I may call a generally wicked appearance. One could not imagine kind silver-haired people living in it and doing good deeds to the poor. It had its effect on Sylvia, who hung back a little as they came near; and even Joe showed no anxiety to get inside.
“I think we’d better tie Tiger up in one of these napkins,” said Sylvia. “You see Sir Percival said she had black cats, and if Tiger takes to chasing them about she may get angry.”
“Yes, Sylvia,” said Gorbo. “That’s a good idea. We must keep her in a good temper.”
So the puppy was tied up carefully in a napkin, with only his nose out, and carried in Sylvia’s arms. Then Baldry—who suggested that he should be the spokesman because of his ready wit—rapped smartly at the door.
“Who knocks?” called a disagreeable voice.
“I, good mother, Baldry the King’s High Jester. And I have with me my dear old friend Gorbo and my dear little friends, Sylvia and Joe, to say nothing of their small hound. And we have come a long, long way to pay our respects to you.”
“Pull the string of the latch and come in,” said the voice.
Baldry did as he was told and they all went into a fairly large low-ceilinged room which looked like a kitchen. At the chimney-place a tall old woman was standing, stirring up a pot. She turned and looked at them, and Sylvia gave a little squawk at the sight of her face, which was indeed horrible.
“Here we are again!” cried Baldry, cutting a swift caper and then striking an attitude calculated to put anybody into a good humour.
“What do you mean by ‘again’?” asked the old woman with a scowl. “You’ve never been here before.”
“Well, good dame, it means—well, it means ‘Here we are and let’s be jolly’ or words to that effect. It’s an expression in common use among jesters,” he added lamely, for the old woman merely turned round and went on stirring the pot.
“So that’s what it means.” She tasted a spoonful of soup from the pot in a leisurely way. “I see. And does the King laugh when you say that?”
“Yes—sometimes.”
“Ah!” she said, “I’ve heard he’s not quite in his right mind.”
Now this was an unsatisfactory reception, and they all four felt very uncomfortable standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the old woman’s back turned to them as she went on stirring. The room was very dark, for there was only one small window at one end, shaded with thatch, and there was not too much light outside owing to the trees. But every now and then the fire would flicker up and give them glimpses of articles such as a witch would be likely to have about her—bundles of herbs that looked poisonous and a stuffed alligator hanging from the rafters, and so forth. Poor Sylvia need not have worried about Tiger chasing the witch’s cats, for things were the other way about. Six or seven of the biggest and blackest cats that ever lashed a tail came crawling out of corners and rubbing themselves against her so that she could hardly keep her feet, all the while purring like horrible snores, their green eyes fixed on the napkin that held the shivering Tiger.
After a couple of minutes or so the old woman turned round and seated herself on a stool and looked at them. “Are you the one who squealed just now?” she asked Sylvia.
“Ye—yes, Mrs Meldrum,” replied Sylvia faintly.
“You’d better not do it again. Now then, one of you! What do you want?”
“We only want to know how to get back across the river, please, Mum,” said Gorbo politely.
“Ah, you’re a Snerg, I see. How did you get here?”
Gorbo gave her a brief account of the result of his fatheadedness, and Mother Meldrum chuckled.
“What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked after a while.
Gorbo brought out his silver-tipped horn and laid it on the table. “If this little christening present will do, Mum----”
“What else?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t anything else really valuable, Mum. But Sylvia here has a little coral necklace----”
“Let’s see your necklace, Sylvia,” said Mother Meldrum.
Sylvia took it off and gave it to Gorbo, who handed it to the old woman. She glanced contemptuously at it and threw it on the table.
“What else?”
“That’s all we’ve got, Mum—except clothes.”
She looked at the clothes of all of them in a general way. Then she reached out her arm and fingered the material of Sylvia’s frock. Then she sniffed.
“This little lot,” she said, nodding at the horn and necklace, “will just about pay a tenth part of what I want to show you the way.”
There was an unpleasant silence for a time. Even Baldry appeared to have mislaid his blithe disposition. Though he had expressed a desire to meet the witch, now that he had the opportunity he did not seem to enjoy it. The truth is he was overwhelmed by what is known as the personality of the old lady.
“Make me laugh,” she said, suddenly turning to him.