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"'What is your name? says she. "'Chickamy Crany Crow, says I. "'What are you doing here? says she. "Says I, 'I went to the well to wash my toe, but when I came back my chicken was gone. "Then the old woman began to laugh like a cackling hen, and she laughed so loud and laughed so long that it scared me.
Meadows, as Chickamy Crany Crow tried to pull her hand away; "you must stay right here and tell the children the story of the Witch of the Well." "They know it already," said Chickamy Crany Crow, trying to hide behind Mrs. Meadows's chair. "No, we don't," exclaimed Buster John. "We know the old rhyme about
Thimblefinger was telling the story of the Strawberry-Girl, Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes had drawn near to listen. Chickamy Crany Crow stood near Mrs. Meadows, and seemed to be very much interested. When Mr. Thimblefinger had concluded, she would have gone away, but Mrs. Meadows detained her. "No," said Mrs.
Once more she pulled off the stocking and put it on the other foot, and appeared to be very much astonished because one foot was still bare." "She couldn't 'a' had much sense!" exclaimed Drusilla. "Not about stockings and things like that," said Chickamy Crany Crow.
Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla laughed so heartily at this that Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes didn't wait to repeat the chorus of the song, but ran away, pretending to be very much frightened. This made the children laugh still more, and for the first time they felt thoroughly at home in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country.
Sure enough the queer-looking boy and the queer-looking girl were singing a song. One sang one line and the other the next line, and this made the song somewhat comical. The words were something like these: Oh sing it slow, This song of woe, Of the girl who went to wash her toe! Chickamy what? and Chickamy which? She went to the well and fell in the ditch; What o'clock, old Witch?
While Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla were watching Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes run away, and laughing at them, suddenly the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country grew brighter. The dark shadow of the buttermilk-jug had disappeared, and there were wavering lines of white light flashing across, as though the sun were trying to shine through.
"She too ugly ter suit me." "Whose fault is it but yours?" cried Chickamy Crany Crow. "Yes, whose fault is it?" cried Tickle-My-Toes. "Come, come!" cries Mrs. Meadows. "We want no trouble here." "We'll not trouble her," answered Tickle-My-Toes. "Old Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones will do the troubling." "Now you all heah dat!" exclaimed Drusilla, in some alarm.
"Well," said Chickamy Crany Crow, "one time there was an old woman that lived near a well. For a long time nobody thought she was a witch, but after a while people began to have their suspicions. There was a quagmire in the road right in front of the old woman's house, and every traveler passing that way was sure to get mud on his feet.
"I know how I'd feel if I was away from home in a strange country and had nobody but queer people to talk to. We are too old. Even Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes are too old, and Mr. Thimblefinger is too little." "Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked Mr. Rabbit, running his thumb in the bowl of his pipe. "I was just thinking," responded Mrs. Meadows.
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