"And what do I look like?" said Miss Jerusha, in rising anger, having a presentiment something impudent was coming.
"Why just exactly like one of the witches in Macbeth."
Now, our worthy maiden lady had never heard of the "Noble Thane," but she had a pretty strong idea of what witches riding on broomsticks were like, and here this little black goblin girl had the audacity to compare her to one of them. For one awful moment Miss Jerusha glared upon the daring little sinner in impotent rage, while her fingers fairly ached to seize her and pound her within an inch of her life. Her face must have expressed her amiable desire, for the elf sprang back, and throwing herself into a stage attitude, uttered some words in a tragic voice, quite overpowering, coming from so small a body.
The noise awoke the sleeper near the fire. She turned restlessly, opened her eyes, and called:
"Georgia!"
"Here, mamma; here I am," said the elf, springing up and bending over her. "Do you want anything?"
"No, dear. I thought I heard you talking. Hasn't Warren come yet?"
"No, mamma."
"Then who were you talking to a moment ago? Is there any one here?"
"Yes, mamma, the funniest looking old woman—here, you!" said the elf, beckoning to Miss Jerusha.