"Where is the Silver Bird?" she roared.
My Mother looked just as swoone-y as she could. She fell on her knees. She clasped her hands.
"Oh, Cruel Witch," she said. "I saw the bird! But I couldn't reach him! He was in the Poplar Tree!—However in the world did you put him there?—Was that what you were bribing the Butcher's Boy about this morning? Was that——?"
"Hush!" roared our Aunt Esta. "Your Doom has overtaken you! Go hence with the clatter of a Horse's Hoof until such time as your Incompetent Head may——"
"Oh, it wasn't my head that was incompetent," said my Mother. "It was my legs. The Poplar Tree was so very tall! So very fluffy and undecided to climb! So——"
"With the clatter of a Horse's Hoof!" insisted our Aunt Esta. "There can be no mercy!"
"None?" implored my Mother.
"None!" said our Aunt Esta.
She gave my Mother two funny little wooden cups. They were something like clappers. You could hold them in your hand so they scarcely showed at all and make a noise like a horse galloping across a bridge! Or trotting! Or anything! It made quite a loud noise! It was wonderful! My Mother started right away for the village. She had on white shoes. Her feet were very small. She sounded like a great team horse stumbling up the plank of a ferry-boat. "I think I'll go get the mail!" she said.
"Like that?" screamed my Father.