Gobbolino the Witch's Cat

“Oh!” she cried. “How beautiful is this brocade! If only it had butterflies on it instead of birds!” And the next moment the birds were gone, while in their place fluttered gorgeous butterflies as large as life.

Gobbolino knew something of these tricks, but he did not like them, or the old pedlar-woman either.

He hid himself under the kitchen table and hoped nobody would notice him there.

At last the woodcutter’s granddaughter chose a splendid material of sheer gold, so bright that it glittered in the sunlight. Once she had seen this she would look at nothing else.

“How much would it cost to make me a dress of this beautiful gold satin?” she asked.

“Oh, that would cost two silver pieces!” said the pedlar-woman.

“And I have only one!” cried the girl, bursting into tears of vexation.

“The scarlet is very pretty, or the green,” said the pedlar-woman.

“I don’t want any of them except the gold,” said the girl. “Won’t you take a little less for it, madam? Oh, do!”

“What! Do you wish me to give my wares away?” said the pedlar-woman in a huff, gathering up her stuffs.

“Oh, stop! Stop! Won’t you take something in exchange?” begged the girl. “Won’t you take my silver piece and one of those excellent dough cakes I have in the oven?”

“Dough cakes ruin my digestion!” whined the pedlar-woman. “I live on berries from the forest and clear spring water. Don’t offer me your heavy dough cakes.”

The woodcutter’s granddaughter was offended, for she was an excellent cook, but she still wanted the gold satin very badly.

“Will you take my silk counterpane, perhaps?” she offered. “I made it with my own hands.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “What should I want with a silk counterpane? I sleep in the ditches, side by side with my donkey. People would laugh to see us wrapped in silk embroidery. Don’t offer me your counterpane!”

The woodcutter’s granddaughter was hurt, for the counterpane was the finest thing she possessed, but she still wanted the gold satin very much indeed.

“Perhaps you would like our cuckoo clock?” she said.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” croaked the pedlar-woman. “I tell the time by the sun and the moon! It’s the whimbrel and the lark who chime my hours. Don’t offer me your cuckoo clock!”

The woodcutter’s granddaughter was very annoyed, for she had loved her grandfather’s clock ever since she was a tiny girl, but the longer she looked at the gold satin the more she wanted it for her own.

“Well, I don’t want any of the others,” she said crossly, pushing them across the table to the pedlar-woman. “I shall just go without, that’s all.”

“Stop a moment, there is just one thing I will take in exchange!” said the old dame. “At present I have no cat. If you will give me the handsome cat that is hiding under your table, as well as your silver piece, I will let you have the gold satin for your dress.”

“I dare not! I dare not!” said the woodcutter’s granddaughter. “The cat belongs to my grandfather, and he would never forgive me if I gave him away.”

“Well, no matter,” said the pedlar-woman, walking towards the door. “Perhaps your grandfather will give you another silver coin if you ask him prettily.”

“But you will be gone by then!” wept the girl.

“Three miles on, through the forest, there is a tinker’s hut,” said the pedlar-woman. “There you can find me for the next three nights. Goodbye, my daughter.”

But when the woodcutter came home, not all his granddaughter’s tears and prayers could win another silver coin from him.

When he found out that she had let the pedlar-woman go he was very angry.

“What? You refused a red or a green gown for the sake of a gold one you could not buy? Shame on you! What is one colour more than another? Now the pedlar-woman is gone, and you will have to wait for your dress until she comes back again.”

The next day the woodcutter’s granddaughter sulked all day long. She burned the cakes, left the pots dirty, and threw a frying pan at Gobbolino.

When her grandfather came home in the evening she begged him again to give her a silver coin, but he would not listen to her.

The next day she would not eat a thing from dawn till dark, but still he would have nothing to say when he came home to his tea.

The next day she spent weeping and walking up and down the floor, for it was the third day, and by evening the pedlar-woman would be gone.

She clenched her hands and stamped on the floor, while Gobbolino trembled in a corner, for whenever she caught sight of him she exclaimed:

“Don’t look at me like that! How dare you cast your dreadful blue eyes upon me when you have brought me to such misery! It is all your fault, I tell you, all your fault!”

But all of a sudden in the early evening her manner changed, and her unkindness towards Gobbolino turned to tenderness and compassion.

With her own hands she poured him out a saucer of cream and stood watching him drink it, murmuring: