“Will it hurt him, poor thing?”
“Hurt who?”
“Father.”
“No; the charm is worked by common sense, and the spell can only be broke by your acting stupidly.”
Fancy looked rather perplexed, and Elizabeth went on:
“This fear of Lizz—whatever ’tis—
By great and small;
She makes pretence to common sense,
And that’s all.
“You must do it like this.” The witch laid down her knife and potato, and then poured into Fancy’s ear a long and detailed list of directions, glancing up from the corner of her eye into Fancy’s face with an expression of sinister humour. Fancy’s face brightened, clouded, rose and sank, as the narrative proceeded. “There,” said Elizabeth at length, stooping for the knife and another potato, “do that, and you’ll have him by-long and by-late, my dear.”
“And do it I will!” said Fancy.
She then turned her attention to the external world once more. The rain continued as usual, but the wind had abated considerably during the discourse. Judging that it was now possible to keep an umbrella erect, she pulled her hood again over her bonnet, bade the witch good-bye, and went her way.