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to me for years."
     At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of  perspiration  starting
all over his body. but he sat still and shivered and looked  anxiously  at
the kettle.
     "Perhaps it won't work," he mutttered, in a voice that  sounded  weak
and discouraged.
     "Oh, I think it will," answered Mombi, cheerfully. "I seldom  make  a
mistake."
     Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that
when Mombi finally lifted the  kettle  from  the  fire  it  was  close  to
midnight.
     "You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold,"  announced  the
old witch for  in  spite  of  the  law  she  had  acknowledged  practising
witchcraft. "We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will  call  you
and at once complete your transformation into a marble statue."
     With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with
her, and Tip heard her close and lock the door.
     The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but  still
sat glaring at the embers of the dying fire.



The Flight of the Fugitives

     Tip reflected.
     "It's a hard thing, to be a marble statue," he thought, rebelliously,
"and I'm not going to stand it. For years I've been a bother to  her,  she
says; so she's going to get rid of me. Well, there's an easier way than to
become a statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in the  middle
of a flower garden! I'll run away, that's what I'll do - and I may as well
go before she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the  kettle."  He  waited
until the snores of the old witch announced she was fast asleep, and  then
he arose softly and went to the cupboard to find something to eat.
     "No use starting on a journey without food,"  he  decided,  searching
upon the narrow shelves.

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