lopes lay a little village
crowned by the Castle of Eppenhain, that stood on the mountain-side,
built on projecting slabs of rock.

The quaint old houses of the village with their red, slanting roofs, and
black-beamed walls, made a pretty picture in the May sunshine as Count
Karl of Eppenhain rode through the stone-paved highway, mounted on his
white steed decked with scarlet fringes. The lilac bushes were in
flower, the air was sweet with their scent, the laburnums hung out their
"gold rain" between the houses, the cherry-trees in the little gardens
shed their blossoms like snow.

At the farther end of the village was a house somewhat larger than the
peasant's cottages, with many gables and corners. This house was
surrounded on all sides by a thick briar hedge. The Count knew that it
had belonged to an old woman who was said to be a witch. There she had
lived all alone, save for her seven cats, her seven ravens, her
poultry--famous for the remarkable size of the eggs--and her little
granddaughter, Babette.

Count Karl had heard that the old woman was dead; for there had been a
great fuss about her burial. The villagers had said that as she was a
notorious witch, she ought not to be buried in consecrated ground; but
as the old lady had left money to the church, her tombstone was erected
after all in the little churchyard. The village boys declared that they
had seen her riding on a broomstick over the church spire; but the Count
did not believe such tales. He wondered what had become of the child;
she was the prettiest, as well as the most mischievous and ill-behaved
child in the village.

As the Count came up to the house, he heard voices shouting and
scolding. Then he saw a strange hunting scene. The hunters were not men,
but women with sticks and brooms, and the creature pursued was neither a
hare nor a fox, but just a little girl.

Yes, it was little Babette, the witch's granddaughter. She was leading
the fat peasant women a fine dance. They were quite unused to running,
and were obliged to stop every few minutes to pant; then Babette danced
just before them, made naughty faces, and (oh, fie!) stuck out her
little red tongue. Her hair blew over her head in the fresh breeze, till
she looked like some tall flower with curling petals. Sometimes she
stopped and shook her little fist at her pursuers; then off she flew
again. She knew every nook and corner of the garden, and that was to her
advantage.

The Count p