Goody lost but little time in thinking. She produced a cup, from her shelf of decoctions, and dabbling her finger into its contents she proceeded to stain the girl’s face a rich brown color, which made her more handsome than ever, if possible, but which masked her so completely that her own reflection would not have known her. The brown stuff went into her pretty ears and all around her plump pretty throat and even on top of her eyelids as they were closed, for Goody was something of an artist. When she had finished, she regarded her work critically.
“The angel Gabriel wouldn’t know you now, himself,” she said. “When you wish to get it off, use vinegar. Take your stick and your little pack, put it over your shoulder, so, and now you are ready. Would you like something to eat before you go?”
“Oh no,” gasped the girl, frightened half out of her wits, at the prospect of going forth into the world with two pretty, visible legs to walk withal. “I—I couldn’t eat anything. I—wait a minute. I—I think I would like a little drink of water.”
Goody gave her a dipper full, of which she took one miniature sip.
“Do I—do I look—terrible?” she faltered.
“You look like a farmer’s boy—a lout of a country lad,” said Goody. “So, good-by, young man. My last word is, forget you have got any legs, or you will surely be detected.”
“Legs!” said the jackdaw, glad of a new word. “Legs! Legs!”
“I couldn’t—wear anything—over them, could I?” said Garde, timidly, having jumped when Rex croaked so suddenly.
“You can wear a wedding gown over them, if you prefer,” said the old woman, grimly, and suggestively. “I really expected you to do better than this.”
“Well—I will!” said the poor child, resolutely. “Good-by, dear Goody. I shall always love you, more than ever, for this.”