and carrying on her back a bundle no bigger than an apple.
"Ah!" said she, looking from Massang to the stew and back to Massang again. "I pray you, son, give a poor old woman a taste of your stew—just a taste, and then I will be gone and trouble you no more."
Massang moved as if to give her what she asked, but catching sight of a very evil smile on her face, he paused.
"It may well be," thought he to himself, "that this is a wicked witch, and if I give her a taste of my stew, she will carry off stew, pot and all, as she very likely did when each of my three companions was here before. I had best be careful." Then, turning to the old woman, he said, "Good mother, right gladly will I give you a taste of my stew, but it is now much too thick, and I dare not leave it lest it burn. I pray you fetch me a small pail of water, that I may make it the more savory, and then you shall have as much as you desire."
The old woman grunted, being ill
