She picked up her cauldron and ran to her fire. She put the cauldron on to the hook above the fire ready to boil up the ever-increasing collection of ingredients. As she whispered under her breath, one by one she added more and more to the pot.

“10 Brown leaves, 4 of Red

6 Grubs that are dead

A sprig of this and a sprig of that

And a feather out of my hat

This must be the best potion I will ever make.”