The more the witch sobbed and cried the less like a witch she appeared and the more like a lonely old woman.
"Wasn’t I wicked enough for her?" she moaned; till Gobbolino’s heart was touched; and he cautiously rubbed his body against her legs.
"I think my sister had got tired of being a witch’s cat!" he told her. "I think she wanted to be a good cat for a change."
"Good?" said the witch, quite startled. "How could she be good? She was born and bred a witch’s cat!"
Gobbolino said nothing, and the witch’s eye fell on him again. "Oh you!" she said scornfully. "You were only born half a witch’s kitten! Look at your white paw and your blue eyes! Poor miserable little creature, when I changed you back into a kitchen cat I had only to finish off what was already begun. But my beautiful black Sootica! How could she treat me so badly? How could she break my old heart? She has left me. And where is she now?"
The old witch went back to sobbing and crying and rocking herself to and fro, till Gobbolino did not know how to comfort her. She seemed to have lost all her desire to punish him, in fact one of her claw-like hands was actually caressing and rubbing his neck as if he were Sootica his sister. The feel of his fur seemed to comfort her a little.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" she sobbed over and over again, and Gobbolino was so overcome with pity that he crept on to her lap, and lay down as close to her crabby old heart as he could push himself.
But her tears and sobs went on and on. He had never known anyone cry so long or so bitterly He found himself blaming his sister Sootica for her selfishness and her desertion. If he had known how her escape would affect the old witch he would never have agreed to help her. Danger was one thing, desertion was another, and here was a poor old woman in the throes of bitter despair. Gobbolino was bitterly ashamed of his sister, and wondered how in the world he could fetch her back.
The old woman slowly sobbed herself off to sleep, but Gobbolino would not creep from her lap for fear of waking her to a new sense of loss. He was willing to give her what little comfort he could.
Meanwhile the sun crept slowly up the rocks and touched the crag that signified midday.
Gobbolino watched it.
Now Sootica would have reached the river! Now she would have swum across it and the witch could no longer capture her and bring her home. Half of Gobbolino rejoiced at her escape. The other half reproached her for her selfishness and cruelty in leaving her old mistress. Could she really hope to become a good kitchen cat if she began with such behaviour?
He shifted his paws, and the witch gave a little sobbing moan.
"Puss! Pretty Pusskins!" she murmured, but Gobbolino knew she was mistaking him for his sister.
Slowly the sun crossed the sky and moved across the rocks. He had a long way to go before nightfall, but if he left now he might just cross the plain before it became too dark to see his way. His friend, the little wooden horse, would be waiting for him in the shade of the forest, and oh, the joy of having his companionship again! He felt comforted by the very thought.
His fur was damp with the witch’s tears. He could not find it in his heart to leave her just yet. Perhaps, a little later, when she woke up, and seemed a little less wretched, he would go down the path and maybe spend the night in one of the caves with the bats below. He did not think the witch would want to harm him now. And she could not have any real interest in a common kitchen cat.
He dozed off on her skinny lap, and slept for a couple of hours.
When he awoke the cave entrance was golden with afternoon sunshine, and he thought he heard someone coming up the hill. It must be Sootica!
But the person who suddenly appeared in the cavern entrance was not Sootica, but the little wooden horse!
11 AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN
The little wooden horse had waited patiently hour after hour for his friend to reappear.
Like Gobbolino, he had watched the sun moving across the sky and he knew that by midday Sootica was likely to have reached the river, and would therefore be safe from recapture by the witch.
He did not approve of her behaviour in the least, but he could understand the tender heart of a brother for his sister’s distress, if, in fact, the witch’s cat were really as distressed as she made herself out to be.
He saw the sun touch the midday crag, and pass on slowly across the jagged peaks of the mountain. At any moment he expected to see Gobbolino come flying down the mountainside, but Gobbolino did not come.
After an hour or two the little horse began to grow anxious. He did not want to be stranded in the middle of the plain when the sun went down. There was no shelter out there, while in the forest they could pass the night under a tree.
He trotted out of the cave and looked up towards the summit, but there was nothing to be seen of Gobbolino.
He waited while another hour crawled by, and then began very slowly to descend towards the bats, who were restlessly flying about below, and waiting to take possession of the caves at the foot of the mountain. They were in a very testy frame of mind, due to sleeping in rabbit holes and having nothing much to eat.
They took very little notice of the wooden horse, flying around in crazy circles and alighting on the rocks, only to dash around again like a crowd of mad mosquitoes. Not one of them volunteered to go up to the top of the mountain and remind Gobbolino that it was high time he started down the path to begin his journey home across the plain. They were afraid of being caught by the witch, and either having to stay in the cavern under her command, or being banished back to the rabbit holes again. Finally he persuaded a very young and dashing bat to go up the mountain.
"Just tell my friend Gobbolino that we should leave immediately," the little wooden horse said, "that is, if we want to travel safely across the plain before dark. Tell him I am waiting for him down here, and I shall not set out until he comes."
The bat whirred off in the direction of the summit. The wooden horse waited impatiently below.
It was some while before the bat came back, appearing like a small black fly against the sky above, soon to be lost in the darkness of the crags. The little wooden horse lost sight of it in craning for a glimpse of Gobbolino, but the path remained empty, and there was no sign of his friend.
Suddenly the bat flopped down at his feet, panting.
"I waited and waited," it squeaked, "but it was no good — he won’t come!"
"Just tell my friend… that we should leave…"
"He won’t come?" the little wooden horse repeated in dismay. "Is the witch awake, then? Has she put a spell on him?"
"Not that I could notice," said the little bat. "I think the witch is asleep, because she is snoring a little.. and your friend Gobbolino is fast asleep too, on her lap."
"On her lap?" the little wooden horse cried out, in horror. "On her lap?"
"Why, yes!" said the bat. "He is snuggled up on her knees, underneath her heart, and his white paw is folded round her wrist. It is quite a touching picture to see a poor old lady being comforted by her cat!"