Do you know the old verse, "It is always darkest just before dawn"? Now, if the mother had been patient only a little longer, all would have been well. But then there would have been no story to tell. The mother was still sleeping when the father came home. He was singing joyfully, and he awoke her with a kiss. "See," he cried happily, "my brooms are all sold. There was a festival in the town to-day, and every one must needs be clean. Such a sweeping and a dusting and a cleaning! I drove a roaring trade, I tell you. So, here's butter and eggs and ham and sausage. And tea, too. Hurry up, good wife, and get supper ready!" The mother packed away the things. She lighted the fire. She hustled and bustled about. Suddenly the father, missing the children, inquired: "Where are Haensel and Gretel?" He went to the door to call. "Don't call," answered the mother. "They were naughty, and I sent them to the woods in disgrace." "The woods!" exclaimed the father, and his voice was full of horror. "It is growing dark," he said, "and my children are in those gloomy woods without stars or moon to guide them! Don't you know that there is enchantment in those woods? Don't you know that the Witch walks there?" His voice sank to a whisper. "Which witch?" asked the woman, thoroughly alarmed. "The Crust Witch, the gobbling Witch! She who rides on a broomstick at the midnight hour, when no one is abroad, over hill and vale, over moor and dale!" "Oh! Oh! Oh! but what does she gobble?" "Have you never heard? All day long, she stalks around, with a crinching, crunching, munching sound and lures little children with gingerbread sweet. She lures little children, the poor little things, into her oven, all red-hot; then she shuts the lid down, pop, pop!--until they're done brown." "Oh, horror!" cried the mother, wringing her hands. "Oh, what shall we do?" "Go seek them!" said the father. And in another moment without hats, shawl, anything, they had run out of the hut. II The sunset glow lighted the forest. It bathed the stately trees in rose and gold. It shone on the cool carpet of leaves and wild flowers, and played with the garlands of bright-colored vines. But the purple mist of twilight that hung over the distant fir-colored hill sent gray shadows down. They crept behind the hedges and bushes, warning the birds, the bees, and the flowers that night was drawing nigh. One lingering ray of sunshine lit the mossy rock upon which Gretel sat. She was weaving a wreath of wild flowers and singing a little song, while Haensel ran hither and thither, filling his basket with red strawberries.