“No. He has gone with his father to catch some trout for dinner.”
“That is a pity,” said the old witch, “for I brought a present for him in my bag. I brought him a silver fork, and it is such a dear little, pretty little fork that every bite it carries to your mouth tastes better than what the king himself has to eat.”
When Buttercup heard that he could no longer keep still in the clock case. He must have that pretty little fork. “Peep! peep!” he cried, “here I am in the clock case.” And he opened the door and jumped out.
“That is well,” said the old witch, “but I am too old and stiff to bend over and you must crawl into the sack yourself to get the fork.”
Before his mother could stop him Buttercup was in the sack, and the old woman had closed the mouth of it, had swung it over her shoulder and was out of the house and off. There was no use in running after her; she went so fast.
After while she was well in the forest, and then she did not hurry so.
“How far is it to Snoring now, you in the bag?” she asked.
“Oh, a mile and a half at least.”
“That is a long way for old bones,” said the witch. “I’ll just sit down and rest a bit; but mind you, no tricks to-day, for I shall stay wide awake this time.”
So she sat down by the road with her back against a tree. Then first she yawned, and next she nodded, and then she was asleep and snoring so that the very rocks around were shaken.