"Yes," said the aldermen, "this woman and her husband must immediately be put to death, and the baby must be taken from them and made a slave." In vain Kitty fell on her knees; the proofs of their guilt were so plain that there was no hope for mercy; and they were just going to be led out to execution when--why, then she opened her eyes, and saw that she was lying in bed in her own little chamber where she had lived and been so happy; her baby beside her in his wicker[3] cradle was crowing and sucking his fingers. [Footnote 3: _Wicker_: made of willow twigs like a basket.] "So, then, I have never been rich, after all," said Kitty; "and it was all only a dream! I thought it was very strange at the time that a man's head should roll off." And she heaved a deep sigh, and put her hand to her face, which was wet with the tears she had shed when she thought that she and her husband were going to be executed. "I am very glad, then, my husband is not a drunken man; and he does _not_ beat me; but he goes to work every day, and I am as happy as a queen." Just then she heard her husband's good-tempered voice whistling as he went down the ladder. "Kitty, Kitty," said he, "come, get up, my little woman; it's later than usual, and our good visitor will want his breakfast." "Oh, Will, Will, do come here," answered the wife; and presently her husband came up again, dressed in his fustian jacket, and looking quite healthy and good-tempered--not at all like the pale man in the blue coat, who sat watching the meat while it roasted. "Oh, Will, I have had such a frightful dream," said Kitty, and she began to cry; "we are not going to quarrel and hate each other, are we?" "Why, what a silly little thing thou art to cry about a dream," said the woodman, smiling. "No, we are not going to quarrel as I know of. Come, Kitty, remember the Ouphe." "Oh, yes, yes, I remember," said Kitty, and she made haste to dress herself and come down. "Good morning, mistress; how have you slept?" said the Ouphe, in a gentle voice, to her. "Not so well as I could have wished, sir," said Kitty. The Ouphe smiled. "_I_ slept very well," he said. "The supper was good, and kindly given, without any thought of reward." "And that is the certain truth," interrupted Kitty: "I never had the least thought what you were till my husband told me." The woodman had gone out to cut some fresh cresses, for his guest's breakfast. "I am sorry, mistress," said the Ouphe, "that you slept uneasily--my race are said sometimes by their presence to affect the dreams of you mortals. Where is my knapsack? Shall I leave it behind me in payment of bed and board?" "Oh, no, no, I pray you don't," said the little wife, blushing and stepping back; "you are kindly welcome to all you have had, I'm sure: don't repay us so, sir." "What, mistress, and why not?" asked the Ouphe, smiling. "It is as full of gold pieces as it can hold, and I shall never miss them."