Scrub thought this excellent reasoning. So, putting on their holiday clothes, Fairfeather took her looking-glass and Scrub his drinking-horn, which happened to have a very thin rim of silver, and, each carrying a golden leaf carefully wrapped up that none might see it till they reached the palace, the pair set out in great expectation. How far Scrub and Fairfeather journeyed we cannot say, but when the sun was high and warm at noon they came into a wood feeling both tired and hungry. "Let us rest ourselves under this tree," said Fairfeather, "and look at our golden leaves to see if they are quite safe." In looking at the leaves, and talking of their fine prospects, Scrub and Fairfeather did not perceive that a very thin old woman had slipped from behind the tree, with a long staff in her hand and a great wallet by her side. "Noble lord and lady," she said, "will ye condescend to tell me where I may find some water to mix a bottle of mead which I carry in my wallet, because it is too strong for me?" As the old woman spoke, she pulled out a large wooden bottle such as shepherds used in the ancient times, corked with leaves rolled together, and having a small wooden cup hanging from its handle. "Perhaps ye will do me the favor to taste," she said. "It is only made of the best honey. I have also cream cheese and a wheaten loaf here, if such honorable persons as you would not think it beneath you to eat the like." Scrub and Fairfeather became very condescending after this speech. They were now sure that there must be some appearance of nobility about them; besides, they were very hungry, and, having hastily wrapped up the golden leaves, they assured the old woman they were not at all proud, notwithstanding the lands and castles they had left behind them in the North Country, and would willingly help to lighten the wallet. The old woman was a wood-witch; her name was Buttertongue; and all her time was spent in making mead, which, being boiled with curious herbs and spells, had the power of making all who drank it fall asleep and dream with their eyes open. She had two dwarfs of sons; one was named Spy, and the other Pounce. Wherever their mother went, they were not far behind; and whoever tasted her mead was sure to be robbed by the dwarfs. Scrub and Fairfeather sat leaning against the old tree. The cobbler had a lump of cheese in his hand; his wife held fast a hunch of bread. Their eyes and mouths were both open, but they were dreaming of great grandeur at court, when the old woman raised her shrill voice: "What ho, my sons! Come here, and carry home the harvest!" No sooner had she spoken than the two little dwarfs darted out of the neighboring thicket. "Idle boys!" cried the mother. "What have ye done to-day to help our living?"