Molly led Miss Lydia into the cottage parlour—a dainty, fresh little room—and brought a chair forward into which Miss Lydia sank gratefully.

“Can I get you anything? Shall I make you some tea?” suggested Molly cheerfully.

There was no answer, and then she saw that Miss Lydia was crying softly to herself.

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry, Miss Lydia,” said Molly, distressed. “Oh, what can I do? Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

“I don’t know what to do,” said Miss Lydia. “I feel so helpless here alone. If only I could get a message through to my sister in the City, she’d come to me immediately—if she knew. What shall I do?... You have been so good to me—it’s a shame to bother you with my troubles, though.”

Molly sat down on a chair opposite to Miss Lydia, and tried to decide what to do. Molly felt very perplexed and troubled herself. It seemed cruel to leave Miss Lydia here alone in this deserted spot, and yet if she took her with her it would cause so much delay, and time was getting short now.

“Have you no friends near here that I could fetch for you?” asked Molly.

Miss Lydia shook her head. “No one very near. I came to live in this lonely little house away from my friends, so that I could get on with my work. I am an artist—I was an artist,” she corrected herself. “I cannot paint pictures now. I cannot watch the sun sink over the hills nor see the stars reflected in the water. What shall I do? What shall I do?” she sobbed bitterly.

“Oh, don’t, don’t, Miss Lydia!” begged Molly. “Listen. I know what I’ll do. Tell me the address of the friends who live nearest here, and I will go and fetch them. I will bring them back myself—and then go on my way. You will not mind being left for a short time, will you?”

“No,” said Miss Lydia. “I don’t feel I dare go out again. I will wait here. You are so good to me. I do hope I am not giving you too much trouble.”

By this time Molly had quite made up her mind that Miss Lydia was sincere; no doubt of her sincerity entered Molly’s mind until happening to glance out of the window she saw some one dodge out of sight behind a bush in the garden—some one with a red scarf bound round her head.

Molly’s knees began to shake. What could this mean? What was the old woman with the horrible eyes doing here in Miss Lydia’s garden? Was it a trap? She looked over at Miss Lydia who was sitting patiently where Molly had placed her. Molly moved softly toward the window, and stood, hidden by the window curtain, looking out. In a few seconds she saw the old woman’s hand come round the side of the bush and make a signal toward the hedge by the fence. The hedge stirred a bit. So there was some one else hiding there, thought Molly. She turned to Miss Lydia. The sight of the blind woman’s gentle face reassured her. No, if this was a trap, Miss Lydia had nothing to do with it; Molly felt sure of that. Anyway, she decided that it was better to tell Miss Lydia what she had just seen in the garden.

Miss Lydia was terribly agitated at first, and cried, and seemed so upset that she made Molly want to cry too.

“But we must be brave, Miss Lydia,” said Molly. “Trust me, and do what I tell you, will you?” she urged. “We must help each other all we can. I will help you with my eyes, and you must help me with your ears—listen and tell me what you hear. And you can help me by telling me where to find things and all that.”

Miss Lydia calmed down gradually, and promised to aid Molly as much as possible.

Molly’s first act was to ascertain that all the windows were locked and the front and back doors bolted. While seeing to these things she discovered that there were two other spies lurking in the back garden. One looked something like the figure of the old watchmaker, only he was dressed differently. The other man she had not seen before. They were both badly concealed among some tall plants and ferns.

“Why are all the spies gathering here together?” Molly asked herself. “Do they know I’ve seen them, I wonder. They don’t mean to let me get out of this house. They seem to be watching all round it.”

“What can you see? What can you see?” asked Miss Lydia, pleadingly.

Molly told her. “I don’t think they can hurt us—so long as we keep indoors. They’re only guarding the house to see that I don’t get away, until——” Molly broke off; “until the Pumpkin comes,” was what she had been going to say, but there was no need to set Miss Lydia trembling afresh.

Molly herself was in such a state of excitement, darting noiselessly from one window to another, comforting Miss Lydia, and telling her what she could see, that there was hardly time to be very frightened.

Miss Lydia divided her attention between the front door and the back, listening anxiously at each in turn. Presently she remembered something, and called quietly to Molly:

“There is a little room at the very top of the house, in the roof, a room I use as a studio,” she said. “If you go up you will have a better view of the garden, and will be able to see far outside the garden, over the hedges as well.”

“I will go at once and see what I can make out,” said Molly. “But I saw no stairs leading up any higher.”

“They are in the cupboard on the landing,” was Miss Lydia’s reply. “I’ll wait here by the front door.”

Molly dashed upstairs, found the cupboard on the landing, and, opening the door, saw the concealed stairs. She ran up these to the studio. There were four windows in the studio, one on each side of the room. She looked out of each in turn, taking care to keep well back in the room so as to be out of sight. There were splendid views from these windows. She could see clearly now the old woman still crouching behind the bush in the front garden. She could see, too, who was behind the hedge; it was the girl in green who had met them in the Third Green Lane and decoyed them to the old woman.

From the window that looked out on to the back garden she saw the other two spies still hiding there, and a third spy hiding a little farther away from them. Her eyes wandered round the garden, then all at once she gave a gasp as she caught sight of something that made her heart seem to stop beating for a moment, then start to hammer madly at her side.

It was a large Black Leaf, growing in the garden bed, just behind where the two spies were hiding; so that from the lower windows they had hidden it completely from her eyes.

Molly could scarcely believe it for a moment, and looked again to make sure. Yes; it was the Black Leaf at last!

Now she understood the presence of the spies here, and their anxiety to keep her away from the garden, which contained the Leaf they dared not touch. And now she understood the reason why the Pumpkin had made Miss Lydia blind.

What a wonder the Pumpkin was not somewhere near to guard the Leaf, she thought. And even as she thought this, she saw the Pumpkin. He came rolling slowly along the garden path toward the back door.

“Oh, however am I to get the Leaf with the Pumpkin and all his spies around?” thought Molly.

Then she heard Miss Lydia’s voice calling up the stairs: “Come quickly! Hush! I can hear that rolling sound again, out in the garden.”

Molly ran downstairs.

“Oh, Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia!” she whispered, excitedly. “Do you know why they’re all round this house?—the spies, and the Pumpkin himself—yes, it is he—oh, hush, Miss Lydia! Do you know the reason? The Black Leaf is growing in your garden! I can see it from your studio window.”

Half crying, half laughing, Molly explained rapidly; while Miss Lydia wrung her hands together and listened intently.

“’Sh!” she interrupted, suddenly. “Listen. I can hear the rolling sound outside the front door now—and the back door.”

“Not both at once?” queried Molly.

“Yes, I can. Listen.”

“Then—oh, then it must be Jack as well—if there are two Pumpkins,” cried Molly tremulously. “But I don’t expect he can help us,” she went on quietly. “He’s under the power of the Pumpkin entirely; he’ll just have to obey orders.”

Molly was thinking rapidly. What was she to do? How could she reach the Leaf before the Pumpkin touched her. Every moment she expected to hear three taps on one of the doors, and see it swing open and the Pumpkin roll in. She made Miss Lydia sit at the top of the stairs, and she herself stood half-way up, ready to run, if necessary. What was she to do? So far the Pumpkin had made no attempt to enter the house, but was content to bide his time outside. Unfortunately Molly did not know which door he was waiting at, nor which of the two Grey Pumpkins outside was the real Pumpkin and which was Jack.

How could she reach the Black Leaf before the Pumpkin or the spies could stop her? Try to reach it she must, yet she knew if she stepped outside she would not stand a moment’s chance. On the other hand, she and Miss Lydia might remain shut up in this house for ever so long—perhaps until the thirteen days were up and the Leaf had disappeared; and then the Pumpkin could tap on the door and enter, and they would be powerless to defend themselves. If only something would happen to distract the watchers outside, just for half a minute, that would be time enough—she could reach the Leaf in less time than that. Oh, how tantalizingly near the Leaf seemed—and yet how far away.

Presently Molly asked, “Is there a tree in your garden that grows anywhere near one of the upstairs windows, Miss Lydia? I didn’t notice when I ran through the rooms.”

“There is one at the side of the house,” said Miss Lydia. “It can be reached from my bedroom window—the branches tap against the window-pane. Why? What do you want to know about the tree for?”

“Wait a moment,” said Molly. “I’ll just run up and have a look at it first.”

While she was upstairs she had another look out of the studio window also. Of course the Leaf was still there—and the two crouching figures among the tall plants. Molly had thought out her plan by this time, and noticed with satisfaction that evening was rapidly approaching. For, “It must be done in the dusk,” she told herself. “Just before the moon comes up.”

She went down to Miss Lydia again and sat beside her at the top of the first flight of stairs.

“The tree will do splendidly,” whispered Molly. Then she told her companion what she had planned to do. “And I want you to help me, if you will, Miss Lydia.” She paused. “I’m going to ask you to do a very plucky thing. In half an hour’s time I want you to draw the bolts of the back door and walk out into the garden.”

Miss Lydia was startled.

“I know it seems a dreadfully hard thing to ask you to do,” Molly went on hurriedly. “But I believe it is the only way out of our difficulties. For the sake of every one who has suffered through the Pumpkin, for my sake, for your own sake, will you take the risk, Miss Lydia? In the end, it may be the means of restoring your sight, you know.”

They talked in whispers for a while.

“And you don’t think it’s any good waiting?—in case some help comes?” asked Miss Lydia wistfully.

“Not a bit of good, I’m afraid,” said Molly gently. “It’s very unlikely that help will come—I think we must rely only on ourselves.”

“Then I won’t fail you,” said Miss Lydia.

They sat there, talking occasionally, until dusk fell. Then Molly went into Miss Lydia’s bedroom, and cautiously opened the window and looked out. There appeared to be no one watching this side of the house; if there was any one, it was too dark to see them, and so they would not be able to see her, Molly thought. She had strapped her little pocket satchel firmly across her shoulders, and just inside, where she could easily reach it, was Old Nancy’s box of matches.

Fortunately there was a slight breeze blowing, so that any rustling of the trees, unless unusually loud, would not attract attention. Molly got out on to the window sill, and from there climbed as noiselessly as possible into the tree. Molly had had a good deal of experience in tree-climbing now, nevertheless she was trembling as she lowered herself down to the branches nearest the ground; it was not a nice sensation climbing down, when you didn’t know what was at the bottom. She waited for a while, and listened, peering out from among the leaves. Nothing stirred in the garden below.

As far as she could make out, she had but to drop to the ground, run round the corner of the house along the path, or across the garden bed, and the Leaf was on the left-hand side, she remembered, close to a big tree, whose outline could be dimly seen.

Molly waited, full of doubts and anxieties. After all, was this a wise plan to try? was it too simple to have any chance of success? What a long time Miss Lydia was. Supposing her courage failed at the last moment—well, who could blame her? It was such an easy thing for Miss Lydia to do, and yet such a hard thing. The Pumpkin was almost sure to catch her—poor Miss Lydia—but it would only be a momentary triumph; Molly would soon see that things were put right again—that is, if the Pumpkin did not catch Molly too. But Molly dared not think about that. She was strung up to such a pitch of nervous excitement that every second seemed like a whole minute, while she waited. How brave it would be of Miss Lydia if she did—But what a long time she was. Could anything have happened to her? Perhaps the Pumpkin had.... Hark! what was that!

It was the sound of the back door bolts being withdrawn.

Instantly there was a stir in the garden, and a subdued murmuring floated up to Molly’s ears.

The back door was flung open noisily, and footsteps could be heard on the path. Molly got out her box of matches.

The garden was now alive with whispering figures. Several moved quickly toward the back door; there was a scuffle; a scream; the sound of footsteps running, and a dull thud, thud; then the sound of many voices, calling, shouting directions, raised high as if in some dispute.

In the midst of all this Molly dropped to the ground and ran rapidly round the corner of the house, bounded over the garden bed, skirting the clump of plants where she had seen the two spies hiding, and made straight for the big tree. Just as she reached the spot where she thought the Black Leaf was, she felt some one grab hold of her arm and she was jerked back.

“Here she is! Here she is! That’s not her at the back door! Here she is! Ah, ha...!” screamed a voice in the darkness beside her, the voice of the old woman with the horrible eyes, who had evidently run to guard the Leaf when the back door opened. “Quick! Come quick! Here she is! Now I’ve got you, my beauty!”

Immediately there was an uproar. The rush of many feet, shouts, exclamations, came from every direction. There had evidently been far more spies hiding in the garden than Molly had known.

Quick as thought, she struck one of Old Nancy’s matches, and as the light spurted out of the darkness, she flashed the flame across the hands that were gripping her arm. With a cry of pain the old woman loosened her grasp, and Molly wriggled and, darting forward, clutched at the stalk of the Black Leaf—and plucked it.

Holding the flaring match in one hand, high above her head, and clasping the Black Leaf firmly in the other hand, Molly called out in a clear voice the words Old Nancy had told her:

“Come to me, Grey Pumpkin! I command you by the Black Leaf!”

Slowly, very slowly, there emerged from the darkness two Grey Pumpkins. As they rolled toward her, Molly glanced hesitatingly from one to the other; then, as they came within reach, she stooped and hastily touched both with the Leaf. The Pumpkins rocked to and fro for a second, then became still at her feet.

The Grey Pumpkin was conquered at last.

Molly stood silent. She could hardly realize that it was true. After a while she became aware of a curious stillness in the garden; the Pumpkin’s friends had quietly crept away.

Molly looked down at the Pumpkins in front of her, vaguely disappointed. She had somehow had a feeling that Jack would be restored to her directly she had found the Black Leaf. The two Grey Pumpkins at her feet looked each exactly the same as the other—she could not tell which was the real Grey Pumpkin herself. This, then, was the Pumpkin’s object in turning Jack into a likeness of himself; this was his last revenge. Poor Molly, she had been looking forward eagerly to seeing Jack again; there was so much good news to share with him; and so, in her moment of triumph, Molly’s eyes were full of tears.

“I can’t understand it,” she thought. “I expected he would change back when I touched him with the Black Leaf.... I must take them both back to Old Nancy; she’ll know what to do.”

Then, with a pang of remorse, she remembered Miss Lydia.

“Follow me,” said Molly to the Pumpkins, and they obeyed her. It was strange that both of them obeyed the holder of the Black Leaf, but they did, following about a couple of yards behind her.

At the door of the cottage she found Miss Lydia lying on the ground, her face white and her eyes closed. Molly called her by name, but she did not answer. It was growing a little lighter now, as the moon was beginning to appear. Molly groped her way into the house and fetched some water, and knelt and bathed Miss Lydia’s forehead, calling her gently from time to time. It was a curious scene in the dim garden. Molly on her knees beside Miss Lydia, the Black Leaf tucked into the strap of her satchel, while on each side of the doorway, like sentinels, were two motionless Grey Pumpkins.

At length Miss Lydia stirred, and gradually recovered. Presently she opened her eyes, then gave a glad cry.

“Oh, I can see! I can see!” she said. “Oh, my dear!” And she cried a little, then began to laugh.

Molly told her quickly what had happened, and Miss Lydia was overjoyed at beholding the Black Leaf in Molly’s hand, and the Pumpkin waiting for commands, though she was grieved and puzzled that Molly’s brother had not yet been restored. She, herself, could not remember anything after she had come outside into the garden.

“I felt something bump against me, and I fell—and that’s all,” she said. “But I’m better now.”

“The first thing I must do,” said Molly, “is to set fire to the nearest beacon. They are marked on my map ... there is one being guarded on a hill close by.”

Half an hour later a flame sprang out of the night, on the top of a hill near the Giant’s Head. Spreading rapidly, the fire darted and leapt, rising higher and higher, until it became a great mass of blazing light.

People far and near stopped and gazed, crying excitedly to each other. “Look! Look! It’s the beacon—the first beacon! The Black Leaf is found!”

And as they watched, an answering beacon leapt forth from a neighbouring height. Hill after hill took up the glad news and passed it on, until the beacons, blazing throughout the kingdom, turned night into day.