Ugh! it was horrible! But then a whistle was heard which made Peter's heart grow cold within him; and it seemed to him that the grass whispered, and the flowers began to talk among themselves in delicate voices, like little silver bells, while the trees rustled in murmuring contention;--Basavriuk's face suddenly became full of life, and his eyes sparkled.

"The witch has just returned," he muttered between his teeth.

"Hearken, Peter: a charmer will stand before you in a moment; do whatever she commands; if not--you are lost forever." Then he parted the thorn-bushes with a knotty stick and before him stood a tiny farmhouse.

Basavriuk smote it with his fist, and the wall trembled.

A large black dog ran out to meet them, and with a whine transformed itself into a cat and flew straight at his eyes.
"Don't be angry, don't be angry, you old Satan!" said Basavriuk, employing such words as would have made a good man stop his ears.
Behold, instead of a cat, an old woman all bent into a bow, with a face wrinkled like a baked apple, and a nose and chin like a pair of nutcrackers.
"A fine charmer!" thought Peter; and cold chills ran down his back.