When the hag got home, and saw what there was in the sack, you may fancy she was in a fine rage.
Next day the old wife sat and baked again, and her dog began to bark, just as he did the day before.
"Run out, Buttercup, my boy," said she, "and see what Goldtooth is barking at."
"Well, I never!" cried Buttercup, as soon as he got out; if there isn't that ugly old beast coming again with her head under her arm, and a great sack at her back."
"Under the kneading-trough with you and hide," said his mother.
"Good day!" said the hag, "is your Buttercup at home to-day?"
"I'm sorry to say he isn't," said his mother; "he's out in the wood with his father shooting ptarmigan."
"What a bore," said the hag; "here I have a beautiful little silver spoon I want to give him."
"Pip, pip! here I am," said Buttercup, and crept out.
"I'm so stiff in the back," said the old witch, "you must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself."
So when Buttercup was well into the sack, the hag swung it over her shoulders and set off home as fast as her legs could carry her. But when they had gone a good bit, she grew weary and asked,—
"How far is it off to Snoring?"
"A mile and a half," answered Buttercup.
So the hag set down the sack, and went aside into the wood to sleep a bit, but while she slept, Buttercup made a hole in the sack and got out, and put a great stone into it. Now, when the old witch got home, she made a great fire on the hearth, and put a big pot on it, and got everything ready
