“And two sticks with crutch-handles,” said Bevis. “But just look there.” He pointed to some gooseberry bushes loaded with the swelling fruit, than which there is nothing so pleasant on a warm, thirsty day. They looked at the gooseberries, and thirsted for them; then they looked at the witch. “Let’s run in and pick some, and run out quick,” whispered Mark. “You stupid; she’d turn us into anything in a minute.” “Well--shoot her first,” said Mark. “Take steady aim; John says if you draw their blood they can’t do anything. Don’t you remember, they stuck the last one with a prong.” “Horrid cruel,” said Bevis. “So it was,” said Mark; “but when you want gooseberries.” “I wish we had some moly,” said Bevis; “you know, the plant Ulysses had. Mind before we start next time we must find some. Who knows what fearful magic people we might meet?” “It was stupid not to think of it,” said Mark. “Do you know, I believe she’s a mummy.” “Why?” “She hasn’t moved; and I can’t see her draw her breath.” “No more she does. This is a terrible place.” “Can we get away without her seeing?” “I believe she knows we’re here now, and very likely all we have been saying.” “Did she make that curious thunder we heard?” “No; a witch isn’t strong enough; it wants an enchanter to do that.” “But she knows who did it?” “Of course she does. There, she’s moved her arm; she’s alive. Aren’t those splendid gooseberries?” “I’ll go in,” said Bevis; “you hold the gate open, so that I can run out.” “So I will; don’t go very near.” Bevis fitted an arrow to the string, and went up the garden path. But as he came near, and saw how peaceful the old lady looked, he removed the arrow from the string again. She took off her spectacles as he came up; he stopped about ten yards from her. “Mrs Old Woman, are you a witch?” “No, I bean’t a witch,” said the old lady; “I wishes I was; I’d soon charm a crock o’ gold.” “Then, if you are not a witch, will you let us have some gooseberries? here’s sixpence.” “You med have some if you want’s ’em; I shan’t take yer money.” “What country is this?” said Bevis, going closer, as Mark came up beside him. “This be Calais.” “Granny, don’t you know who they be?” said a girl, coming round the corner of the cottage. She was about seventeen, and very pretty, with the bloom which comes on sweet faces at that age. Though they were but boys they were tall, and both handsome; so she had put a rose in her bosom. “They be Measter Bevis and Measter Mark. You know, as lives at Longcot.” “Aw, to be sure.” The old lady got up and curtseyed. “You’ll come in, won’t ’ee?” They went in and sat down on chairs on the stone floor. The girl brought them a plate of the gooseberries and a jug of spring-water. Bevis had not eaten two before he was up and looking at an old gun in the corner; the barrel was rusty, the brass guard tarnished, the ramrod gone, still it was a gun. “Will it go off?” he said. “Feyther used to make un,” said the girl.