"Are ye looking for a pot of gold, children?" said a voice behind them. It was the old broom-woman. She had a little house in the woods and sold brooms for a living.
"A pot of gold!" cried Chrif. "Where is it?"
"It's at the foot of the rainbow," said the broom-woman. "If ye get to the foot of the rainbow and then dig and dig, ye'll come to a pot of gold."
"Rhoda! let's go quick!" said Chrif.
"No," said Rhoda, "I ought to weed my flowers."
"Ye must hurry," laughed the old broom-woman. "The rainbow won't stay for lazy folks."
"I'm off!" cried Chrif; and away he went in search of the pot of gold. Rhoda watched him out of sight. Then she turned to weed the boat-garden.
When her grandmother came from the berry pasture, Rhoda told her where Chrif had gone. "We shall all be rich when he comes back with his pot of gold," said the little girl.
"He will not find it," said the grandmother. Rhoda, however, was not so sure.