She dipped the pail in. "You must not stop to drink now," she said.

"Come quickly before the thunder-storms pour out." And without thinking what she was doing, she ran back, past all the casks, saying, "Abracadabra," as quickly as ever she could. Then, with the full pail in her hand, she stumbled up the steps, and Jack after her. She did not wait to shut the trap-door, but ran out of the house half-way down the hill.

Jack tottered after her.

"I must have a drink," he said.

He caught hold of the handle of the pail, and was about to dip in his head when----

Flash! flash! across the sky came the lightning, and then a deafening roar of thunder.

"It's the old Witch!" he cried, dropping the handle of the pail again.

"It's the thunder-storms tumbling out of the cask," said Jill, letting go of her side of the pail too.

They started to run on home, but Jack caught his foot in the handle of the pail as it rolled down the hill. He fell headlong, cutting his head on a stone in the pathway. Jill tried to stop, but somehow got entangled with Jack's feet, and fell headlong too.

All the while the lightning was flashing and the thunder roaring overhead, and then, splash! splash! great drops of rain came pouring down upon them.

How it rained! It splashed down in torrents! Streams and streams of it! Drop after drop, shower after shower, storm after storm.

"I must have opened all the casks at once," said Jill.

Jack lay still where he was, he did not heed his broken head or his drenched clothes.

"Oh, how good the rain is," was all _he_ said.

When, at last, the rain did leave off, those who went to see, found that the old Witch's cottage had been quite washed away. Nothing remained to show where once it had been but one or two rotting casks, and a worn-out elastic bag. The old Witch herself was never seen or heard of in the village again, but she is probably still wandering about somewhere. So don't be too anxious for the rain to leave off, in case she should hear you, and come and steal all _your_ water!

LITTLE MISS m.u.f.fET

_"Cowards are cruel_ _But the brave_ _Have mercy, and delight to save"_

Little Miss m.u.f.fet, Sat on a tuffet, Eating her curds and whey.

There came a big spider, And sat down beside her, Which frightened Miss m.u.f.fet away.

Of course if Miss m.u.f.fet had been just an ordinary little girl, she would not have been afraid of spiders! But she wasn't an ordinary little girl at all, she was a little fairy girl, which just makes all the difference. That is why she is always known as "little" Miss m.u.f.fet, because she was so very small, and spiders did seem to her so very large; and that is why she is always called "Miss" m.u.f.fet, because fairy girls only have sur-names, just as if they were grown-ups!

It was really extremely awkward that Miss m.u.f.fet was so afraid of spiders, and of _the_ Spider in particular, because, you see, the one thing a fairy cannot be is a coward. If a fairy once does a cowardly act, unless he or she immediately makes it right by doing a brave one, he or she will become a mortal at once. And think how dull it would be to become a mere mortal, when you have been used to flying, or dancing, or appearing in dreams, or granting wishes, or doing one of the hundred and one exciting things that fairies do!

Miss m.u.f.fet lived under a gooseberry bush just outside the farm-house door, and the Spider lived in the barn opposite, and there was a fine tuft of gra.s.s in between, where they sometimes met. The farm people knew all about fairies, and on Midsummer Eve always put out a bowl of curds and whey for Miss m.u.f.fet in the true old-fashioned style. Miss m.u.f.fet always hoped that the Spider would not see it and get there first. Oh, Miss m.u.f.fet was certainly very much afraid of the Spider!

She was quite sure he had a hundred legs, whereas he had only eight; quite sure that he was as big as a house, whereas he wasn't as big as your little finger; and quite sure that he spent his life lying in wait to eat her up, whereas he was far too busy about his own affairs ever to think about her at all!

It was on one particular Midsummer Eve that Miss m.u.f.fet had her great adventure with the Spider.

It was a beautiful moonlight night. Miss m.u.f.fet crept out from under the gooseberry bush, and flew across to the tuft of gra.s.s. Yes, there was the bowl of curds and whey as usual. It had never been forgotten ever since Miss m.u.f.fet had come to live under the gooseberry bush.

Miss m.u.f.fet tripped up to the bowl, and began to sip the contents, thinking all the while how glad she was that she was not a mortal, when----

Plop!

Out of the barn dropped the Spider, close down beside her.

"Can you tell me where the best dewdrops----" he began. But Miss m.u.f.fet only looked once in his direction, and then fled as fast as her wings could carry her.

Trembling, she reached the gooseberry bush, and then, all of a sudden, her wings failed her.

"Oh dear," she cried. "I have run away, and been a coward. If I don't do something very brave at once I shall start turning into a mortal.

Oh, I don't want to be an ordinary little girl and be called Molly or Dolly, and have to walk everywhere, and go to school, and put my hair in pig-tails. I must do something brave this minute."

Then her eye fell on the gooseberry bush.

"I know," she said, "I will screw up my courage and kill that spider dead. I will take a thorn from the gooseberry bush to spear him with."

So, with her tiny hands, she broke off a long thorn from the gooseberry bush. Then, feeling very brave indeed, she shouldered the thorn and flew back very slowly to the tuft.

At first she thought the spider had disappeared, as she could not see him anywhere. But, happening to fly over the bowl of curds and whey, she saw that he was lying struggling, in the very middle of it!

At first sight of him Miss m.u.f.fet felt all her old terror returning, and had half a mind to fly away again. But then she remembered that she had come to do a brave deed, and she held her big thorn tighter, and forced herself to look at the Spider as he struggled in the curds and whey.

"That will make it easier," she said, as she balanced herself on the rim of the bowl. "He will not be able to fly away when I start to stab him," and she poised the thorn all ready for a vigorous thrust.

The Spider looked up at her.

"Gracious lady," he began humbly. "Can you direct me as to the best way out of this pond?"

Miss m.u.f.fet was so astonished at being addressed so humbly and so politely by such a formidable person as the Spider, that she lowered her spear-point in order to look at him more closely.

"Gracious lady," began the Spider again. "I beg you will show me the way to get out of this pond soon. I have eight hours more work to do to-night before my task is done."

"Work!" said Miss m.u.f.fet, almost to herself. "Do _you_ do any work?"

"Toil and spin, toil and spin, year in, year out," said the Spider sadly. "It is my masterpiece that I am finishing to-night,--a woven counterpane, light as air, threaded with sparkling dewdrops. I was just going out to fetch a few more, and thought there might be some in this pond; but it is a sticky pond, and I fell in, and now I cannot get out again."

"Well, of all the idiots!" began Miss m.u.f.fet. "Of course you won't find dewdrops in there," she continued hastily. "But tell me some more about your work?"

So the Spider, still struggling in the curds and whey, told on. How he helped the gardener by eating up the flies; how day and night he toiled and spun, making and weaving carpets and counterpanes from silken threads that he himself spun out of nothing. "It was my masterpiece I was to finish to-night," he said again at the end.

All the while he was talking a great struggle was going on in Miss m.u.f.fet's mind.

She raised the thorn again.