“One,” Molly replied.
“That’s just right.” Old Nancy held the painted leaf high in the air. “I want you all to see this leaf which has been made and painted by Mr Papingay, and is an exact copy of the Black Leaf. It is a clever piece of work—and useful—as you shall see. Mr Papingay, have I your permission to do anything I like with this?”
“Certainly, ma’am—anything you like,” beamed Mr Papingay, swelling with pride at his own and the leaf’s importance.
Old Nancy handed the painted leaf back to Molly. “Place it under that Grey Pumpkin,” she said, pointing to Jack’s Pumpkin.
When Molly had done this, she was told to strike her one remaining match and set light to the painted leaf. This she did, and stood back as it caught alight, and little tongues of fire and grey puffs of smoke curled round the Pumpkin. Higher the smoke curled, and thicker it became, until the Pumpkin was entirely hidden from view in the centre of a great column of grey smoke. Every one watched—fascinated. Suddenly there was a terrific bang—then the smoke began to thin and drift apart. As it cleared away a figure could be seen standing in the centre of it.
It was Jack, dazed and rubbing his eyes.
“Jack! Jack!” cried Molly, rushing toward him. “Oh, I am so glad! Are you quite all right, Jack? Are you hurt?” She drew him out of the smoke.
“Hullo!” he said, gazing round. “Oh, I say, what’s happened?”
He was soon told.
“And do you mean to say that I’ve been stowed away in an old pumpkin, and been rolling about all over the country?—well, I must have looked an ass!” said Jack. “But I don’t remember anything—only feel as if I’ve been shut up somewhere and been to sleep.” He found his hand seized by one friend after another, and himself congratulated and questioned by the crowd that gathered round him.