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Everychild's companions drew back behind the shelter of a convenient bush. The Old Woman's countenance really did seem, for the moment, quite ferocious. But Everychild did not move.
The Old Woman arose still higher and stepped out of the top of the shoe to the top rung of the ladder. She carried a steaming pot in one hand, and thus handicapped she descended the ladder.
She placed the steaming pot on the table and then turned her attention to Everychild. She exclaimed dubiously: "You're not one o' mine!"
He shook his head. "No, ma'am," he replied.
She sat down deliberately, drawing a long breath, but without taking her eyes from Everychild. "Just an idler," she said, "like all the rest of the young ones. I don't know what's the matter with them these days—children. When I was young I had to work. I expected nothing less. And I tell mine what was good enough for me is good enough for them."
She made this statement as if she hadn't left a single thing to be said.
It seemed rather obscure to Everychild. He tried to think of a more agreeable subject. He looked the Old Woman's house over, up and down. "It's rather a funny house, isn't it?" he remarked.
The Old Woman's manner became more sullen than ever. She seized upon a ladle and began stirring the steaming pot. "It does very well," she declared. "Houses are funny or otherwise according to what goes on in them. When you've got your hands full of children who don't want to work you can't say that your house is exactly funny. Its being an old shoe—if that's what you mean … that's a matter of taste. I prefer it, for my part. I'd never have been able to settle down anywhere else. You see, I had to be on my feet mostly all the time from little on, and now it comes natural, being in a shoe. I can imagine I'm on the go, even if I never get out from one week's end to another."
She lifted the ladle from the pot. She pressed one hand to her bosom and with the other lifted the ladle to her lips, testing the stew. There was a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then she continued:
" As for living in a shoe … there's plenty of females that live in two . Always on the go, they're that restless. I tell my undergrowth it's no more disgrace to live in one shoe than in two, so long as you've got one that's big enough."
She seemed so pleased with this remark that she had to stir the pot vigorously, as a relief to her emotions.
There was a surprising interruption just here. The Masked Lady and Mr. Literal were there, after all, standing close behind Everychild. And Mr. Literal was saying: "She seems to be a bit of a cynic. That reference to women on the go … what period should you say she belongs to ?"
"To every period," said the Masked Lady. After which, fortunately, they remained silent. "And your children," said Everychild. "I don't see them anywhere."
"They'll be here soon enough. I hire 'em out by the day—the boys. I tell 'em if they won't work for me I'll put 'em under masters who'll make 'em work. They gather fagots—the boys. The girls are in the house. They did the wash to-day and I keep 'em under my eye until it's time to take the clothes in. Nothing like keeping a girl under your eye if you want to know where she is."
She got up with an air of great industry and went to the line where the wash was hanging.
She tried the garments with her hand. It seemed they were now dry enough to be taken in. She stepped to the bell suspended from the tree and struck it sharply with a little mallet which had been provided for this purpose.
Wonder of wonders!—the top of the shoe began to overflow with girls! They were rather carelessly dressed, and there was hair in their eyes—they took after their mother in this matter—but being young, they were all fresh and blooming in a way.
They could leave the shoe only one at a time. They began descending the ladder in a sort of procession. You would have thought the last one would never make her appearance.
They paid very little attention to Everychild. They began taking in the wash. Some held their arms out to receive the clothes which others removed from the line. They took the line down the last thing of all. They wound it up carefully.
Just at this time there were stealthy movements all about the house, as if robbers were coming. From among the trees the boys began to steal home. They came from various directions, all walking on tip-toe. Many of them hung back fearfully, though two of them found courage enough to come up close to Everychild.
"You must be the boys coming home," said Everychild.
The first son nodded, but kept his eyes fixed anxiously on the Old Woman. She was glaring at a girl ascending the ladder. "Look sharp where you put those things, now," she was saying. "I'll be inside in a minute, and if you haven't put them away properly I'll know the reason why!"
Everychild felt that he was fully justified in saying (to the first son) "She seems to be pretty bad, doesn't she!"
The first son fairly jumped. "Not so loud!" he whispered. "She might hear you."
The Old Woman really had heard. She stared at her first son in a terrible manner. "So you've come, have you?" she exclaimed. "And I suppose you'll tell me you've been working hard all day?"
"Yes, mother," replied the first son, "We've carried more fagots than you ever saw. Such fine fagots! Didn't we?" He turned to the second son to have his report verified.
"You wouldn't believe how many fine fagots we carried," declared the second son.
The other sons began to appear one by one, now that the first shock of battle was over. They all stared up at the Old Woman as if they were prepared to run if she so much as sneezed.
"Well, you know what's coming to you now," said the Old Woman. "Come on, all of you!"
They all began to make wry faces. "If we could only have some bread with it, mother!" pleaded the first son.
"You'll take what's offered you!" exclaimed the Old Woman grimly.
"And if you wouldn't whip us to-night, mother—anyway, not so soundly," said the second son.
To this the Old Woman retorted: "Who does the whipping around here, I'd like to know? Come here this instant!"
It seemed that there was to be a brief respite, however; for the Old Woman turned to the steaming pot and began testing its contents with great seriousness, lifting the ladle to her lips again and again, and looking abstractedly far away into the forest.
In the meantime more of the children gathered around Everychild. A few of the girls now joined their brothers. They looked at Everychild with unconcealed admiration.
"What do you suppose she is going to do to you?" asked Everychild of the group about him.
The first son replied to this: "I should think you'd know. Haven't you been told how she whips us something terrible?"
Everychild inquired in amazement: "All of you?"
The first daughter now spoke. "All of us," she said. "Every last one of us. That's just before she puts us to bed, you know."
"Of course—I remember now," said Everychild. "She 'whips you all soundly.'"
"That's no word for it," declared the first son. "You know she's had an awful lot of experience all these years. And there's so many of us."
He concluded this sentence in so meek a manner that Everychild exclaimed indignantly, "I think it ought to be stopped. If I were you … did you ever try hiding her whip?"
The first daughter replied hopelessly, "We couldn't do that. Her whip … it's the kind of whip that grows, you understand."
"Some sort of limb?"
"You might call it that. But it's her own limb."
"Yes, if she got it first."
"She did. It's her hand."
"Do you mean," demanded Everychild, "that she whips all of you with her hand?"
"And does a thorough job, too," said the first daughter.
Everychild assumed a very grave air. "How often does this happen?" he asked.
"Every night," he was assured.
He made a very wry face. "But such things …" He couldn't think of the right word at first. Then he asked, "But isn't it all very—very vulgar?"
The first daughter sighed. "I suppose so," she admitted. "But when there are so many children you can't help being a little vulgar."
The first son put in here: "And you mustn't think too hard of mother. You can imagine her position: so many of us, and the high cost of living, and all. Sometimes I think she whips us just to get our minds off our stomachs. You know, a supper of broth without any bread—and that's just what it is—is about as bad as nothing at all. But if you've been whipped soundly you forget about being hungry. You think about running away, or something like that. And the next thing you know it's morning."
Everychild still felt very uncomfortable. "But how does she manage about breakfast?" he asked.
"Oh, she has to feed us well in the morning—to keep us from starving," explained the first son.
Everychild nodded as if the matter had been made perfectly clear. And then the Old Woman cried out quite alarmingly, "Are you coming, or shall I have to fetch you?"
Several of the children replied to this: "We're coming!" Nevertheless they did not go immediately. The first daughter would not go without saying to Everychild, "Of course we ought to invite you to have supper with us—but you see it isn't quite like a regular supper." She blushed painfully.
Everychild reassured her immediately. "Don't think of it," he said.
The second son also had something else to say. "I suppose there aren't so many of you at your house?" he asked.
"So many children?" replied Everychild. "No. Not any, now. I was the only child."
This had the effect of exciting all the sons and daughters. The second son voiced the amazement which they all felt. "You don't say so!" he exclaimed. "But how did you ever get anything to wear? If there was no one ahead of you, how could they make anything over for you?"
Everychild really did not understand this. "Why, my mother used to get things for me," he said.
"Your mother, certainly," said the second son. "But who wore your clothes before you got them?"
"No one, I suppose. You mean that your clothes … ?"
"They're made over from the things the older children have grown too big for."
Everychild was more and more puzzled. "Yes," he said, "but the oldest one of all—there had to be a beginning!"
The second son laughed. "In the beginning," he explained, "they have to be cut down from father's things."
"Oh—your father's!" exclaimed Everychild. Then in a polite murmur, "I—I never heard of your father."
The second son explained this simply. "You never do, when there are so many children," he said.
While Everychild was nodding slowly in reply to this the scene suddenly changed.
The Old Woman took two or three steps in the direction of her sons and daughters; and the sons and daughters, seeing there was no hope for them, approached her with hanging heads.
The scene which followed was such that Everychild felt certain he could never forget it. One after another the children were seized and fed a few spoonfuls of the broth without any bread. Then each was spanked most soundly. Then one by one they quickly escaped up the ladder until the last of them had disappeared. It was all over in a very short time.
Everychild had now been joined by his companions, who saw the last of the Old Woman's children scramble up the ladder and disappear.
As for the Old Woman, she stood a moment, panting, as well she might, and then she made her way around behind the shoe. Just before she disappeared she glared at Everychild and actually made a face at him !
Everychild addressed his companions. "I think we ought to get them to go with us," he said. "That's no way for them to be treated—to be whipped and sent to bed like that."
The giant began dreamily—"There ought to be some way …"
Everychild's eyes brightened. "If we could only open the toe of the shoe—though of course we couldn't!"
"We could," declared the giant.
They went forward stealthily. Will o'Dreams following the example of Everychild and moving without a sound.
The giant slipped his fingers under the loose ends of the toe of the shoe and tugged with all his might. After resisting a moment the toe lifted.
What a sight do we behold! One child after another came tumbling out of the shoe until all the Old Woman's sons and daughters had been liberated. They sprang to their feet excitedly, dusting their garments and looking grateful and relieved.
Everychild addressed them briefly, in a low voice: "You're going away with us, all of you. You're not going to stand such treatment any longer. We're all going on a great adventure, and you shall go with us."
The sons and daughters all made eager signs of assent, though they were careful not to speak a word. Only the little black dog violated the rule of silence. He fairly danced about the entire group of children. And then they all slipped away into the forest.
Let us, however, remain a moment to note what took place about the shoe.
Presently the Old Woman emerged from behind the shoe. She was yawning prodigiously. Slowly she climbed the ladder. She disappeared. But was this to be the last of her? Not so!
Only a moment later her head and shoulders again appeared. Her eyes were staring wildly. She looked this way and that, all about her. Her eyes clearly revealed that she had realized her loss. At last she began beating her bosom with both hands. Her hair fell down until you could scarcely see her face.
And far off in the forest her children were speeding on their way.