At the end of Chapter 5, Winnie and Jesse were tangling. She wanted to drink from the pool in the Wood, and Jesse did not want her to do that. Suddenly. she was whisled away::

“Afterward, when she thought about it, it seemed to Winnie that the next tew minutes were only a blur. First she was kneeling on the ground, insisting on a drink from the spring, and the next thing she knew, she was seized and swung through the air, open- mouthed, and found herself straddling the bouncing back of the fat old horse, with Miles and Jesse trotting along on either side, while Mae ran puffing ahead, dragging on the bridle.

“Winnie had often been haunted by visions of what it would be like to be kidnapped. But none of her visions had been like this, with her kidnappers just as alarmed as she was herself. She had always pictured a troupe of burly men with long black moustaches who would tumble her into a blanket and bear her off like a sack of potatoes while she pleaded for mercy. But, instead, it was they, Mae Tuck and Miles and Jesse, who were pleading.

“‘Please, child . . . dear, dear child . . . don’t you be scared.’  This was Mae, trying to run and call back over her shoulder at the same time. ‘We . . . wouldn’t harm you … for the world.’

“‘If you’d . . . yelled or anything’—this was Jesse —’someone might’ve heard you and . . . that’s too risky.’

“And Miles said, ‘We’ll explain it. . . soon as we’re far enough away.’

“Winnie herself was speechless. She clung to the saddle and gave herself up to the astonishing fact that, though her heart was pounding and her backbone felt like a pipe full of cold running water, her head was fiercely calm. Disconnected thoughts presented themselves one by one, as if they had been waiting their turn in line. ‘So this is what it’s like to ride a horse—I was going to run away today anyway—what will they say when I’m not there for breakfast—I wish the toad could see me now— that woman is worried about me—Miles is taller than Jesse—I’d better duck if I don’t want this next branch to knock me off.’

‘They had come to the edge of the wood now, with no sign of slowing their rapid jog. The road, where it angled across the meadow, was just ahead, dazzling white in the open sunlight. And there, standing on the road, was the man from the night before, the man in the yellow suit, his black hat on his head.

“Discovering him, seeing his surprise, and presented at once with choices, Winnie’s mind perversely went blank. Instead of crying out for help, she merely goggled at him as they fled past the spot where he stood. Mae Tuck was the only one who spoke, and the most she could offer was: ‘Teaching our little girl… how to ride!’ Only then did it come to Winnie that she ought to shout, wave her arms, do something. But the man had fallen away behind by that time, and she was afraid to let go of the saddle, afraid to turn around, lest she fall off the horse. In another moment it was too late. They had sped up the hill and down its other side, and the opportunity was lost

“After another few minutes, the road led them to a place where, off to the left, a shallow stream looped near, with willows and sheltering, scrubby bushes. ‘Stop!’ cried Mae. ‘We’ll stop here!’ Miles and Jesse grabbed at the horse’s harness and he pulled up abruptly, nearly toppling Winnie off over his neck. ‘Lift the poor child down,’ Mae gasped, her chest heaving. ‘We’ll go catch our breath by the water and try to put things straight before we go on.’

“But the explanation, once they had stumbled to the banks of the stream, came hard. Mae seemed embarrassed, and Miles and Jesse fidgeted, glancing at their mother uneasily. No one knew how to begin. For her part, Winnie, now that the running was over, began to comprehend what was happening, and with the comprehension her throat closed and her mouth went dry as paper. This was no vision. This was real. Strangers were taking her away; they might do anything; she might never see her mother again. And then, thinking of her mother, she saw herself as small, weak, and helpless, and she began to cry, suddenly, crushed as much by outrage as by shock.

“Mae Tuck’s round face wrinkled in dismay. ‘Dear Lord, don’t cry! Please don’t cry, child’ she implored. ‘We’re not bad people, truly we’re not. We had to bring you away—you’ll see why in a minute —and we’ll take you back just as soon as we can. Tomorrow. I promise.’

“When Mae said, ‘Tomorrow,’ Winnie’s sobs turned to wails. Tomorrow! It was like being told she would be kept away forever. She wanted to go home now, at once, rush back to the safety of the fence and her mother’s voice from the window. Mae reached out to her, but she twisted away, her hands over her face, and gave herself up to weeping.

“‘This is awful!’ said Jesse. ‘Can’t you do something, Ma? The poor little tad.’

“‘We ought to’ve had some better plan than this,’ said Miles.

“‘That’s the truth,’ said Mae helplessly. ‘The dear Lord knows there’s been time enough to think of one, and it had to happen sooner or later. We been plain bone lucky it hasn’t before now. But I never expected it’d be a child!’ She reached distractedly into the pocket of her skirt and took out the music box and, without thinking, twisted the winding key with trembling fingers.

“When the tinkling little melody began, Winnie’s sobbing slowed. She stood by the stream, her hands still over her face, and listened. Yes, it was the same music she had heard the night before. Somehow it calmed her. It was like a ribbon tying her to familiar things. She thought, ‘When I get home, I’ll tell Granny it wasn’t elf music after all.’ She wiped her face as well as she could with her wet hands and turned to Mae. ‘That’s the music I heard last night,’ she managed between recovering snuffles. ‘When I was out in my yard. My granny said it was elves.’

“‘Dear me, no,’ said Mae, peering at her hopefully. “It’s only my music box. I didn’t suppose anyone could hear it.” She held it out to Winnie. “‘Do you want to take a look at it?'”

“‘It’s pretty,'” said Winnie, taking the little box and turning it over in her hands. The winding key was still revolving, but more and more slowly. The melody faltered. Another few widely spaced notes plinked, and then it stopped.

“‘Wind it up if you want to,’ said Mae. ‘Clockwise.’

“Winnie turned the key. It clicked faintly. And then, after several more turns, the music began to play again, brisk from its fresh winding, and merry. No one who owned a thing like this could be too disagreeable. Winnie examined the painted roses and lilies of the valley, and smiled in spite of herself. ‘It’s pretty’ she repeated, handing it back to Mae. The music box had relaxed them all. Miles dragged a handkerchief from a back pocket and mopped at his face, and Mae sank down heavily on a rock, pulling off the blue straw hat and fanning herself with it.

“‘Look here, Winnie Foster,’ said Jesse. ‘We’re friends, we really are. But you got to help us. Come sit down, and we’ll try to tell you why.’

Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting, pgs. 31-36.