"They must be the Queerbodies," said the gander in a low tone, "for I'm sure they're not fairy tales."
"But they look so big,—like giants. Do you think they'll hurt us? Just suppose they were wicked giants who ate children like so many radishes." Ellen had read some place in a fairy story of giants who did that.
"Maybe we'd better stop and ask some place," suggested the gander. "If they ate children I'm sure they'd eat ganders too, for some people who don't eat children at all eat ganders."
Then Ellen looked about and saw that not far away stood a very large, fine house. It was not by any means as magnificent as Aladdin's, but still it was very handsome.
"Let us ask at that house," said Ellen. "They live so close to the mist that I'm sure they must know what goes on beyond, even if they have never been there."
The gander was more than willing for this; so he took Ellen up and flew with her to the house. There she alighted and mounted the steps, but the door was so very grand and tall that she could not reach the knocker, and had to knock with her knuckles.
There was a moment's silence, and then a voice within called, "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, did you hear anything?"
Another voice answered, "I heard the brushing of the vine leaves against the lattice, but I heard nothing else."
"Your knuckles are too soft, Mistress," said the gander; "let me knock," and with his bill he struck against the door.