‘Shut the door quickly and bar it,’ she cried to Little Saturday.
And Saturday had but slipped the bolt into its socket when the old hag was at the door, knocking loudly to be let in.
‘My pipe has gone out again,’ she shrilled through the keyhole. ‘May I come in and light it?’
‘No!’ answered Friday. ‘Mother said you would take us away as you did poor Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, if we let you in.’
‘I must come in and light my pipe,’ insisted the witch. ‘And if you don’t open the door, I’ll come through the keyhole;’ and as the children would not open the door, through the keyhole she came!
Having lighted her pipe and unbolted the door, she caught up both children and carried them away, and when the tired Little Mother returned from London Churchtown in a fruitless search for Thursday, she found to her dismay not only Friday gone, but dear Little Saturday!
She hurried to the well in an agony of despair.
‘Where is Friday and Little Saturday?’ she cried.
‘I gave them each a herby pasty,[3] and sent them to Windmill with grist to grind for to-morrow’s baking,’ answered the witch, spreading her petticoats over the dark water of the well.
‘Tired as I am, I must go to Windmill to look for my dear children,’ said the poor Little Mother, with a sigh. ‘P’r’aps I shall meet them coming back; and up the lane she went on her way out to Windmill.