The young man, a plough boy judging from the callouses on his hands and the traces of leather straps on his wrist from leading the horse, was startled by the question, but before he could confirm the wise woman's wager she turned away.
Her right big toe - the one she had given to the King of the Fey as payment for 'services rendered' decades ago - had begun to ache. Something (someone?) not quite evil, not quite wicked, and not quite powerful was coming. Not yet. But soon. Her throbbing toe a warning that an 'undecided' power was abroad.
"You can only choose to be Good." she said absent mindedly aloud. "All Evil needs is no choice at all."
The plough boy and the maid weren't sure if the witch was expecting a reply, when there came another visitor knocking earnestly at the cottage door.
"Open it would you, Deary? Happen it's your mistress. I've a large spell to prepare."