As she lay dozing in her little cot, she remembered that she had not said her prayers. She would not get out of bed to say them, but muttered in a peevish voice: "I wish that God would punish all the wicked people I know! But there's no use praying anyway!"
No sooner had little Polly uttered these words, than a light flashed upon her astonished eyes. She sat up in bed and gazed in horror. Coming toward her was an old, stooped, wild-eyed woman, dressed in gray and carrying a big stick.
Polly tried to scream, but her voice seemed no louder than the squeak of a mouse. Then she tried to get out of bed and run to her mother, but could not move a foot, nor even a finger. Meanwhile the hag came nearer, and as she approached she grew more ugly.
Polly was already nearly dead with terror; yet what did the old woman do but reach her heavy hand and lift the child by her hair right out of bed! Then the frightful hag let her fall upon the floor, gave her a hideous look, and sharply commanded: "Follow me, pouter!"
In vain did Polly try to resist. Clad only in her nightdress, she followed her unwelcome guide out of the house. The night was cold, and the streets were muddy. After they had tramped about for a while, the witch stooped lower than ever and made Polly bestride her back; then she flew with her little rider to the Mountains. Here the hag stopped, and placing the child on the ground, commanded her to wish.
Poor Polly was afraid to speak.
"Ask! Ask!" the witch kept repeating, as she stood over Polly, shaking her long bony hand at her. "I give you five minutes to decide! Going—going—gone!"
At the last word the old woman clapped her hands together, making sparks fly.
Polly screamed with terror: "I only want to be good! Please!"
Then, for a long time, Polly remembered no more. Everything became dark, and she thought she was getting smaller and smaller, until suddenly she became a pin-point and pricked herself, as if she had been somebody else!