Not a very pleasant appearance you will say; perhaps not, but then her voice was another matter. It sounded to me as though, cracked and rude, Years had but softened, nor made it shrill, As a time-worn flute makes the music crude, Yet the spirit of music haunt it still. When Faith listened to her talking, her fear disappeared. And Granny Gather-stick liked to talk. “Do’ee come up here, my dear, and tell me where ye d’ live, and you can sit before my fire,” she said. “Is your cottage near here, then?” “Only a step or two across the water, but not my own cottage, child, that you see from the road. No, this to which I be going is just one of my homes. For those who live in hiding must make a shelter where they can.” “Why do you live in hiding?” asked Faith. “Because of the evil in men’s hearts, my dear. Not content with killing each other, and quarrelling, and drinking, and all the many sports and wickednesses that inflame the hearts of men, they must even turn aside from their gay paths to hunt a poor old woman, and to spin lies about her like a net.” As Granny Gather-stick said these words, Faith saw she had her hand against the hole of a tree that grew beside a thick tangle of underwood. And drawing a little bolt aside, a tiny door opened that appeared like a hurdle set thick with bramble and autumn leaves. Faith stepped after Granny into the opening, and found herself in the dearest little room imaginable. It was about the size of a large cupboard, and the walls were hurdles with brambles and leaves outside, but hung with rough matting within. A hole in the roof let out the smoke of the log fire, burning low in a heap of grey ashes on the ground. The floor was swept clean and bare, showing the brown earth hard and trodden, and a log or two served for chairs; and in the middle was a little round table, holding a cup and a plate. A tripod held the kettle, and on the plate upon the table lay a great golden piece of honeycomb, its sweetness stealing slowly from its sides. Faith exclaimed with pleasure and sat down upon a log. “Granny, what a lovely little house.” As she spoke she heard Martin’s voice calling her. Nearer and nearer the sound travelled, till soon he was by the door. “Now call to him, my dear, and let us see if the birds have given Granny a good hiding lesson.” “Here I am!” called Faith. “Where?” “Here!” “Where?” “Find me.”