"Thank you, my dear," she said, in a voice so harsh and grating that it sounded like a saw scraping over a stone.
"Surely you wouldn't grudge a poor old woman a rest on the way up to her cottage." This with a leering grin at Jack, who was obviously disconcerted at her presence.
Jack tried to make some polite reply, and then there was a long silence, only broken by the pat, pat patter of the raindrops against the window-pane.
"Now I wonder what you two were talking about so nicely when I came in?" said the old Witch at last.
"We were talking about the rain," said Jill.
"Yes," blurted out Jack, "we were saying, at least I was, that I hated the rain. You see, we can't go out when it is raining, and to-morrow everything will be wet, and we shan't be allowed to walk on the grass, and there won't be any cricket for days. Oh, I wish——"
"Ye-es," drawled out the old Witch. "I thought so. You wish that there was not any rain at all."
"Why, yes," said Jack.
"Would you like that too, my pretty dear?" said the old Witch, turning to Jill.
"Yes," said Jill.