"Husband," said Fairfeather, "you should not have such mean thoughts. How could one eat barley bread on the way to a palace? Let us rest ourselves under this tree, and look at our leaves to see if they are safe." In looking at the leaves, and talking of what they were going to do when they came to the Court, Scrub and Fairfeather did not see that a very thin old woman had slipped from behind a tree, with a long staff in her hand and a great bag by her side. "Noble lord and lady," she said,--"for I know you are such by your voices, though my eyes are dim and my hearing none of the sharpest,--will you tell me where I may find some water to mix a bottle of mead which I carry in my bag, because it is too strong for me?" As the old woman spoke, she pulled out of her bag a large wooden bottle such as shepherds used in the olden times, corked with leaves rolled together, and having a small wooden cup hanging from its handle. "Perhaps you will do me the favour to taste it," she said. "It is only made of the best of honey. I have also cream cheese, and a wheaten loaf here, if such noble persons as you eat the like." Scrub and Fairfeather were now sure, after this speech, that there must be about them something of the look that noble persons have. Besides, they were very hungry; and having with great haste wrapped up the golden leaves, they told the old woman that 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 bag. The old woman would hardly sit down beside them, she was so humble and modest, but at length she did; and before the bag was half empty, Scrub and Fairfeather firmly believed that there must be something very noble-looking about them. The old woman was a wood-witch. Her name was Buttertongue, and all her time was spent in making mead, which being boiled with strange 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 the fine things at the 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 nearest thicket. "Idle boys!" cried the mother, "what have you done to-day to help our living?"