"Hänsel, where are we?" little Gretel asked, not recalling all that had happened to them since the day before. "I hear the birds twittering high in the branches. We certainly are not in our beds at home."
"No—but I had a fine dream," Hänsel answered—"that the angels were here looking after us all night, the entire fourteen. But look there!" he cried, pointing behind them. The mist was gradually lifting and revealing the house of the Witch of Ilsenstein. It looked very fine, with the sun's bright rays upon it; very fine indeed! A little way off to the left of that queer little house was—an oven. Oh, dreadful! It was well Hänsel and Gretel did not know in the least what that oven meant. Then, on the other side of the house, was a cage—and heaven! it was certainly well that they had no idea of what that was for, either. Then, joining that cage to the house, was a queer-looking fence of gingerbread, and it looked strangely like little children.
"Oh, what a queer place!" Gretel cried. "And do you smell that delicious odour? That cottage is made all of chocolate cream!" She was overcome with joy.
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The roof is all covered with Turkish delight, The windows with lustre of sugar are white And on all the gables the raisins invite, And think! All around is a gingerbread hedge. |
"Oh, to eat such a cottage!" they cried ecstatically.
"I hear no sound. Let's go inside," Hänsel urged.
"No, no! Who knows who may live in that lovely house."
"Well, anyway, it can't do any harm to nibble a little. They can have it repaired next baking day," he persisted.
"Maybe that is true,—and it does look too good to leave"; so Hänsel reached out and broke a little piece of the house-corner off.
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Nibble, nibble, mousekin, Who's nibbling at my housekin? |