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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I am sorry the wall has given so much trouble," Lady Philippa said regretfully, "for that is the only place for my garden my roses and violets and herbs. My lord will try once more to finish it. If I might have but that piece of garden it would be like a bit of my old home, and that is a dear treasure, Mother Izan, in a foreign land."
But they haven't done it yet." This was deliciously horrible. "You don't suppose there are snakes under our castle, do you, Roger?" "Of course not," said Roger, pulling in his lively pony. "That was nothing but a tale. I wish I could bore a hole into the cliff, and see." "Collet says Mother Izan is a witch," said Eleanor, abandoning the subject of snakes.
"Mother Izan must have been uncommonly anxious to get that Solomon's Seal," said Roger as they rode home in the purple dusk. "I believe Howel has been beating Gwillym again." Almost as well-informed as Mother Izan was David Saumond, the stone-mason, who was rebuilding the village church.
The nuthatch is Pic Macon, and the mum-ruffin is Pendolin, and the robin is Marie-Godrie. I'm going to show Eleanor the nest next time we come, if you don't mind." To the surprise of everybody old Izan rode up the castle mount one day on a borrowed donkey. "Howel he loaned it to me," she explained dryly. "Seems like he has less fear of witches since little Gwillym began to fat up.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, and Eleanor pressed close to her mother's side and held her hand. She had never heard a word before about her mother's longing for Provence. As the three rode away old Izan stood for a long time, shading her eyes and gazing after them.
"If I didn't know it was a bird I should think there was a snake or a cross cat in there," said Roger, after he had had a look at the small but spirited bird-mother. "What ever makes her do that, Mother Izan?" Old Izan put out a gnarled hand to feed the titmouse a few live insects. "Same as an old woman don't mind folk saying she's a witch so they let her alone, mayhap," she said.
And all of this uncanny terror was somehow connected with a hill some distance away toward the forest-clad mountains, where a low brown-tiled cottage crouched like a toad, under a poplar whose leaves were ever twinkling in the sun. "Gualtier," queried Lady Philippa, her eye following his, "what is it about old Mother Izan?
"Collet doesn't like Ruric either," said Eleanor. "She doesn't like anybody here really, except mother and me. I never mind very much about what she says. There's Mother Izan in the doorway, and oh, what has she got hanging up in the big tree?" The old woman was a queer bent creature with greenish eyes like a cat's, and white unruly hair that would not stay under her coif.
Next morning a village boy in charge of Roger came up the path to her door, leading two bleating bewildered goats, which were securely fastened to a stake to graze at will. "I came myself," said Roger loftily, "because I meant to make sure that it was all right. I haven't forgotten the time you cured my leg, Mother Izan, and neither has father. Have those blue-tit eggs hatched yet?"
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