But one day, when the witch-woman went into the garden to bury her bones, she seized the moment, looked up the chimney, and, sure enough, a bag of gold fell plump into her lap!

Well! she was off with it in a moment, and ran and ran till she came to the apple tree, when she heard the witch-woman behind her.  So she cried as her sister had done: 

  “Apple tree!  Apple tree, hide me
   So the old witch can’t find me,
   For if she does she’ll break my bones,
   Or bury me under the garden stones.”

But the apple tree said: 

“No room here!  I’ve too many apples.”

So she had to run on; and when the witch-woman on her broomstick came flying by and called: 

  “O Tree of mine!  Tree of mine! 
   Have you seen a naughty little maid
   With a willy willy wag and a great big bag,
   Who’s stolen my money—­all I had?”

The apple tree replied: 

  “Yes, mother dear,
   She’s gone down there.”

Then the witch-woman went after her, caught her, gave her a thorough good beating, took the bag of money away from her, and sent her home without a penny payment for all her dusting, and sweeping, and brushing, and cleaning.

[Illustration:  Headpiece—­The Laidly Worm]

THE LAIDLY WORM

In Bamborough Castle there once lived a King who had two children, a son named Childe Wynde, and a daughter who was called May Margret.  Their mother, a fair woman, was dead, and the King mourned her long and faithfully.  But, after his son Childe Wynde went to seek his fortune, the King, hunting in the forest, came across a lady of such great beauty that he fell in love with her at once and determined to marry her.

Now Princess May Margret was not over-pleased to think that her mother’s place should be taken by a strange woman, nor was she pleased to think that she would have to give up keeping house for her father the King.  For she had always taken a pride in her work.  But she said nothing, though she stood long on the castle walls looking out across the sea wishing for her dear brother’s return; for, see you, they had mothered each other.

Still no news came of Childe Wynde; so on the day when the old King was to bring the new Queen home, May Margret counted over the keys of the castle chambers, knotted them on a string, and after casting them over her left shoulder for luck—­more for her father’s sake than for the new Queen’s regard—­she stood at the castle gate ready to hand over the keys to her stepmother.

Now as the bridal procession approached with all the lords of the north countrie, and some of the Scots lords in attendance, she looked so fair and so sweet, that the lords whispered to one another of her beauty.  And when, after saying in a voice like a mavis—­

  “Oh welcome, welcome, father,
   Unto your halls and towers! 
   And welcome too, my stepmother,
   For all that’s here is yours!”