"My poor darling!" said the lady, looking now as if the moon were melted in her eyes, and kissing her little face, dirty as it was, "the naughty tree must suffer for making a girl cry."
"And what is your name, please?" asked Tangle.
"Grandmother," answered the lady.
"Is it really?"
"Yes, indeed. I never tell stories, even in fun."
"How good of you!"
"I couldn't if I tried. It would come true if I said it, and then I should be punished enough." And she smiled like the sun through a summer-shower.
"But now," she went on, "I must get you washed and dressed, and then we shall have some supper."
"Oh! I had supper long ago," said Tangle.
"Yes, indeed you had," answered the lady—"three years ago. You don't know that it is three years since you ran away from the bears. You are thirteen and more now."