"No--but I had a fine dream," Haensel answered--"that the angels were here looking after us all night, the entire fourteen. But look there!" he cried, pointing behind them. The mist was gradually lifting and revealing the house of the Witch of Ilsenstein. It looked very fine, with the sun's bright rays upon it; very fine indeed! A little way off to the left of that queer little house was--an oven. Oh, dreadful! It was well Haensel and Gretel did not know in the least what that oven meant. Then, on the other side of the house, was a cage--and heaven! it was certainly well that they had no idea of what that was for, either. Then, joining that cage to the house, was a queer-looking fence of gingerbread, and it looked strangely like little children. "Oh, what a queer place!" Gretel cried. "And do you smell that delicious odour? That cottage is made all of chocolate cream!" She was overcome with joy. The roof is all covered with Turkish delight, The windows with lustre of sugar are white And on all the gables the raisins invite, And think! All around is a gingerbread hedge. "Oh, to eat such a cottage!" they cried ecstatically. "I hear no sound. Let's go inside," Haensel urged. "No, no! Who knows who may live in that lovely house." "Well, anyway, it can't do any harm to nibble a little. They can have it repaired next baking day," he persisted. "Maybe that is true,--and it does look too good to leave"; so Haensel reached out and broke a little piece of the house-corner off. Nibble, nibble, mousekin, Who's nibbling at my housekin? a voice called from within. "Good gracious! Did you hear that?" he whispered, dropping the corner of the house. Gretel picked it up, hesitatingly. "It's most awfully good," she declared, but at that very minute came the voice again: Nibble, nibble, mousekin, Who's nibbling at my housekin? "Maybe that is the voice of the sweety maker," Haensel suggested, all the same a good deal scared. And so they went on nibbling at a bit of the fence and then at the house-corner, until they became so full of good things that they began to laugh and caper about in high spirits. But while all this fun was going on, the upper part of the door opened and the old witch stuck her head out. Then slowly and softly, out she crept with a rope in her hand, and getting behind the children she suddenly threw it over Haensel's head. When he turned and saw her he was frightened almost into fits. "Let me go, let me go!" he howled, while the witch only laughed hideously at the two and, drawing them closer to her, she began to pat their heads and talk very nicely to them. "You are lovely children! Don't give yourselves such airs. I am Rosina Dainty-Mouth and just love little children like you," but she didn't say how she preferred them--broiled or stewed. Nevertheless, Haensel had his doubts about her, in spite of her affectionate pretensions.