The next moment there was a very soft and civil tapping at the door.
“Who goes there?” asked Peterkin.
“Three honest old women,” cried a voice.
“And what do three honest old women want?” called Gredel.
“A bit of bread each,” replied the voice, “a mug of milk each, and one corner for all three to sleep in until in the morning up comes the sweet yellow sun.”
“Lift up the latch,” said Gredel. “Come in. There is bread, there is milk, and a corner laid with three sacks of thistle down. Come in, and welcome.”
Then up went the latch, and in stepped the three travellers. Gredel looked at them without moving; but when she saw they were pleasant in appearance—that their eyes were keen in spite of their many wrinkles, and that their smiles were very fresh and pleasant notwithstanding the lines about their mouth, lazy but good-hearted Gredel got up and made a neat little bow of welcome.
“Are you sisters?” she asked.
“We are three sisters,” answered the leader, she who carried the stick. “I am commonly called Sister Trot.”
