The Witch

SUDDENLY the dragon's eyes lit up as if they were lamps. They could see a little way ahead, but all around it was so dark that you could almost feel it. George thought—he was always having funny thoughts now—that if he put his hand out some of the black darkness would rub off on it.

After a time they seemed to be going down-hill. Far away gleamed a light which grew brighter and brighter every moment. At last George could see that they were close to the mouth of a large cave, in front of which sat a perfectly enormous black cat with green eyes shining like lights on a railway signal.

Its tail was standing straight up on end, black and bushy; never had George seen such a tail before. The dragon went on past the cat into the cave, round corners, on and on until at last he stopped with a jerk, and George fell off his back.

"Here we are," said the dragon, "just in time. I thought at first we were late, and then, my word!—we should have caught it! Come on!" and he led the way into the witch's kitchen.

All that George could see at first was a huge open fireplace upon which great logs of wood were crackling. Over the fire hung a big round kettle from which at times came weird gurgling sounds. The queerest shadows of goblins and imps danced about as if they were really alive. Altogether it was a most uncomfortable place to be in.

Curled up on the hearth was another cat; a yellow animal with red eyes which stared and stared at them as if it wondered who on earth they could be.

"So here you are at last!" said a voice from somewhere, so suddenly that it made George jump.

He looked round on every side, but for a long time could see nothing. At last, in the dim light, he could just make out what looked like the figure of an old, old woman with a very crooked back and a queer, wrinkled face. She was sitting in a dark corner in a high-backed chair, looking into the fire as if she were reading all kinds of stories in it.

"Come here, George," she said. "Tell me all about your fortune."

It was really rather annoying that everybody seemed to know all about George and what he was going to do. However, it couldn't be helped, so he walked up to the witch, feeling just a little bit afraid, and looked straight into her eyes.

Her face was covered with hundreds of little wrinkles, which crossed and recrossed one another almost without end. She looked as if she had lived for hundreds and hundreds of years, and was, oh, so tired of everything! Her eyes were very bright, and shone with a pale light which made George feel a little bit giddy at first, though he couldn't think why.

Her voice was quite gentle, rather sad, and sounded as if it came from far, far, away. Perhaps it had grown tired too.

"So you are following your fortune?" said the witch. "Dear me! Do you know who I am?"

"Please, ma'am," replied George, "you're a witch."

"And a very wicked old woman too, who turns little boys into frogs and toads, and flies through the air on a broomstick. Isn't that what you've learned about me?" asked the witch, with a queer smile. Where had George seen that smile before?

He blushed rosy red, for he certainly had always heard that witches were wicked women. Had not Father once called some old woman who was always telling disagreeable stories about other people behind their backs a wicked witch? George had asked this same old woman if she had brought her broomstick with her. She had been quite cross, and called him "a rude little boy."

"If you please, ma'am," he said, "I expect there are good witches as well as bad witches."

"Ah, well! Let us hope I'm a good witch, one who will help you to find your fortune, and Alexander's too"; and the witch stretched out her thin old hands to the fire to warm them.

Wonders will never cease! George suddenly caught sight of Alexander lying down side by side with the yellow cat—and when he was at home not a single cat was allowed to put even one foot inside the garden!

"He's quite an old friend," said the witch. "My dear Golden Girl and he are almost like brother and sister."

Alexander licked the end of the cat's nose, and she patted him gently with her paw and purred.

"Sit down and tell me all about it," continued the witch, pushing a three-legged stool toward George. He perched himself on it with his legs swinging in the air, and commenced to talk—at least, he always said afterward that he did—but what with the witch nodding, the cat purring, and the kettle boiling it is more than likely that he fell asleep.

Suddenly the kettle began to boil furiously, and clouds of steam poured out of its spout.

"Nearly ready! Nearly ready!" said the witch, and counted slowly up to ten. Then: "Take off the lid, Alexander!" she cried.

Alexander jumped up and lifted off the kettle-lid with his tail as if he had been used to doing it all his life.

In a moment the kitchen was full of steam, which wreathed and curled itself into the queerest shapes and figures. George wondered what was going to happen next, but sat still and said nothing.

The witch rose from her chair and hobbled up to the kettle, helping herself along with a long-handled stick. She leaned over the kettle, looking down into it for a moment or two, then, waving her stick, commenced to sing in a high, shrill voice. It sounded at first as if she were singing the multiplication table. George remembered bits of it, and this is what he said she sang:

"Ah, ha! Ah, ha!" sang Golden Girl and Alexander together, and the kettle bubbled and boiled: "Oh, ho! Oh, ho!"

This went on for quite a long time, and George wondered if the witch were going to cut off a lock of his hair. How nasty a stew with hair in it would taste. Ugh!

"It's time to start now. Are we all ready? Dragon! Where's that lazy dragon?" cried the witch.

"Here I am!" replied the dragon, appearing from somewhere or other: "I'm quite ready. Will you ride on your catoplane?"

George wondered whatever a catoplane might be, but was too polite to ask. The witch quickly put on a long cloak and waved her stick, and the wall of the kitchen flew open.

"Come along; don't keep me waiting!" she said to George, and he jumped off his stool and followed her. He could see nothing, but felt that they were in the open air again.

"Here's my broomstick!" he heard the witch say, with a laugh; he felt himself lifted on to something, and then—whirrrr! whizzz!—off they went.

"Oh, are we in an aeroplane, please?" asked George, feeling tremendously excited.

"Aeroplane, indeed!" sniffed the witch. "I should like to see the aeroplane that could fly as fast as this. Look and see for yourself, George!"

George looked in front of him. He certainly seemed to be seated on something like a broomstick, and right in front of him sat the yellow cat, flashing its red eyes into the darkness like searchlights. Alexander was seated quite close to her, looking as pleased as Punch.

George looked behind him and heard the noise of an engine, throb, throb, and saw a black something turning, turning without stopping.

"I suppose that's the motor," he said.

"Guess again, George!" laughed the witch.

George looked and looked. "No, I can't guess," he confessed.

"Well—wait and see!" And the witch smiled. Her smile was just like—no, it wasn't.... Oh, it was very puzzling!