Miss Marigold was in the garden tying up the sunflowers as Jack and Molly passed her cottage, which was the fourth one along the village street. Such a quaint little village street it was, with cobbled stones, and grass growing in the roadway, and bunchy white cottages with thatched roofs. The children did not know the name of the lady in the garden, of course, and were just wondering where Miss Marigold lived, when they saw a card hanging in the window, on which was printed:

MISS MARIGOLD
Teas Provided. Apartments.

They stopped. Miss Marigold looked up from her flowers and saw two tired little faces looking at her over the gate. Miss Marigold was tall and thin and looked neither old nor young, but between the two. Her thick hair, which was of a pale yellow colour, was neatly braided round her head; she was dressed in a dark green dress with snow-white collar and cuffs. She looked kind when she smiled, and as she smiled when she saw the children they made up their minds to stay there if they could. So they opened the gate and entered her garden.

She listened while they told her who they were and what they wanted.

“I shall be pleased to give you accommodation,” she said in her gentle, stiff little manner. “And you would like a cup of hot tea and some toasted muffins at once, I’m sure.”

Jack and Molly felt that there was nothing they would like more than tea and muffins, but they told Miss Marigold that they had no money with them, and asked her what they could do for her to earn their tea, bed, and breakfast.

“Nothing at all. You are searching for the Black Leaf—that is enough. You will have done more for me, and for the whole country, than can ever be repaid, if you find it,” said Miss Marigold, and led the way into her cottage, which was quaint and old-fashioned, with low, oak-beamed ceilings and sloping floors.

The children had a refreshing wash, then sat down to a well-spread table—hot tea, and toasted muffins and eggs, and brown bread and butter, and honey, and fresh fruit. Over tea they told Miss Marigold about their search, and the latest doings of the Pumpkin. Miss Marigold had never actually seen the Pumpkin, but she had heard much about him, of course, and was very interested in the children’s account.

“We have only just received news, in the village here, that the Pumpkin has returned. One of the villagers, who went to the city, came riding back over the Goblin’s Heath with the news,” she told the children.

While they were talking they heard footsteps on the garden path outside the window, and then came a tap at the door. Jack and Molly started. But Miss Marigold rose leisurely saying, with a shake of her head, “I told him not to stay as late as this.” Then she opened the door. “Ah! come in, Timothy,” she said.

Timothy came in. Catching sight of strangers in the room, he paused, hesitating on the mat, nervously twisting his cap in his hands. Timothy was a fat, awkward-looking boy, about twelve years old, with puffy cheeks, and round eyes, and a simple expression. Miss Marigold introduced him as her nephew, much to the children’s surprise, as he was utterly unlike his aunt in every way—in looks especially, except for the hair, which was the same pale yellow colour.

“Timothy has been out to a tea-party to-day,” said Miss Marigold to the children. “Haven’t you, Timothy?”

“Umth,” lisped Timothy, in a thick voice, nodding his head.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” said Molly, politely.

“Perapths,” replied Timothy, sitting down on the extreme edge of a chair.

Molly looked puzzled, but he seemed well-meaning, and she felt sorry for him as he appeared to be so nervous.

“What kept you so late?” asked his aunt. “You ought to have been home an hour ago—you know I don’t like you being out after dusk.”

Timothy blushed and began a jerky, stammering sort of explanation. His aunt frowned a little and looked at him suspiciously.

“You haven’t been on the Goblin’s Heath, have you?” Miss Marigold asked.

“No, ma’m,” replied Timothy, promptly. “Where have you come from?” he asked Jack suddenly.

“We’ve just come from the Goblin’s Heath,” replied Jack; and at Timothy’s eager request to be told about their adventures, Jack started to tell him about their search. Timothy appeared to listen intently, until presently his aunt got up and went out of the room to prepare the bedrooms. Immediately he leant across the table and interrupted.

“Here!” he exclaimed suddenly.

Jack stopped speaking, and stared at Timothy, who was obviously in a very excited state.

“Here, I thay! What do you thig?” said Timothy.

“What? What is it? What’s the matter?” asked Jack.

“I theen it,” said Timothy, and exploded with laughter.

Jack and Molly exchanged bewildered glances, while Timothy rolled and rocked in his chair with laughter till the tears ran down his fat white cheeks. He continued to gasp and laugh until Molly grew quite concerned about him, and jumping off her chair she ran to the door to call his aunt. This sobered him immediately and he sprang up waving his hand to stop her.

“Don’t, don’t,” he managed to gasp. “I alwayth laugh when ... he! he! he!... when I exthited ... don’t call aunt ... I tell you ... he! he! he! he!... in a minute.”

When he had quieted down a bit he said:

“Aunt muthn’t know, becauth ’e thig I been out to tea—well, I haven’t—and I been where ’e told me not to go, and I theen it!” He was getting fearfully excited again.

“Seen what? Oh, do tell us,” said Molly.

“The ... he! he! he!...” Timothy giggled. “The ... Black Leaf!”

“Oh,” cried Jack and Molly together, their questions tumbling over each other in their eagerness. “Where is it? Where did you see it? Did you pick it? What did you do with it?”

“I didn’t pick it—I couldn’t get near it,” Timothy answered. “But I know where it ith....” He leant toward them and whispered hoarsely, his eyes round and bulging. “... In the Orange Wood.”

Timothy went on to tell them how he had happened to see it. It seemed that he had been forbidden by his aunt to go on to the Goblin’s Heath, or into the Orange Wood, because it was rumoured that the Pumpkin’s spies were in hiding in both these places—it was even said by some that the Pumpkin himself had been seen on the Heath yesterday. Although Timothy didn’t believe this, he said, he longed to explore both the wood and the heath, and to-day he had deceived his aunt, pretending he was going to tea with a friend and instead had slipped into the wood, which lay just beyond the village, and had wandered about there. He had come across Mr Papingay’s house in the wood—which he had often heard about, but never seen before. (Mr Papingay! Jack and Molly recognised the name, of course; it was Glan’s relation.) He was a funny old man, was Mr Papingay, said Timothy; and it was a funny house. And the Black Leaf was growing in a plant-pot, in the house! Only don’t tell his aunt he’d been in the wood, he pleaded, she would be angry with him, and perhaps send him away home to his father: and he didn’t want to go home yet.

“Wait till you’ve got the Leaf—then it won’t matter,” said Timothy.

He seemed so distressed at the idea of his aunt knowing of his disobedience (although she didn’t seem the kind of aunt to be too severe, Molly thought) that the children promised they would say nothing about it.

“Couldn’t you come with us, to-morrow, and show us the way?” said Jack.

But Timothy shook his head. “I rather you tell me about it afterwarth,” he said. “I had enough of the wood. Ith too full of crackly noith. I ran all the way home,” he confessed. “Oh, and thereth one thig. Don’t let Mr Papingay know you’ve come for the Leaf. He’th a funny old man, perapth he wouldn’t let you have it. Wait till you thee it. It wath on the kitchen window thill—inthide—when I thaw it.”

The children thanked Timothy, and were discussing eagerly to-morrow’s plans, when Miss Marigold looked in to say all was ready upstairs.

“I heard you laughing a lot just now, Timothy,” she remarked. “That tea-party made you very excited, I’m afraid.”

“Umth,” agreed Timothy, meekly.

The children were very tired that night, and in spite of their excitement they slept soundly in the comfortable, warm beds Miss Marigold had prepared for them.

Their first waking thoughts were of the plant-pot in Mr Papingay’s house: they longed to be off to the Orange Wood without delay. But they discovered, on arriving downstairs, that the village had made other plans for them. Somehow the news had spread that two people from the Impossible World had come to search the village for the Black Leaf, and the villagers meant to welcome them handsomely and give them all the help they could. During breakfast the children noticed that people kept stopping and peering in through the window at them, and from remarks dropped by Miss Marigold they understood that they would create great disappointment, if not give real offence, unless they searched the village thoroughly that day—and in sight of the people. Jack and Molly began to feel as if they were a sort of show or entertainment. However, they talked things over together, and calculating that the village ought not to take more than a few hours to do—as it was very small—they decided that perhaps they had better search it first, and then in the afternoon start off into the Orange Wood. After all Timothy might have made a mistake, and the Leaf might be in the village after all; it would never do to pass it by.

So they set to work immediately after breakfast, much refreshed by their long sleep and the wholesome, good food that Miss Marigold had set before them. They thanked her warmly and said good-bye to Timothy, then stepped out into another day of sunshine.

But they had reckoned their time without the villagers. So insistent and eager were they to help the children that they hindered and delayed them in every way. Children and men and women suggested likely places where the Black Leaf might be growing, and insisted on taking Jack and Molly to the places; but each search proved in vain.

They searched a field by special request of the man who owned it, and who expressed great surprise when told that the Leaf was not there. (Although he knew very well that the Leaf was not there as he had already gone over the field himself. Still he felt he couldn’t have his ground neglected when all his neighbours’ fields were being searched.)

And one old lady insisted on digging up her window box to show them that the Leaf wasn’t there, conscious of the importance she was gaining in the eyes of her neighbours while the children stayed about her place.

The attention they received made the children rather uncomfortable. However, every garden, every yard of roadway, every field and lane and paddock, and even every plant-pot, having been searched to the villagers’ (and the children’s) satisfaction, Jack and Molly at length said good-bye to the village and turned eagerly toward the Orange Wood.

The afternoon was well advanced by this time, and the sun gleaming through the trees in the wood turned the gold and brown leaves on the branches to a mass of flaming colour.