She had only one acquaintance in the town, Wenzel Kospoth; and to him she sent letter asking whether he knew of some small lodging where she and her daughter could find a refuge and earn their bite of bread hidden from curious eyes.
Now, behind the haunted house was a gloomy little court in which stood a low stable, unused since the horses of Moritz Feigenbaum were sold. Above the stable the coachman and errand boy had lived in two large, low rooms, with a windowless loft adjoining, where hay and oats had been stored.
A coach-house shut in the remainder of the court, in the centre of which a chestnut-tree, long dead, lifted its dark, leafless branches, where a flock of tumultuous sparrows bustled noisily all the day long.
These quarters were not calculated to allure tenants who were partial to light and air; and even the poor and unhoused would not risk an encounter with the ghost of the last inmate. So the mice held their revels undisturbed and feasted royally upon the oats in the granary.
But the cobbler when he had received Frau Cordula's message thought at once how excellently these lodgings were adapted for his friend. His request to the authorities that two shelterless women, for whose character he could vouch, be allowed to occupy the lodgings in the court at a trifling rental was granted; and one morning he set out for the village to assist the mother and daughter in their removal.
The two poor persecuted souls were glad to avail themselves of the refuge under Wenzel Kospoth's roof, despite its unsavory reputation. A wagon was loaded with their bedding and furniture. Upon a chest sat Frau Cordula,
Gundula hovered near her, while the dark-looking Bohemian, who drove the horses himself, cracked his whip so vigorously that the assembled village population, which would have accompanied the exodus of the witch by caterwaulings, dared give rent to no more disrespectful noises than a few whistles.
Their entry into Thomas Lane was made quietly, though the report had spread in the neighborhood that a witch from the country was about to move into the haunted house. A crowd had assembled before the closed entrance; but a look somewhat like disappointment passed over their gaping faces when the young girl sprang down from the wagon and the older woman, with Kospoth's help, descended carefully from her high seat. They fancied the witch would have been older and more gruesome; and Gundelchen, with her laughing eyes and yellow braids, under the peasant's head-dress, excited almost a feeling of regret that the peaceful sleep of these two women was to be disturbed by nocturnal apparitions.