“I’m sorry to say he isn’t”, said his mother; “he’s out in the wood with his father, shooting ptarmigan.”
“What a bore”, said the hag; “here I have a beautiful little silver spoon I want to give him.”
“Pip, pip! here I am”, said Buttercup, and crept out.
“I’m so stiff in the back”, said the old witch, “you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself.”
So when Buttercup was well into the sack, the hag swung it over her shoulders and set off home as fast as her legs could carry her. But when they had gone a good bit, she grew weary, and asked:
“How far is it off to Snoring?”
“A mile and a half”, answered Buttercup.
So the hag set down the sack, and went aside into the wood to sleep a bit, but while she slept, Buttercup made a hole in the sack and got out, and put a great stone into it. Now, when the old witch got home, she made a great fire on the hearth, and put a big pot on it, and got everything ready to boil Buttercup; but when she took the sack, and thought she was going to turn out Buttercup into the pot, down plumped the stone and made a hole in the bottom of the pot, so that the water ran out and quenched the fire. Then the old hag was in a dreadful rage, and said, “If he makes himself ever so heavy next time, he shan’t take me in again.” The third day everything went just as it had gone twice before; Goldtooth began to bark, and Buttercup’s mother said to him:
“Do run out and see what our dog is barking at.”
So out he went, but he soon came back crying out: