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Punch’s wrath Punch stomped off up the hill, he could not stand to be around the old man and her today. He found a place hidden from the cottage and sat down turning his carved face to the sun. He had been excited when the old man announced that he would make a new puppet just like his favourite Punch. All the little ones had capered for hours, the old man did not seem to mind but Punch did; the threat of his stick had calmed them though. They had searched high and low looking for just the right sprite, often cancelling a performance to search further away. The old man was growing weary of the search then one day Punch had gone off alone. The old man’s face lit up when Punch returned, carrying the nymph (he had been so over joyed he did not notice the wound on her head). That day the little ones set to work stitching a beautiful dress and matching slippers as the old man prepared her. Punch should have known something was wrong. As a reward, they all got plates of bloody milk while the old man worked in private. Hours came and went the little ones grew tired and curled up in dormant state, Punch went out for a walk and pity any small creature that crossed his path. After some time, he crept around the cottage and using all his stealth, he peered in on the old man he did not like what he saw. In silence he brooded in his favourite corner, until at last the old man emerged from his private workshop, a dazed look on his face. All the little ones lined up to welcome the new puppet. In she came and Punch had to admit she was beautiful. She still looked like a nymph although her face was white as chalk and her hands lacked the wicked hooks of her kind....
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