Minx drew back, haughtily. “Prove it!”
“All I know is what I heard from Billy Martin—” as he pronounced this name, a violent shudder passed over him; but he went on, courageously. “It’s VE-RY STRANGE that those missin’ kids found themselves in your house las’ night with no remembrance of what went before!”
“Wouldn’t you like to talk to my mother about it?” Minx invited, slyly.
Mr. Beanpot began to mop his face again, feverishly. “N-no, thank you! I’ll come back some other time!” He turned and marched off as fast as his dignity would permit.
In spite of her anxiety, Minx snickered. “Old scaredy-cat!” she muttered.
‘Oh dear!” she sighed. “Trouble, trouble, and more trouble! Oh dear! If there was only someone I could talk to about this!”
Suddenly she thought of Frances’s great-grandma, and a gay lightness seized her. “Maybe she can help!”
She felt her clothes to see if they were dry. The wind was brisk and the sun bright, but her clothes were not quite dry. She felt terribly impatient, however, and snatching them from the tree, slipped into them swiftly.
When she was at last on her way to Frances’s house, she shivered in the damp clothing, but she ran swiftly; so that when she finally arrived, she was warm and quite out of breath.
Frances opened the door. “Oh, Minx!” she cried, joyfully. “I’m so glad you could come over! Did you bring your broom?”
Minx opened her mouth in dismay. “Oh, Frances, I forgot! Besides, I’d better hide my broom for a while.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” asked Frances.
“Plenty!” said Minx, darkly. “I thought maybe your grandma could tell me what to do.”
“Tell you what to do!” repeated Frances, wonderingly. “You sure sound mysterious!”
“Well, I’ll explain; but do you think your grandma would mind me telling her my troubles?”
“Goodness no!” said Frances. “Grandma listens to everybody’s troubles by the yard! C’mon in!”
Minx followed her friend inside, skirting around a red wagon, a jack-in-the-box, and a deflated football.
Grandma was in the midst of making a cake. “It’s George’s birthday,” she explained, “and of course we have to have a cake!”
“Chocolate,” said George, sticking a fat finger in the batter.
“Take your finger out of that batter!” said Grandma, sharply. “Go wash your hands!”
“They’re clean, Grandma,” said George. “I licked them off.”
“Goodness,” said Grandma, to Minx. “I actually got out my paints today to start a watercolor, and then I remembered about the cake! Well!” she heaved a sigh. “Tomorrow’s another day!”
“Grandma,” said Frances, “Minx would like to tell you her troubles.”
“If you’re not too busy,” added Minx, shyly.
Grandma looked at her kindly. “Of course I’m not too busy, darling! If you don’t mind my working while you talk, fire away!”
Her words almost tumbling over one another, Minx told Grandma about the flowerpots and Mr. Beanpot, the detective.
“I’m afraid he’ll put me in jail,” she said. “It wasn’t my fault that the children were turned into flowerpots; but I guess he’d never believe that. And what shall I do when my mother finds out the flowerpots are gone?”
Grandma was whisking the batter out into the greased tins. Minx thought she had not listened to a word. But then she said, “I think you haven’t a thing to worry about in the case of Mr. Beanpot. He can’t prove anything, and as long as those children can’t recall what happened to them, you’re safe. Anyway, you’re just a child and they couldn’t put you in jail. As for your mother, when she finds out the flowerpots are gone, that’s something else again!”
As she was shoving the tins in the oven, a worried frown creased her forehead. “Maybe you’d better stay with us, my child. Just for a while, anyway. Wouldn’t your mother let you come for a visit?”
Minx shook her head, sadly. “Goodness! If she ever even found out I had friends, she’d be simply furious!”
“Well then, the only thing I can advise is for you to come here in case she wants to punish you too severely.”
“Maybe you could hide here for a while,” suggested Frances.
“I guess that would be against the law,” said Grandma, regretfully. “No, I suppose I’m not much help, but I can only tell Minx to hope that her mother won’t discover that the flowerpots are gone.”
“Couldn’t you get some other flowerpots that look just like them?” said Frances.
“My mother could tell the difference in a flash,” said Minx. “Anyway, thanks for letting me tell you about it. At least I won’t worry anymore about going to jail.”
“If they put the witch in jail, then you won’t have to worry about the flowerpots any more!” said Frances, brightly.
“Oh, that’s right!” cried Minx, her face shining with new hope.
“Well anyway,” said Grandma, “it’s a good thing you came over, Minx, because now you can stay and have some of George’s birthday cake.”
“Ice cream, too!” said George, happily.
Minx forgot all her worries for the rest of the day. She had never eaten ice cream before, and thought she could never get enough of it. The chocolate cake was so light and rich, it almost melted away as soon as it was put in the mouth.
After the party, all the children ran out to play. By this time Minx s clothes were dry, and Frances had loaned her a warm jacket to wear.
She and Frances were having a joyful time playing hopscotch when Mrs. Sputter, president of the Parent-Teacher Association, came along. Mrs. Sputter was a very large lady, wearing square spectacles with a gold chain dangling from them, and she often made the statement that she was afraid of neither man, woman, nor beast.
When she saw the girls, she stopped and called out, in commanding tones, “You’re Minikin Snickasnee, are you not? Come here, my child!”
Minx was standing on one foot in a square, about to leap to the next square; but so forceful was Mrs. Sputter, that she quickly obeyed.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Sputter, fixing Minx with a look that was meant to be kindly, but which rooted her to the spot in terror, “I am the president of the P.T.A. and I notice that your mother does not belong!”
Minx gulped. “N-no ma’am!”
‘Well, my dear, I think it is the duty of every mother to belong to the P.T.A., and I am going right straight to your house this minute to ask your mother to join!”
As Minx watched the large figure marching away toward Madam Snickasnee’s house, she felt that now indeed her troubles were tumbling on her head in good measure.
8
MRS. SPUTTER
Minx knew she ought to run after Mrs. Sputter to try to stop her; but she was such a determined-looking lady, that Minx knew that nothing she had to say would be of any use.
When finally she was able to wiggle her tongue again, she said, “Just wait’ll my mother meets up with her! Mrs. Sputter is gonna be awful sorry!”
“Mrs. Sputter doesn’t believe in witches,” said Frances.
Minx hooted. “She doesn’t! Oh, golly! Just wait!”
Then she turned two shades paler. “But just wait till my mother meets up with me, too,” she said, in a small voice.
“Do you really think she’ll mind that you go to school?” asked Frances.
“I know it,” said Minx, with conviction.
Billy Martin chose this moment to come along. “Yah! Ol’ witch!” he taunted. “I’m rackin’ my brains to put two and two together—jest you wait!”
“If you have to rack your brains to put two and two together, you better go back to the first grade!” retorted Minx, saucily.
Billy could think of no suitable reply to this; so he stuck out his tongue and sauntered off with a self-important air.
Mr. Beanpot, who happened to be coming along at that moment, saw him and ducked hastily
down a side street.
The town clock struck five, and Minx gave a little jump. “Oh, goodness! I’ve gotta get home! Oh, my goodness!”
“Do you want me to—to go with you?” offered Frances, bravely.
“Oh, no!” said Minx. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you! Well, so long, Frances, thanks for everything. Here’s your jacket.”
“Keep it,” said Frances. “I have two others. I know Grandma would like you to have it.”
“Well, thanks! So long now!” And away Minx flew through the swiftly rising darkness.
When she went fearfully inside the house, the very first sight that greeted her eyes was a large flowerpot standing in the center of the table. The plant which grew from it was broad-leaved and luxuriant—a good deal like a thriving rubber plant.
Minx stared at it in horror. “Oh, my golly!” she said. “Mrs. Sputter!”
Then she became aware of Madam Snickasnee who was glaring at her evilly from a corner of the room..
“Right!” she croaked. “Your P.T.A. friend, Mrs. Sputter. Of all the pushy, obnoxious females, she was the worst! But I must say she makes a nice bit of green in the room.”
She fixed Minx with her little red eyes, and said, ominously, “Who gave you permission to set foot inside that schoolhouse, miss?”
“I—I wanted to see what it was like,” stammered Minx.
“Oh! You did!” sneered Madam Snickasnee, “And I suppose you’ve been lallygagging around with your fine school friends? Future flowerpots they’ll be, or I’ll eat my hat!”
Minx reflected that Madam Snickasnee’s hat would make quite a few, and anything but tasty mouthfuls; but she was soon rudely jarred from this train of thought.
“And another thing,” said Madam Snickasnee, advancing toward Minx, slowly, her eyes gleaming like hot coals, “another thing, miss! Where are those flowerpots?”
Minx longed desperately to rush for the door, but her knees felt much too weak. But what with thinking about this problem so much, she had her story all ready.
“A detective was around asking about the missing children,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t quaver; “so I got scared he’d suspect about the flowerpots, and I hid them.”
Madam Snickasnee seemed a bit taken aback “A detective snooping around here?”
“Yes,” said Minx. “His name is Mr. Beanpot.”
“Well! Well!” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “That certainly is very interesting! In fact I’ll be very interested to know the next time he comes around here!”
“Y-yes, Ma’am! I’ll be sure to tell you!”
“And now, miss,” continued Madam Snickasnee, “pray tell me where you hid the flowerpots.”
Minx felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. Why hadn’t she thought about that? But she had to say something. The witch’s eyes were almost burning a hole right through her. Boldly, she said, “I put them out in the yard!”
“Well, all I have to say,” croaked Madam Snickasnee, “is that they’d better be there when I look for them tomorrow!”
“Oh, they’ll be there,” said Minx, “un—unless someone s-stole them!”
“Oh, stole them, hey?” shrieked the witch. “Don’t start making excuses, miss. They’d just better be there!”
She slung a leg over her broom, and whizzed off into the darkness.
“Oh, golly! Now I am in for something!” groaned Minx. “She’ll be sure to look for those flowerpots when she comes home.”
She suddenly thought of the beautiful lady whom she had not glimpsed for two days; so she went over to the mirror. For a long time she gazed into its blurred depths, and then suddenly she saw her—beautiful as a star, smiling at her with tenderness.
She was afraid to turn around to try to find her, for then the lovely image would fade from the mirror.
For the first time, she spoke to the reflection, for now she was sure that this was a real person, and not just an imaginary one.
“Oh, beautiful lady,” she said, “can’t you help me? The witch will surely do something terrible to me when she finds out the flowerpots are gone!”
Instantly, there was a sound as of the mirror cracking, and the image wavered and melted away. Minx’s heart sank like a stone. Slowly, with tears in her dark eyes, she turned away, and then gave a start of surprise.
There before her was the lady of the mirror! But a thousand times more beautiful than her reflection! Her hair streamed down to the floor, silver-pale as quiet water at dusk, crowned with a circlet of stars; her eyes were dark and luminous like shadowed forest pools; her skin as white and pink as the petals of arbutus. Tall and slender she was, wrapped around in a mantle of glowing, silver.
For a long moment Minx could do nothing but stare. Then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she said, “Who are you?”
But the lady never spoke. She just, shook her head, slowly, and pressed a finger against her lovely mouth. At first Minx was bewildered. Then she said, “Oh! Can’t you speak?”
Again the beautiful creature shook her head.
Minx felt very sad. “How can we understand each other then? Won’t you be able to help me?”
The lady looked sorrowful, too; but this time, she nodded her head, as if to say “yes.”
Suddenly, there was a rap on the door, and the lady looked around in alarm.
“Don’t be scared,” said Minx, comfortingly. “That’s probably my friends. We’re trying to get the right magic brew to make a fairy appear.”
The lady looked as if she were laughing. Her eyes were full of mirth, and her face dimpled.
Minx hurried to open the door. There stood Frances, with her brothers and sister.
“Come in!” she cried, eagerly. “Come in and meet the beautiful lady!”
“Beautiful lady?” repeated the children, questioningly. They all piled in, looking around curiously.
“Where is any beautiful lady?” demanded Jack.
“I don’t see anyone,” said Bob.
“Why she’s right th—” began Minx; then gave a gasp. “Oh, goodness! She’s gone!”
“You’re just kidding us, aren’t you?” said Jack.
“No—honest I’m not! She was the most beautiful lady in the whole world! But she couldn’t talk.”
“Deaf and dumb,” said Bob.
“No,” said Minx, “she could hear me; but she couldn’t speak.”
“Well, anyway, she’s just disappeared,” said Frances, “so she must be magic.”
“Maybe she’s an enchanted lady like in the fairy stories,” said Alice.
Minx looked at Alice with wonder. “Why Alice, you certainly are a smart little girl! That’s probably just what she is!”
“Then let’s get to work on the magic brew,” said Jack, “and maybe we’ll discover something to get rid of her enchantment.”
“That’s called disenchanting someone,” said Frances.
“O.K.,” said Jack, agreeably, “But whatever it’s called, let’s get started.”
9
THE YELLOW POWDER
“Well, what bottle will it be this time?” said Minx, looking over the colorful bottles.
All the children began to clamor for a chance to choose.
“I have an idea,” said Frances, sensibly. “Why don’t you just shut your eyes, Minx, and I’ll turn you around three times, and then you pick one.”
“O.K! That sounds like a good idea,” said Minx. She squeezed her eyes shut, and Frances turned her around three times, so that she was facing the shelves.
“Golly, I feel dizzy!” giggled Minx, reaching out her hand hesitantly toward the shelves. She curled her fingers around a jar. “Here it is, I guess!”
“O.K! Open your eyes!” said Frances.
“Oh my!” said Alice. “That’s surely a pretty yellow!”
Minx took the yellow powder and dumped a little into the magic kettle, along with some magic liquid.
Immediately, the ingredients boiled up into a see
thing mass, like frothing sunshine.
“Oh, how beautiful!” cried Frances.
“Shhh!” said Bob. “Something’s happening!”
“What is it?” whispered George, hoarsely.
The vapor was winding mysteriously around the room, and the children saw a form emerging. They felt as if they hardly dared to breathe.
The vapor began clearing away, and there, perched on the edge of the kettle, was a tiny creature about eight inches high, with wide gold butterfly wings, and a pointed, saucy face! She was dressed in a filmy gown of palest gold, and around her long, golden hair was a wreath, of tiny blue flowers that just matched her eyes.
The children all stood around, mouths open, eyes popping. At last Minx said in a voice that was hardly more than a squeak, “You’re—you’re a fairy!”
In a voice as thin as a sliver of rain, the fairy said, “Of course! Could you mistake me for anything else?”
“Oh! How beautiful!” said Alice, in awe.
The fairy preened herself “Of course I’m beautiful! I have no less than six elves courting me right now, and I would have seven, only that little hussy Bluebell tricked him into marrying her by pretending she owned twelve beehives!”
She stamped her little foot, indignantly.
“Well, anyway,” said Frances, soothingly, “I think six elves is an awful lot.”
The fairy looked mollified. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked, amiably, settling herself on the edge of the kettle, and swinging her feet.
“As a matter of fact, nothing,” said Minx. “We just wanted to see a fairy.”
The fairy reached into a small bag which swung from her belt, and took out a tiny lipstick and mirror. “You couldn’t have chosen a better fairy to look at than me,” she said, smugly, beginning to paint her lips with great care.
The children were so fascinated that they crowded quite close.
“Good heavens!” cried the fairy. “You get so close I can hardly breathe!”
Little Witch Page 4