"Who are you?" asked Rupert, a trifle startled.
"I am the witch Trompetilla, the daughter of the celebrated Trompeton and grand-daughter of Trompetazo, and am looking for my son Trompetin everywhere, without being able to find him."
"Why do you speak to me about Trompetilla and Trompetin when I never played a trumpet in my life?"
"Ah, unhappy me!" sobbed the witch. "In vain I have offered a pennyworth of toasted chick peas and a measure of tiger nuts to the mortal who discovers the whereabouts of my son. I have wept so much oil and vinegar that I have spoilt all the furniture in my house."
"What a fine salad you could make if you bought some lettuces!"
"You will get a salad made of blows if you don't help me to look for my Trompetin, and if we find him I will invite you to supper, and moreover will give you a penny so that you need never do any more work in your life."
Roused by such a magnificent promise, Rupert offered to look for Trompetin, even if he were under a cruet.
"What is he like?" he asked.
"The size of a pea, a head like that of a pin, and legs like needles."
"Well, then, he must be sticking in a pin cushion or in a needle-case."