She turned her back, and picked the hen out of the ashes.
Lord Arden led Edred and Elfrida away, one in each hand, and as he went he was very severe on disobedient children who went straying after wicked witches, and they could not defend themselves without blaming the cook, which, of course, they would not do.
“Bread and water for dinner,” he said, “to teach you better ways.”
“Oh, grandfather,” said Elfrida, catching at his hand, “don’t be so unkind! Just think about when you were little. I’m sure you liked looking at witches, didn’t you, now?”
Lord Arden stared angrily at her, and then he chuckled. “It’s a bold girl, so it is,” he said. “I own I remember well seeing a witch ducked no further off than Newchurch, and playing truant from my tutor to see it, too.”
“There now, you see,” said Elfrida coaxingly, “we don’t mean to be naughty; we’re just like what you were. You won’t make it bread and water, will you? Especially if bread’s so dear.”
Lord Arden chuckled again.
“Why, the little white mouse has found a tongue, and never was I spoken to so bold since the days I wore petticoats myself,” he said. “Well, well; we’ll say no more about it this time.”
And Edred, who had privately considered that Elfrida was behaving like an utter idiot, thought better of it.
