When Molly reached the end of her tale there was a perfect storm of cheering; she stepped down, flushed and excited, and stood talking to Old Nancy for a few minutes, until the cheering gradually died away and in its place a low muttering and groaning arose at the back of the crowd, followed by an outburst of booing and hissing. Molly turned quickly and saw that the crowd had parted, and through the space made a procession of people was wending its way. They were the Pumpkin’s spies; some very dejected, with hanging heads; others sullen and defiant. First came the old woman with the scarlet turban and the little darting eyes; next came the girl in green; then several others that Molly had never seen before—though judging by the remarks to be heard on all sides they were no strangers to the other searchers; among those in the rear Molly recognized the old watchmaker, and the man on horseback, who had given her the letter that was supposed to be from Old Nancy. There were about thirty of the spies altogether, and they gathered in a group before Old Nancy, who eyed them sadly.
“Was it you who scattered the grey powder on my window sill, and made me sleep through the sunset hour, and so enabled the Pumpkin to return?” she asked of the old woman who had led the band of spies.
The old woman nodded. “When some one in the Impossible World pierced the Pumpkin with a pin, the power for good which held me was suddenly dispersed, and all the evil magic that I knew rushed into my mind, and I made the grey powder and brought it to you ... heh, heh, heh,” a chuckle escaped. “And I’m glad I did. We’ve had a splendid time, ain’t we, ducky?” she leered at the girl in green, who nodded sullenly. “And if it hadn’t bin for a sort of muddle we made between us in our eagerness to keep that meddlin’ gel away”—the old woman gave Molly an ugly glance—“our Grey Pumpkin wouldn’t have bin caught and here to-day, that he wouldn’t.”
“Tell me about the muddle,” said Old Nancy, swaying the Black Leaf in her hand gently toward the old woman, who seemed compelled to answer.
“In the first place one of us led her”—she jerked her head in the direction of Miss Lydia—“to the wrong lake by mistake, when she was blind—right into that gel’s path instead of out of it, and when we found out what had bin done and went to fetch her away from Lake Desolate, we couldn’t find her. So, in case she came back to the Lake (which she did) another of us, thinking to cover up the mistake, wrote a letter making believe it was from you, Old Nancy; and the gel would have believed the letter and obeyed it, and everything would have bin all right for us, only something put it into her head not to believe the letter, and so she led the blind woman home and found the Leaf growing in her garden. But even then she would never have got the Leaf if it hadn’t bin for those matches of yours, Old Nancy; they do burn,” and the old woman held out her right hand across the back of which was a deep red scar. “What put it into your head not to believe that letter?” she asked suddenly of Molly.
“I had seen Miss Lydia’s photo at a friend’s house, and I recognized her as soon as I saw her beside Lake Desolate—and so I trusted her,” Molly answered.
“So that’s how it was,” nodded the old woman. “Of course we sent for the Pumpkin at once as soon as we found you were on your way to the house, but he did not arrive until you were inside, so we thought we’d catch you coming out.”
“Are none of you repentant?” asked Old Nancy. “None of you sorry for all the unhappiness you have caused?”
“Repentant! I should think not,” the old woman answered. “No, though we’re powerless now—we’re not repentant. We had the finest time of our lives; that’s so, comrades, ain’t it?”
The other spies assented without hesitation.