she's a witch. They're bringing her
out here now.

GOODY. The King permits it?

WICKED UNCLE (_nodding_). He soon found out the truth about her.

GOODY. And what was that?

WICKED UNCLE. Just what I told him the first time I saw her. "She's a
witch," said I, but he would not believe me.

GOODY. What has so changed him?

WICKED UNCLE. 'T was I who saw her slip forth from the castle one midnight.
I followed her; straight to the graveyard she went.

GOODY. To the graveyard?

WICKED UNCLE (_nodding_). In she went--I following. I saw her gather the
stinging nettles that grow there.

GOODY. But they would blister her hands. Did she not cry out?

WICKED UNCLE. Not a sound did she utter! That would prove her a witch, were
there nothing more.

GOODY. Ah, there is something more, then?

WICKED UNCLE (_nodding; mysteriously_). I followed her back to the castle;
through the marble halls and up to the little cave room. I saw her break up
the nettles. Then I saw her spin and weave this flax into a magic coat.

GOODY. Bless me! A magic coat?

WICKED UNCLE (_nodding_). There were ten of them hanging from the ceiling.

GOODY. Of course you told the King?

WICKED UNCLE. Just as soon as I could waken him, but he would not believe
me. He said there was but one coat when they brought her here, and that
there could be but one now.

GOODY. She worked at night, then, while the castle slept.

WICKED UNCLE. True queens do not work--nay, can't be made to work. Every
one knows that.

GOODY. But how did the King find out the truth?

WICKED UNCLE. I persuaded him to watch with me the next night. Just at
midnight the queen came out. We followed her to the graveyard. "That is
enough," said his Majesty, "she is a witch and must die."

[_The_ CITIZENS _rush to the gates._]

CITIZENS (_calling_). See the witch!

GOODY. Is she coming?

WICKED UNCLE (_looking_). Yes, she is just within the gate. She rides in an
old cart drawn by an old horse--quite good enough for a witch.

[_Enter the_ KING _with servants and_ GUARDS. _Behind them is the cart. In
the cart sits_ ELIZA. _She is spinning and weaving, never once looking
up._]

GOODY. How pale she is! Bless me! She is spinning and weaving.

WICKED UNCLE. It is the eleventh coat and it will be the last.

GOODY. How she hurries to finish it!

[_The cart stops._]

KING (_to Eliza_). Once again I ask you,--Are you a witch?

(_Eliza shakes her head._)

Then give up the coat