‘I think she’s fine,’ her brother whispered back. ‘But those cats? My, they’re strange!’
‘Did you notice the way she seemed to know what you’re going to say before you say it?’ asked Anne.
‘Yes,’ answered Giles. ‘But you’re not afraid of that, are you?’
‘Oh, no. I ought to be, I suppose, if it’s magic. But somehow I don’t seem to be. I like her—a lot. What a funny, queer little room, Giles, isn’t it?’ Anne’s glance swept round the inside of the hut as she bit into a ripe peach. ‘Copper saucepans on the walls. No pictures. Old wooden chests—I wonder what’s inside them. A sleeping-basket for the cats—I suppose they make their own beds. And the apple barrow, over there, see the wheels sticking out from under the cover full of patches. Old clothes and a bonnet hanging on the peg. Oh, I do hope she’ll be able to help us about Father’s troubles, Giles. But she seems dreadfully poor herself ... Sh! Here she comes back again.’
Agnes hobbled forward to the bench at the fire. The two cats followed her into the room. Then they went off into a far corner, sat down side by side like a pair of soldiers and watched the blaze from a distance.
‘Well now, young people,’ said the Applewoman, ‘are you aware that you might get into serious trouble if your parents learned that you had been here?’
‘Yes, surely,’ said Anne. ‘But, oh, it’s so important that something be done for Father, Mother Agnes. And you were the only one we could think of who might be able to help.’
‘I see, I see,’ muttered the old woman ... ‘You know what folks call me, I suppose?’ she asked, suddenly looking at Giles with black eyes wide open, piercing.
‘Shragga the Witch,’ murmured the boy in almost a whisper, not meeting her gaze.
‘That’s it. “Shragga the Witch”,’ she nodded. ‘A lot they know, the fools! Tell me, do I look like a witch to you?’