The Witch Family (7 page)

"Where be the sense," Amy asked herself, "of learning in stories about the wicked ways of witches and then doing the same old thing, eating their good-looking food? And getting in trouble?" She kept her eyes on her friend, Clarissa, who was taking tiny bites of her herb ice cream. Clarissa, thank goodness, did not turn into anything, nor did she fall into a deep one-hundred-year sleep. Not so far. The food smelled good—all the more dangerous.

Smelling it, Amy whispered to Clarissa, "That smells like licker-itch."

Clarissa nodded. "Mm-m," she agreed.

"Or like anise?" suggested Amy.

"Never heard of that," said Clarissa.

"I have it for stomachache," said Amy.

Next came the herb cake and the six candles, and it was time for the wish. Little Witch Girl blew out all the candles in one puff so her wish was bound to come true. She would not tell, though urged, what it was. And then she opened her presents, which were of the usual witch variety, toy black cats, cauldrons, broomsticks, and bats. From Old Witch, however, she got a copy of "Old Witch's Famouse Big Booke of Runes and Incantations." In it, she had inscribed, "To Hannah, with best wishes, Old Witch." This is the way true authors, witch or otherwise, sign books. Old Witch also gave the little witch girl some new crayons and a small sketchpad.

"What present did you bring?" asked Olie, the rude witch girl, accusingly pointing to the two real girls.

Amy and Clarissa said they were sorry they had not brought a present because they had come unexpectedly. Little Witch Girl politely said that their just being here was present enough for her. However, she would like a remembrance. Could she have Clarissa's bubble gum that Clarissa had stuck to her plate?

"Oh, yes," said Clarissa, unsticking it and handing it to Little Witch Girl. "Keep it. You do not have to give it back."

Little Witch Girl was delighted and popped it in her mouth right away. Being a witch, she could not catch any germs. What a bubble she blew! Being a witch probably had something to do with the size of her bubble. It grew and grew and grew like a huge balloon until it got stuck on the peak of one of the witch hats and popped. While Little Witch Girl was gathering all of this popped bubble gum back into her mouth, Amy felt in her pocket and found a tiny little doll she sometimes kept there.

"Here," she said to the little witch girl. "Would you like this doll? Her name is Little Lydia, and my mother got it for me by abracadabra," she said.

"I didn't know your mother was a witch," said Little Witch Girl.

"A kind of witch," said Amy. "But she needs a scarf to make her abracadabra work. And I know you don't."

"Thank you for the doll," said the little witch girl.

Then Old Witch gathered all the girls, real ones and witch ones, sat them on copy stools before the fireplace, and told stories about her great witch past. How delightedly the little witch girls listened! And how Amy and Clarissa shuddered over her wicked deeds! "One night, I..." they all began. And they all ended with, "And that was the end of him, heh-heh!" or, "That was the end of her!"

"My!" thought Amy. "It's a good thing I banquished this mean old wicked old witch up here." The stories that Old Witch told about herself were even worse than the ones Amy's mother told about her.

"Do a wickedness now," implored Olie.

"Yes, yes, yes," beseeched the others, almost tipping over their copy stools.

There was a tense pause. Amy held her breath. Suppose Old Witch got the idea to take a bite out of her or Clarissa? Then Old Witch said in great disgust, "Oh, to glory be! Not a wickedness! Not a hurly-burly!" (A slight buzzing sound that had been heard in the tense pause subsided.) "What a dull life for a head witch! No. To do a wickedness, I have to wait for Halloween," she said sarcastically and hatefully. (The buzzing grew a little louder again.) "That's what
her
bespake when her bebanquished me!" Old Witch pointed an awful, accusing, nobby finger at Amy, and she glowered.

Amy gripped her stool tightly, and she shuddered.

All the little witch girls, except Hannah, frowned at Amy. They wanted to see a wickedness cast by this real right famous old witch now and not wait for Halloween. "Oh, let her," they implored Amy.

They scared Amy as much as Old Witch did, but she shook her head. "No," she whispered. "She has to be good," she said.

The little witch girls fluttered angrily around Amy and Clarissa. Then Old Witch decided, "The dickens with Halloween!" She would do a wickedness and give the little witch girls a real party treat that they would never forget. Neither she nor the little witch guests cared about the warning buzzes, which had become so loud they sounded like bees in a swarm. Old Witch decided the wickedness would involve her banquishers.

"
I BE
..." spelled the voice. But what it was going to say the witches did not know or care. They jeered so loudly that they drowned it out and would not listen.

"Head Witch be more important than you be, whoever you be," screamed the little witches. "And anyway who ever heard of I B? It's A B! This speller doesn't know its alphabet. Heh-heh-heh!"

Amy gasped. "You should never make fun of a bumblebee," she whispered to Clarissa.

Little Witch Girl hopped onto the party table. "Stop!" she ordered. She gave a stirring speech. "Leave these girls alone!" she said. "You want to have Halloween, don't you? Go here, go there in front of the Halloween moon, don't you? Well, you won't be able to if Old Witch casts a wickedness. That is what Amy said!"

There was a moment's silence.

"
HEED
!" said the buzzing voice.

But Old Witch heeded only the eager faces of her small witch admirers. To satisfy her vanity and maintain her reputation, she decided to cast an awful wickedness and prove that she was still real, right, mean, old, wicked Old Witch.

At this decision the glass hill shook as though with an earthquake. (Later Little Witch Girl did find a crack.) Then Old Witch brushed her own little witch girl off the party table, got up on it herself, and started the "backanally" dance that always preceded a real wickedness.

At this moment, Little Witch Girl performed a small but swift backanally herself and said:

"Malachi!
Oh, Malachi!
Malachi, the bumble bye!
Malachee!
Oh, Malachee!
Mumble, bumble
here to me!"

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" screeched all the little witches when this rune had been recited. And, "Ouch!" said Old Witch likewise. They all seemed to be being bitten by a hundred bumblebees. Yet there was but one bumblebee, Malachi, previous tenant of Amy's backyard, rubbed by magic by Old Witch herself, all unbeknownst to her.

Old Witch got so many bites that she had to jump into the cauldron, which, fortunately for her, had cooled. There she soothed her bites with herb soup. All the little witch girls said no more about casting a wickedness. Licking their bites, they mounted their broomsticks and flew away home. Each little witch held onto the broomstick of the one in front. Thus they made a long broomstick train, which was very pretty to see in the gloaming.

It is too bad the party had to end this way, with no door prizes. But witch parties are bound to end just the opposite of ours—in a hurly-burly.

"Good-bye, good-bye!" Little Witch Girl and Amy and Clarissa yelled after them.

Amy caught a glimpse of Malachi in his camouflage place. He was golden in the last glow of the sun. His three round eyes shone ruby red, and they were alert and anxious. He looked to be frowning. "Thank you, dear Malachi," whispered Amy. "You are a good representatiff."

Malachi spelled quietly, "
I DO MY BEST.
"

Amy and Clarissa went inside. Old Witch, still in the brewing pot, glowered at them. Amy and Clarissa decided they had had enough party and they wanted to go home. They didn't know the way, however. Since they did not know how they had got here, naturally they did not know the way to get back. They were sorry to have caused such a hurly-burly, but after all they had not asked to come. They sat down at the little yellow table. Thank goodness, their drawings had not been hurt.

"It's been a nice party," said Amy politely to Little Witch Girl.

"Yes," chimed in Clarissa. "Very nice."

"My mother said, be home at six," said Amy.

"Mine too," said Clarissa. "If not before. Because we are having long noodoos for dinner, and they do not wait."

Little Witch Girl gave a sigh. She would have loved to keep these two girls up here and have them for friends always. But of course she knew she couldn't. Who could tell when Old Witch might or might not cast a wickedness? So Little Witch Girl chanted the last half of her four minutes past four birthday abracadabra.

"Abra
Cadabra
Cadee
Caden.
Flying through the air
Again.
Flying to their homes
Again.
Those two girls from down below.
Twenty and twenty is
TEN you know."

After this strange rune there came the wailing of wind, the pelting of hailstones, and the violet vapors. When all had cleared, there wasn't a sign of Amy and Clarissa at their little yellow table anywhere on the bare and bleak glass hill. Why should there be? They were right at home in Amy's mother's room, high up behind the ginkgo tree, still coloring pictures—of witches.

"Abra, cadabra, cadee, caden," chanted Amy happily and busily.

It sounded rather merry the way she sang this little tune, and no hailstones appeared at all. No wind, either.

"Good-bye," said Clarissa. "I have to go home now."

"Good-bye, good-bye, cadee, cadum," sang Amy, busily making buzzes on her drawing and singing, "Oh Malachi, the bumblebye, the bumblebye, the bumblebee..."

The next day Amy and Clarissa were swinging together in the little backyard. Together they went up and together they came down, over and over exactly together. Because of this harmonious way of swinging, they could carry on a conversation. They were talking about Little Witch Girl.

"Ts," said Amy tenderly. "It must be very lonesome up there for Little Witch Girl with no one around except Old Witch and the little school-witches, who all look exactly alike. No sisters. No brothers. Nothing."

"Up where?" asked Clarissa.

"Where! On the bare, bleak glass hill! You know! You were there yesterday. You ought to know! You might not be here today if it were not for Malachi. He saved your life, remember!"

"Oh yes, of course," said Clarissa, trying hard to remember. She had a hard time remembering what happened this morning, let alone yesterday!

"Well," Amy went on. "I think she is lonesome. Don't you think so, Clarissa?"

"Yes," said Clarissa.

"And," said Amy, "even though Old Witch can be very nice—sometimes she is very nice, isn't she, Clarissa? She was nice not to eat us, wasn't she? She didn't even eat one finger. And that wouldn't have been so bad, you know, if she had eaten one finger because we would still have nine. Still, she is too old for Little Witch Girl to play with every minute. That's what I mean."

"Yes," agreed Clarissa. "Very antique." Clarissa knew several hard words, having been born in Paris, France.

"Antique, but good," said Amy. "She is good right now (Malachi is keeping her good), and she better stay good, or she knows what will happen to her—no Halloweeny!"

For a moment the conversation stopped. They swung in silence. Halloween was a long way off. Spring, instead, was in the air in Washington, though not, of course, on the bare and bleak glass hill. There, since nothing could grow, as Amy had decreed in her banishment orders, the hill, in all seasons, remained glass, plain, bare, slippery glass. There, the only way that you could tell spring was in the air was to look at the sky, the soft and gracious blue spring sky. But most witches do not do this. Usually they just look at the ground for toads and do not know whether there is a spring sky or not. Naturally they prefer storm and hail and wind and rain to anything that could be called soft and gracious. The wilder the weather, the more gleefully they say, "Heh-heh."

Not so with Little Witch Girl. She went around with her head way back, not to miss a minute of soft spring sky. "Hurrah! Hurrah!" she shouted, holding out her arms wide to grab all the beauty to her.

And not so, either, with old Malachi, the bumblebee. His musty dry fuzzy coat was taking on new sheen and gloss, and he looked as soft as golden plush. He had to push more deeply into his camouflage place in order to avoid the searching beady eyes of Old Witch.

But down here in Washington, where Amy and Clarissa were swinging, everything was as fresh as spring could make it. In the parks and in the gardens, early flowers were blooming—forsythia, crocuses, and snowdrops. Trees were beginning to bud, the birds said, "Twee-eet, twee-eet," and everything was beautiful.

"Ts," said Amy, shaking her head pensively. "And no flowers can grow up there either."

"No flowers?" asked Clarissa, beginning to feel sad, too. Clarissa was rarely sad. A happier little girl could hardly be found. But, no flowers! "Not even Indian pipe?" she asked, trying to think up the least pretty flower that she could.

"None," said Amy. "None. Just plain
NONE,
" she said. Amy was a happy little girl, too. But she enjoyed being sad sometimes, especially when she had been the one to think up the sadness.

"Poor Little Witch Girl," said Clarissa.

And the two swung back and forth, back and forth.

After a while they jumped off the swing. Then they went indoors, this lovely spring day, and started to draw pictures. Amy drew a waterfall for Little Witch Girl, with a little mermaid behind it, she felt that sorry for her. "Here is a nice sort of friend," she thought. "I would like to have a mermaid for a friend myself."

Now, up there on the bare glass hill, Little Witch Girl was not having too bad a time after all. Old Witch, to make up for her would-be wickedness at the birthday party yesterday, had tied a heavy rope to the one strong pole left on the rickety porch. In the end of the rope she had tied a bulky knot that Little Witch Girl could sit on. Then, holding tightly to the rope with both legs, Little Witch Girl could take off from the porch, sail over the edge of the glass hill, and then hoist herself back up. This one-rope swing was on the order of one tied to Polly Knapp's linden tree.