"Of course! and that ferocious old person brandishing three arms over yonder must be Croquemitaine,—
"'Croquemitaine! Croquemitaine!
Ne dinerai pas 'vec toi!'
I think they are rather a savage set,—don't you, Rosy?—all except my dear Dame Crump here."
"I know they are," said Rose, in a low voice. "Hush! the three witches are just behind you, Hilda. Their skinny arms are outstretched to clasp you! Fly, and save yourself from the caldron!"
"Avaunt!" cried Hilda, springing lightly from Dame Crump's sheltering arm. "Ye secret, black, and midnight hags, what is 't ye do?"
"A deed without a name!" muttered Rose, in sepulchral tones.
"I think it is, indeed!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "Poor old gouty things! they can only claw the air, like Grandfather Smallweed, and cannot take a single step to clutch me."
"Just like me, as I was a year ago," said Rose, smiling.
"Rose! how can you?" cried Hildegarde, indignantly; "as if you had not always been a white rosebush."