In a little while Mother Meldrum began to slap platters on the table, and into each platter she put two large ladle-fulls of stewed hare, with potatoes, carrots, peas and onions, which had a most delicious smell, and told them to pitch in. A flask of wine—of a rather harsh flavour but not bad—was placed on the table for the grown-ups, and the children were given a little taste in water. Mother Meldrum was now quite kind and considerate: when Joe spilled a lot of his stew on the table she said it didn’t matter, that these things would happen. Baldry plucked up his spirits with the good food and drink and the agreeable change of manner, and told a couple of short tales which were well received by all present, Mother Meldrum being especially tickled.
When dinner was over the bits were given to the cats, who gnawed and growled like lions, and to Tiger, who had his ration aloft in the basket. The children offered to help by washing up, and they and Baldry were soon busy outside with a small tub of water and some kitchen cloths, putting a polish on the plates and things.
“And now let’s talk,” said Mother Meldrum to Gorbo. “You want to get back across the river. Very well, I’ll settle it for you. What’s more I’ll only charge you that horn and that measly little necklace for doing it.”
“Oh, thank you, Mum!” cried Gorbo gratefully.
“I always like to help when I can. But before I can do it you’ll have to give me a hand. I’m clean out of mandrakes, and I’ll need six or eight to work the spell, so you’ll have to go and get me some to-night, because you can only get them when the moon’s shining. The place is about a couple of miles from here.”
“I’ll bring you back a barrow load of them,” said Gorbo, who did not know what they were. “Just show me the place and----”
“Not so fast,” said the old woman snappishly. “Mandrakes don’t grow like bluebells. You’ll likely have to spend all the night looking for them. You see they’re little roots shaped like persons, but there’s the true mandrake and the spurious mandrake. There’s about ten thousand of the real ones to one of the others.”
“Oh! Then how do I tell the difference, Mum?” asked Gorbo.
“When you pull them up. The real ones squeak.”
“Oh!” Gorbo did not relish the idea of a night alone in the moonlight in these distressful woods, pulling up things that squeaked. But there was no way out of it. “Very well, Mum,” he said. “And what shall I do with Sylvia and Joe?”
“They can stay here with me. The funny man can stay too and look after them. Your job is to come back in the morning with at least six nice lively mandrakes. It’s rather a swampy place where they grow, but you won’t mind that. If any things come and look at you don’t be worried, but don’t speak if you can help it because it’s best not to.”
“What sort of things?” asked Gorbo.
“Well, mostly things rather like people, only with big ears and slobbering mouths. Oh, and take a stick with you on account of the bats. As a rule they’re harmless, but they’ve been known to bite when you’re not looking—stooping and so forth. As it’s getting on to night you’d better get ready to go now, so here’s a basket. I’ll go with you and show you the place.”
Gorbo shivered and took the basket, but he did not look enthusiastic.
“None of your sulky looks!” cried the old woman with sudden fury. “Just put on those airs and I won’t do a thing for you!”
“I didn’t mean to be sulky, Mum,” said Gorbo. “I’ll go at once. You’ll—you’ll look after the little ones, won’t you?” The poor chap felt very doubtful about leaving them for the night; Baldry and he had sworn a friendship, but he did not have much belief in his power to protect them. But there really seemed no way out of it.
“That’s better,” said Mother Meldrum. “Yes, I’ll look after them very nicely. You come with me and I’ll show you where they are to sleep; then you’ll feel easy in your mind.”