“Really!” he exclaimed. “A stranger might almost think you were laughing at me!”
“What an idea!” said the witch, “you must be mad.”
So he went on trailing and prancing. The tree shook again, and he could see Mother Grindle rocking from side to side.
“What are you laughing at?” he cried. “It can’t be me, because there is nothing about me to be amused at. Now, if I were to start laughing at that pointed hat you wear there would be some sense in it.”
At this moment Ella came out wearing her best gown, for it was Sunday; she was not, as a rule, very civil to Mother Grindle, for she also did not admire the pointed hat. But she did admire the peacock. She looked over her shoulder at her own train and was forced to admit that, for colour and design, the peacock’s tail far outdid it.
“Ah!” she sighed, “how I wish I had that tail.”
“You may have one wish—two wishes—three wishes,” sang out Mother Grindle from the apple-tree.
And before you could say “Jack!” the beautiful tail became fixed to Ella’s waist—eyes, moons, quills, fringes and all.
“Now I am simply perfect,” said she; and she ran to the hedge and looked over to see if a Prince were coming down the road. But there was no one. As for the peacock, he was furious, naturally.
Ella knew there was no mirror in the widow’s house large enough to reflect her and all her glory, and she went down to the pool and looked in at herself; she stood on the edge and leaned over, putting up her tail behind her head. All at once there came a gust and caught it like the wind catching a sail; over she went, straight in. It was very deep.