The old witch went close to it and took the chance to peep inside the case, but no little boy was there. Then she sat down near the door.
“Is your little boy Buttercup at home to-day?”
The mother said, “No, he has gone to the mill with his father.”
“That is a pity,” said the old witch, “for I have a pretty little spoon in my bag that I meant to give to him, and it is such a smart little spoon that if you do but stir your porridge with it, it changes it into something so delicious that the princess herself would be glad to eat it.”
When Buttercup in the cellar way heard that he wanted the spoon so badly that he could stay hidden no longer. “Peep! peep! Here I am,” said he.
“I am glad of that,” said the witch, “for I had no wish to take the spoon home again; but you will have to crawl into the sack yourself to get it, for I am too old and stiff.”
In a moment Buttercup was in the sack, and in another moment the old witch had swung it over her back and was making off as fast as her legs would carry her. This time she neither stayed nor stopped, but went straight on home, and flung the sack on the floor with Buttercup in it.
“Did you get him this time?” asked the girl.
“Yes, I did,” said the old witch, “and there he is, as plump as any young chicken. Now I’ll be off to ask the guests, and do you put him in the pot and make a nice stew of him.”
As soon as she had gone the witch girl opened the sack and told Buttercup to come out. “Now put your head on the block, Buttercup,” she said, “so that I may chop it off.”