The little wooden horse could see a few batlike shapes whirling and tumbling in the moonlight where the mountain joined the plain. He walked towards them till the bats in the caves begged him to stop before he got frizzled up.
"It is very dangerous over there!" they warned him.
The bats in the rabbit holes caught sight of him and came fluttering across to see what was happening.
"Ugh! You are scorching!" they cried, retreating a little, and flopping on to the ground like so many little black goblins.
"What do you want?" they asked curiously of the little wooden horse.
"It is very dangerous over there!" they warned him
"I want to send a message to the old priest in the church. Will you take it for me?" he asked them.
The bats began to twitter.
"We don’t want to go back to the church! We want to live in the caves like the rest of our families!" they protested. "The church is draughty and dirty and everybody hates us there! The priest calls us nasty vermin! The church cleaners detest us! We don’t want to go back again!"
"Then why not come and live in the caves with the others?" the little wooden horse said cunningly.
"We will get frizzled up if we try to cross the magic circle!" said all the bats in chorus.
"It’s the old witch!" one of the younger ones said. "She drew a magic circle round the mountain last night with her broomstick. We saw her!"
"But wouldn’t you like to find a way of breaking the magic circle?" asked the little wooden horse.
"Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!" chorused the young bats.
The little wooden horse began to tell them about the spell-breaker — not the whole of it, for fear they might spread the news far and wide until it came back to the witch’s ears, but vaguely, and introducing a few ingredients that would serve to put the witch off the scent.
"An owl’s feather," he quoted. "And a white snail’s shell, and a four-leaved clover. But above all, we need the blessing of a good man."
The bats were silent, looking at him with their bright and beady eyes. They seemed to be considering the subject. At last one piped up:
"But how shall we bring you the blessing if we get it?"
This question had indeed puzzled the little wooden horse, but now he found an answer.
"You must tell the whole story to the priest," he said, "tell him about the spell-breaker we are about to make, and explain that his blessing is the most important part of it. You can ask him of his kindness to bless my little wooden ear, and send it back to me. Carry it very carefully between you. It isn’t very heavy! Hide it in one of your holes until sundown tomorrow, when I will come and fetch it."
As he spoke the little wooden horse took off one of his little wooden ears, and threw it as high in the air as he was able, to the bats. It landed, just the slightest bit scorched, on the ground among them.
They picked it up gingerly with the sharp little claws at the ends of their wings, and he saw them fly away with it into the darkness of the plain.
When he got back to the cavern the witch was home and fast asleep, while Gobbolino was patiently waiting for him.
15 THE FLYING HORSE
The LITTLE WOODEN HORSE and Gobbolino made up their minds to spend the next day collecting the rest of the ingredients for the spell-breaker.
They found an old pumpkin on a shelf, and this they thought would make a good receptacle for the ingredients, if they could only keep it hidden from the witch.
They pushed it into the very darkest corner of the cavern near the spring, and measured into it the first little clay potful of water, that had collected so slowly from under the dripping rock. They did not like to think how long it would take to collect seven more portions.
In the morning the witch was sleeping so soundly that they hoped she might really sleep all day as Sootica had described to them, and taking the milk jug with them they went out on to the mountainside. Since she knew they could not escape from her, the witch was quite content for them to roam among the rocks outside… so long as they came instantly to her bidding when she called them.
Only one thing perplexed them. They were expected to bring back the jug brimming with milk, so how were they going to carry the fruit juice, when they had crushed the bilberries and apples on the rocks and measured them to the right proportions?
Gobbolino brought the little clay cup with him, and suddenly the wooden horse had the good idea of using his hollow wooden body as a mixing bowl, and measuring the ingredients very carefully inside it.
The goats were willing enough to give their milk this morning, but the little wooden horse pointed out that this might go bad in the heat of the sun, and they would be wiser to collect it when they had gathered and crushed the fruit to their needs. Meanwhile, the goats showed them the way to a valley full of bilberries and wild apples, and these they picked and crushed between rocks till the juice ran out.
It took them half the day to crush and collect four measures in the little clay cup, but they were encouraged by finding a spring of fresh water that ran much more freely than the one inside the cavern. They were able to collect all they needed without any trouble, after which it only remained to milk the goats and go back with their work three parts finished.
Leaving the pleasant valley behind them they climbed back towards the summit where the goats had recently been grazing, only to find that the flock had disappeared. After a long search they were discovered on a far-off peak, and Gobbolino and the little wooden horse plodded after them, Gobbolino carrying the milk jug and the cup, while the little horse proceeded very carefully so that he would not spill the precious liquid that had been measured with such care inside his wooden body, and not a drop of which must be wasted on the ground.
They soon discovered that the goats were playing a game with them.
No sooner did they reach the peak than the whole flock raced back past them bleating derisively They led them a merry dance over crag and rock and valley before allowing themselves to be caught and milked. They thought it the greatest sport in the world to see Gobbolino and the little wooden horse panting and scrambling after them. They would wait until they were almost within reach and then set off again, leaping and bounding and flicking their tails — their bleating sounding for all the world like mocking laughter. It was as if, having had their milk rejected in the morning, they were now taking their revenge.
In the end real tears of frustration and despair began to flow down the cheeks of Gobbolino and the little wooden horse, and when they saw them crying the goats stopped their teasing and came crowding round them, saying how sorry they were, and trying to make up for their bad behaviour.
Gobbolino was the first to stop crying, for he wanted to milk the goats as soon as possible.
Just at the last moment he remembered to catch in his paw the last five tears shed by the little wooden horse, and drop them into the mixture already floating about inside his little wooden body.
The wooden horse stopped crying at once. He was horrified to think how nearly the precious tears had been wasted.
Gobbolino filled the milk jug when both friends had had a long drink, and the precious cupfuls had been added to the rest. Then they struggled back to the witch’s cave, both so tired they could hardly climb over the rough rocks and stones along their way.