Molly had just time to see the figure of Jack running in front of her—he had reached the bridge—when the match flame veered right round and pointed up the hill.
Molly turned and looked, but there was nothing to be seen there. What did it mean? She hastened on down the hill, and as her match went out, she lit another one.
This time the light from the match showed her that Jack was on the bridge and had crossed over to the footpath, and was bending down to pick something up. So he had found his matches! But even as she saw Jack, her eye caught sight of something coming from the direction of the Orange Wood along the river bank, toward the bridge. Then the flame from the match veered round and pointed up the hill. But not before Molly had seen what it was that was creeping toward Jack on the other side of the river.
It was the Grey Pumpkin. And Jack had not seen him.
And the match flame was pointing the way of escape, up the hill to safety! Just as the flame had pointed out the way of escape in the underground cellar.
But there was no thought of her own safety while Jack was in such danger. Molly dashed forward, crying out: “Jack! Run! Quick! Come back! Look behind you!” But the wind roared around her as if mocking her, and Jack never heard.
As she ran she lit another match, and by its light saw that Jack was standing upright and had turned—and seen the Pumpkin close behind him. He went to run, but slipped and fell to his knees, and as he was scrambling up again the Pumpkin reached him. Jack seemed to collapse all in a heap on the ground, and then, there was no Jack—but in his place another great Grey Pumpkin. Molly pulled up and stood motionless, gazing with horrified eyes. Then her match went out. She lit another mechanically, and as she did so she heard a terrific crash a few yards ahead, and saw that the storm had broken down the wooden bridge; it collapsed into the river and was caught up by the rapidly rushing current and swirled away. If this hadn’t happened, Molly would have been over the bridge in another second (forgetting in her despair that she could do no good and would only get caught herself). But as it was, she was brought to an abrupt standstill at the water’s edge, while on the other side of the river two Grey Pumpkins rolled slowly away along the path toward a group of tall dark trees....
And so it was that the farmer and his kindly wife, returning home about half an hour later, found a little girl sitting in the porch by their front door, crying as if her heart would break.