I didn't know how to quiet it; so I ran back to the old woman, and
left it with her, asking if that was the way babies were taken care of
there.

"Bless you, my dear! its ma is making patty-cakes; and put it up there
to be out of the way of Tom Tinker's dog. I'll soon hush it up," said
the old woman; and, trotting it on her knee, she began to sing:

"Hey! my kitten, my kitten,
Hey! my kitten, my deary."

Feeling that the child was in good hands, I hurried away, for I saw
something was going on upon the hill-top. When I got to the hill-top, I
was shocked to find some people tossing an old woman in a blanket. I
begged them to stop; but one of the men, who, I found, was a Welchman,
by the name of Taffy, told me the old lady liked it.

"But why does she like it?" I asked in great surprise.

"Tom, the piper's son, will tell you: it's my turn to toss now," said
the man.

"Why, you see, ma'am," said Tom, "she is one of those dreadfully nice
old women, who are always fussing and scrubbing, and worrying people to
death, with everlastingly cleaning house. Now and then we get so tired
out with her that we propose to her to clean the sky itself. She likes
that; and, as this is the only way we can get her up, we toss till she
sticks somewhere, and then leave her to sweep cobwebs till she is ready
to come back and behave herself."

"Well, that is the oddest thing I ever heard. I know just such an old
lady, and when I go home I'll try your plan. It seems to me that you
have a great many queer old ladies on this island," I said to another
man, whom they called Peter, and who stood eating pumpkin all the time.

"Well, we do have rather a nice collection; but you haven't seen the
best of all. We expect her every minute; and Margery Daw is to let us
know the minute she lights on the island," replied Peter, with his mouth
full.

"Lights?" said I, "you speak as if she flew."

"She rides on a bird. Hurrah! the old sweeper has lit. Now the cobwebs
will fly. Don't hurry back," shouted the man; and a faint, far-off voice
answered, "I shall be back again by and by."

The people folded up the blanket, looking much relieved; and I was
examining a very odd house which was built by an ancient king called
Boggen, when Margery Daw, a dirty little girl, came up the hill,
screaming, at the top of her voice:

"She's come! she's come!"

Every one looked up; and I saw a large white bird slowly flying over the
island. On its back sa