Little Witch

by Anna Elizabeth Bennett

  Now he roared, “STOP THIS NONSENSE!”

  Instantly everyone was silenced. Up in the air a girl was still riding around, gaily.

  “COME DOWN HERE!” shouted Mr. Bunch. Immediately the girl came hurtling down, bumping against the ground rather hard.

  “What nonsense is this?” boomed Mr. Bunch. “Minikin Snickasnee, you are the cause of all this!”

  Minx had an urge to run; but looking around for an opening in the crowd, she saw Frances smiling at her.

  Then bravely she turned and faced Mr. Bunch.

  “I didn’t mean to make any trouble,” she said, unhappily. “I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

  “See to it that you leave that—that infernal broom at home, hereafter,” commanded Mr. Bunch, “because if I ever see it again, I’ll take it away from you!”

  Minx nodded, miserably. Just when she was getting to be friends with all these children! Now they would probably make fun of her all the more.

  Mr. Bunch marched off, indignantly, and the children drifted away, in silence. At that moment the bell rang for the end of recess.

  ‘I’ll wait for you after school!” called Frances.

  When Minx joined her friend after school, Frances said, “Never mind about the broomstick. Some of the kids got rides, anyway.”

  “Oh; I can give you rides on Saturday,” said Minx, “if you don’t think it would make you into a witch!”

  Frances laughed merrily. “Silly! You have to be born a witch to be one!”

  “Oh, if only I hadn’t been born a witch!” mourned Minx. “I sometimes dream that my mother isn’t really a witch, but a beautiful fairy.”

  “You don’t look like a witch,” said Frances, comfortingly. “Maybe your mother will reform. Grandma once read us a book about a pirate who did. Maybe witches can too, sometimes!”

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” said Minx, doubtfully.

  “Can you come home with me today?” asked Frances.

  “Not today. I’d better not,” said Minx. “My mother was very angry last night because I was out.”

  “What did she do to you?”

  “Just hollered around. But she might get mad enough to change me into something.”

  Frances’s eyes widened. “Oh Minx! How awful! Would she change all of us into something if she found us there?”

  Minx looked very unhappy. “Well—yes, she would,” she admitted. “She’d change you into flowerpots!”

  “Maybe we’d better not come anymore,” said Frances, in a scared voice.

  “Maybe you’d better not,” agreed Minx, her heart heavy with disappointment.

  When she left Frances, she felt so dejected that she walked along slowly, dragging her broom in the dust.

  She was so wrapped up in her gloomy thoughts that she did not see the man who suddenly stepped out in front of her, until she bumped into him.

  “Oops, sis,” said he, and she looked up to see a short, stout man in a bright plaid suit, with a large cigar stuck in one corner of his mouth.

  Never having been taught manners, she did not even think of apologizing, and as he did not step out of her way, she stood staring at him, curiously.

  “Pardon me, sis,” said the man, breezily. “Ain’t you the daughter of Madam Snickasnee?”

  Immediately Minx felt apprehensive. “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I’m Mr. Beanpot, Master Detective,” he said, importantly.

  Minx eyed him, fearfully.

  “There’s a little matter of some missing children from the town,” said Mr. Beanpot, staring down at Minx, with small, accusing gray eyes. “You wouldn’t know about them, would you?”

  “M-missing children?” stammered Minx, flushing.

  “Seven to be exact,” said Mr. Beanpot, holding up seven fat, pink fingers, “and their parents are missing ’em horribly.” He added thoughtfully, “Though for the life o’ me, I can’t see why Billy Martin’s family’d ever miss him except pleasantly.” He shook his head, disapprovingly.

  Minx edged around him, carefully, getting set to run; but Mr. Beanpot was too alert for her. He reached out a pudgy hand and grasped her arm.

  “Hold on there, sis. Aside from the question of Billy Martin—your mother is under suspicion. You wouldn’t know about those kids, would you?”

  “N-no, I wouldn’t.” Her knees were shaking.

  ‘Well, I’ll be around, sis. And if I find out your mother is the kidnaper, it’s jail for her—and for you, too!”

  He poked his round red nose threateningly in her frightened face. “And you tell your mother what I said!”

  Suddenly, her courage returned, and straightening her back, she said, defiantly, “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

  It was Mr. Beanpot’s turn to look nervous. “Why—er—uh.” He mopped his face with a large purple handkerchief. “Never you mind gettin’ fresh, sis! Jest remember what I told you!”

  As Minx proceeded on her way, she muttered, “Fraidy-cat! ’fraid of a witch!”

  When she arrived home, she was relieved to see that the witch had not yet awakened. Her snores were rattling the window shades.

  Minx hid her schoolbooks in the bottom of a bureau drawer, and stared hopefully into the ancient mirror. But this time she could see nothing but her own thin, sad face.

  When Madam Snickasnee woke up she was in a more frightful mood than usual, stamping around, screaming and throwing things here and there, but mostly at Minx. Minx was so clever at dodging that she was not struck once; but she was greatly relieved to see the witch float away at last into the darkening sky.

  Minx made haste to start preparations for her nightly experiment. She felt very sorrowful that her friends would not be with her this evening.

  “But maybe it’s just as well,” she thought.

  At that moment, her heart gave a leap. There was a knock on the door! She rushed to answer it, and there stood all five children!

  “Oh, I thought you weren’t coming!” she cried, joyfully.

  “We thought we wouldn’t be sissies,” said Frances. “We just couldn’t stay away. Grandma sent you some cookies.”

  Without delay, Minx began devouring the cookies. She had never tasted anything so good in all her life.

  “Hurry up! Hurry up!” cried Bob. “Let’s get started!”

  “What color would you like?” asked Minx, her mouth quite full.

  “It’s my turn! It’s my turn!” cried Alice.

  “O.K., Alice, you choose,” said Minx.

  “Let’s see . . .” Alice stood so long deciding that the others became impatient. “Hurry up, Alice! Oh, hurry up, slow-poke!”

  At last Alice cried, triumphantly, “I choose the yellow-and-red!”

  6

  ENCHANTED FLOWERPOTS

  It was queer that although Minx stirred the mixture quite vigorously, the yellow and red never mingled. The red stayed on one side of the kettle, the yellow on the other.

  “I can’t understand it,” said Jack, greatly perplexed. “It ought to be a funny brownish color right now. That’s the way my paints do, anyhow.”

  “Sh!” said Frances, because now the mysterious vapor was beginning to rise from the pot, and slowly fill the whole room.

  In fascination, the children watched the vapor shape itself into a strange sort of man wearing a long coat that was yellow on one side and red on the other. He was tall and thin with blond hair falling to his shoulders, and small, sharp blue eyes. He was holding a flute to his lips and blowing a soft, sweet sound through it.

  He stepped with dignity to the floor, smiling merrily.

  “Ah! Children! My weakness!” he said, in a rich, jolly voice. “Shall I play you a tune on my flute?”

  “Wait a minute, please!” said Frances. “Aren’t you the Pied Piper of Hamelin?”

  “The same,” he said, bowing very low.

  “No tune for us then, thank you,” said Frances, shaking her head at him, reprovingly. “We don’t care to be spirited away
by your flute playing as those other children were.”

  The Pied Piper looked at her in wounded astonishment. “Why, my dear young lady! I wouldn’t dream of such a thing!”

  “What happened to those other kids?” asked Jack.

  “My dear boy,” said the Pied Piper, “they are in a most delightful place. Most delightful! They have never grown any older than they were on that day so long ago, and they have everything their hearts desire: toys, good things to eat—everything!”

  “But their poor mothers and fathers, how sad you made them!” said Frances.

  “Ah, my sweet young lady, don’t fret your pretty head about that! Everything is lovely again. From the goodness of my heart, I forgave the townspeople who played such a low trick on me, and the mothers and fathers are again with their children.”

  “And the little lame boy who was too slow to get inside the hill?” persisted Frances.

  “He is there, too, although grown up, of course,” said the Pied Piper. “But he is lame no longer.”

  “Well, that’s a relief!” Frances sighed, contentedly.

  “Now that all those weighty matters are cleared up,” said the Pied Piper, “pray tell me, young ladies and gentlemen, what do you wish of me?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” said Minx. “I was really trying to make a fairy appear!”

  “Oh ho! Well, you must have done the wrong sort of things—whatever it is you do to make thingamajigs appear. But isn’t there anything at all I could do for you?

  Minx shook her head. “No, I can’t think of a thing!”

  “While you’re thinking some more, I’ll take a stroll around the kitchen,” said the Pied Piper. “M-m-m, do I see cookies here?” He picked up one and sampled it with great concentration. “Oh boy! as they say nowadays. Someone around here is a good cook!”

  “Grandma,” said Bob, with pride.

  “Lucky children to have such a grandma!” said the Pied Piper, solemnly.

  Then his eyes lighted on the window sill.

  “My, my! What an array of flowerpots!” he said. “Lovely—but there’s something rather odd about them!”

  Minx squirmed inside, recalling Mr. Beanpot.

  “Yes,” continued the Pied Piper. “These flowers look almost human!”

  Suddenly Minx’s face sparkled. “Say! Mr. Pied Piper, you’re good at putting magic spells on children. Do you s’pose you could do something about changing these flowerpots back into children?”

  “Oh ho!” cried the Pied Piper, his face lighting in understanding. “So that’s why these plants look so human! What is this, the house of a witch?”

  “Y-yes, my mother is,” admitted Minx, nervously. “But please, Mr. Pied Piper, could you change them back into children?”

  The Pied Pipers eyes twinkled as he looked at her.

  “I’ll try,” he said, raising his flute to his lips. But just then he began to grow blurry around the edges, and fade slowly away.

  “Oh, golly!” cried Jack. “Can’t you do something, Minx?”

  For a second Minx just stood there, wringing her hands in despair. Then she rushed to the shelf, and grabbed the jar of red and yellow powder.

  “Just a speck more ought to bring ’im back!” she said, and tossed some more into the magic pot.

  Breathlessly the children watched as the Pied Piper wavered, then slowly became more distinct, and once more there he was again, solid as he should be.

  “Saved in the nick!” he said. “And now I’ll see what I can do!”

  Placing the flute to his lips, he blew a thin, sweet note.

  As if their heads were pulled by strings simultaneously, the children looked at the flowerpots. Nothing was happening.

  The Pied Piper next started to blow a merry, rollicking tune that made the children’s feet go tap-tap-tap. And then the strange thing happened! All the flowerpots began to change shape. They became misty around the sides, then they seemed to swell up and out, and in a very short time they were no longer flowerpots, but seven children on the window sill, squeezed much too closely together for comfort. They all looked quite dazed, and several of them were rubbing their eyes.

  Finally the oldest boy spoke. “What’s going on? What am I doing here?”

  “Don’t you remember?” asked Minx, in surprise.

  “I can’t remember a thing,” said a girl. “Goodness, it’s crowded on this window sill! What are we sitting here for?”

  The children got down, still looking very bewildered.

  “I feel so stiff in my legs,” said a small boy, “as if I was sitting on them.”

  “Don’t you remember?” said Frances. “You were—”

  “SHHH!” whispered Minx, quickly. “Don’t tell them, Frances!”

  Frances looked at her with astonishment; but Minx frowned and shook her head.

  “Well, young ladies and gentlemen,” said the Pied Piper, “I have performed my little task, and I can feel myself becoming rather vaporous again. I trust you are satisfied?”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Pied Piper,” said Minx. “Now I guess the detective won’t be able to put me in jail, after all!”

  The Pied Piper’s eyebrows shot up, questioningly; but before Minx could explain, he had faded quite away, every red and yellow speck of him, every flute note.

  The seven children were looking around very curiously.

  “Where are we, anyway?” demanded a boy, who happened to be the notorious Billy Martin.

  “Never mind where you are,” said Minx, pertly. “You’d better go home right away!”

  “Well, you don’t have to tell us where we are,” said Billy, giving her a bold stare, “because I know who you are, anyway. You’re the witch’s daughter!”

  The other children shrank back in alarm. The smallest boy began to cry.

  “Oh, you needn’t be so scared!” said Minx, in annoyance. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be—” She remembered in time, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘We’d still be what?” demanded Billy Martin, suspiciously.

  “Never mind what,” said Frances. “Why don’t you just go home and keep quiet?”

  “Keep quiet yourself!” said Billy. “Say you know what I think?”

  “I’m not interested,” Minx informed him.

  But Billy persisted. “I think you put some kind of a spell on us kids, that’s what I think! You’re a witch, too!”

  “She is not!” Frances defended her friend, hotly.

  “She is too!” said Billy. “And I think there’s something funny going on around here!”

  “Why don’t you go home!” said Minx.

  “I’m going, don’t worry, but you ain’t seen the last of me!”

  Billy and the other ex-flowerpots went out, looking rather dazed.

  “Now what do you suppose will happen?” said Minx, unhappily.

  “Don’t worry,” Frances comforted her. “We’ll stick by you, won’t we, kids?”

  Every head nodded vigorously. “We sure will, Minx!”

  But Minx still looked anxious. “Even if they never remember they were flowerpots,” she said, “they’ll make everyone think they were under a spell. That Billy Martin surely will. Oh, why was I ever born a witch’s child!”

  7

  THE BIRTHDAY CAKE

  The next day was Saturday, and as soon as Madam Snickasnee was busily employed in manufacturing snores, Minx stripped off her clothes, and draped a long, old cape around her shoulders to protect herself from the chill air. Then she dumped her dirty clothes in the sink, and washed them as well as she could, without soap. Madam Snickasnee could not see the value of soap, as she never felt it necessary either to take a bath or wash her clothes. As for dishes, they were occasionally lightly rinsed off underneath the faucet.

  Minx rubbed and scrubbed, now and then heaving a sigh of deep despair. Would they ever get clean? Finally, she decided that they never would, but at least they were about ten shades lighter. Then she wrung them out and took t
hem outdoors, draping them over a low branch on the lone tree which stood in their tiny front yard.

  “There now,” she thought, with satisfaction.

  It was such a bright, keen October day that she felt full of energy and big plans.

  “I guess first I’d better go water the plants, poor thi—OH!” She stopped dead still in the front yard, one hand over her mouth, her eyes round with horror.

  “Golly! I never thought of that!” Now she remembered clearly the events of the past evening. The flowerpots were no more. “Oh, golly!” she said again. “Whatever will I tell the witch!”

  This problem, however, was temporarily forgotten at the sight of Mr. Beanpot advancing toward her, blowing out his cheeks with an important air.

  “Just the person I wanta see!” he shouted, before he was near enough to talk in normal tones. When he got up close, he said, in a much quieter voice—in fact, in almost a whisper, “Your mother home, sis?”

  Minx stared at him with a bold eye, although inside she was quaking like a pot of boiling witch’s brew. “My mother is asleep, and I wouldn’t advise you or anyone else to wake her up, either!”

  Mr. Beanpot mopped his red face, nervously. “I guess I’d better come back when she’s awake,” he mumbled. “When will that be?”

  “She sleeps all day long,” said Minx, pertly, “and then she goes out in the evening.”

  Mr. Beanpot’s pale little eyes lighted up with a knowing look. “On her broomstick, I suppose!” he said.

  Now it was Minx’s turn to flush and look upset. “None of your p’s and q’s!” she snapped.

  “Never mind the sass, sis,” said Mr. Beanpot, menacingly. “As you pro’ly know, all the missing children turned up last night to gladden their parents’ grieving bosoms, though for the life of me I can’t see why Mr. and Mrs. Martin—” he gave himself a shake. “But be that as it may—they all turned up last night VE-RY MYS-TER-I-OUS-LY! And—” he shoved his nose in Minx’s face. “I think you know somepin about it!”