Dick found the candle. It was a tallow dip stuck in an old tin candlestick. With the light in his hand, he walked to the old woman's side and bent downward.
The face of the woman was scarred and hideous. There were big gold earrings pulling down the lobes of her ears, and another large ring pierced her nose and fell down over her upper lip. Her cheeks were hollow, and the yellow skin resembled parchment. Her clothing was a motley garb of patched rags. Two claw-like hands, with finger nails an inch long, lay on the blankets beside her.
Matt lifted his eyes to Dick's with a shudder.
"She's not what you'd call Cinderella, exactly," grinned Dick, "and I don't think her beauty will ever prove fatal."
"Anyhow," said Matt, "she's a woman and needs help. That's enough for us to know."
A tin water pail stood on a bench, and there was a gourd dipper hanging over it. Matt filled the gourd and returned and dashed the water in the old woman's face.
The effect was magical. With a screech that caused the boys to start backward in consternation, the old woman sat up suddenly and glared about her, with eyes like coals. Abruptly her attention fixed itself on the boys and she began to croon in a harsh, mumbling voice:
"Si to te 'tit zozo
Et moi-meme mo te fusil
Mo sre tchoue toi—Boum!"
She exploded the last word like the crack of a revolver, lifting and aiming her fingers as she might have done with a weapon.
"Avast, there, old lady!" cried Dick. "We're friends of yours. Can't you understand that?"