‘Iss, ma’am,’ said Tuesday, unfastening the hatch; and when the old crone had come in and lighted her pipe, she crooked her lean old arm round Monday and took her away.
‘Where is Monday?’ asked the Little Mother when she had come back to her cottage, quick to see that one of her children was gone.
‘An old woman came to light her pipe and took her away,’ said Tuesday.
‘It was the old Witch o’ the Well,’ cried the Little Mother. ‘I’ll go and see what she has done with her.’
And across the road to the well she went, and, stooping down and looking in, she saw an old woman sitting in the back of the well smoking a pipe.
‘Where is my little maid Monday?’ she demanded sternly.
‘I gave her a piece of thunder-and-lightning[1] and sent her to Chapel Stile to see if the waves were breaking on the Doombar,’ answered the witch, knocking the ashes out of her pipe.
‘I am off to Chapel Stile to look for Monday,’ said the Little Mother, returning to the cottage. ‘Be sure you don’t let the old witch come in whilst I am away.’
Betty’s back was no sooner turned than the same old woman came to the door.
‘May I come in and light my pipe?’ she asked.