‘Do you really?’ cried the child. ‘I am glad!—Where are they?’
‘In the witch’s house, away on a dark moor, in her upstairs chamber,’ answered the little white dog, with a wag of his tail, ‘and where they will have to stay—so the witch says—until the little maid who played “Mother” in the game is able to fly upstairs after them.’
‘Then, I’m afraid they will have to stay there always,’ said Betty, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Can’t you get up the witch’s stairs and bring them down?’
‘The stairs are almost as steep as a tower,’ answered the dog; ‘and even if I could climb them, the door of the chamber where they are shut up is locked, and a spell worked upon the lock that nothing can open save a pair of wings and music.’
‘What kind of music?’ asked Betty.
‘I haven’t the smallest idea,’ answered the dog. ‘I only know that it has to do with you.’
‘Are my dear little friends happy?’ asked Betty, hardly noticing the dog’s last remark.
‘They are most unhappy,’ said the dog. ‘They have nothing to cheer them, poor little souls, save the forlorn hope that perhaps one day their dear Little Mother Betty will be able to fly and get them out of the witch’s power.’
‘The little white dog seemed to bend his head in thought.’