le he bethought him
what next he should do.

'Lina,' he said, 'the people keep their gates open, but their houses
and their hearts shut.'

As if she knew it was her presence that had brought this trouble upon
him, she rose and went round and round him, purring like a tigress, and
rubbing herself against his legs.

Now there was one little thatched house that stood squeezed in between
two tall gables, and the sides of the two great houses shot out
projecting windows that nearly met across the roof of the little one,
so that it lay in the street like a doll's house. In this house lived
a poor old woman, with a grandchild. And because she never gossiped or
quarrelled, or chaffered in the market, but went without what she could
not afford, the people called her a witch, and would have done her many
an ill turn if they had not been afraid of her.

Now while Curdie was looking in another direction the door opened, and
out came a little dark-haired, black-eyed, gypsy-looking child, and
toddled across the market place toward the outcasts. The moment they
saw her coming, Lina lay down flat on the road, and with her two huge
forepaws covered her mouth, while Curdie went to meet her, holding out
his arms. The little one came straight to him, and held up her mouth
to be kissed. Then she took him by the hand, and drew him toward the
house, and Curdie yielded to the silent invitation.

But when Lina rose to follow, the child shrank from her, frightened a
little. Curdie took her up, and holding her on one arm, patted Lina
with the other hand. Then the child wanted also to pat doggy, as she
called her by a right bountiful stretch of courtesy, and having once
patted her, nothing would serve but Curdie must let her have a ride on
doggy. So he set her on Lina's back, holding her hand, and she rode
home in merry triumph, all unconscious of the hundreds of eyes staring
at her foolhardiness from the windows about the market place, or the
murmur of deep disapproval that rose from as many lips.

At the door stood the grandmother to receive them. She caught the
child to her bosom with delight at her courage, welcomed Curdie, and
showed no dread of Lina. Many were the significant nods exchanged, and
many a one said to another that the devil and the witch were old
friends. But the woman was only a wise woman, who, having seen how
Curdie and Lina behaved to each other, judged from that what sort they
were, and so made them welcom