The Witch at the Window

by Ruth Chew

  “Mother doesn’t like birds in the house,” Marjorie reminded him.

  “Wait until the sun goes down before you go into your house,” Stella said. “The magic doesn’t work after dark. You’ll be yourself until sunrise.”

  Marjorie started turning the pages of the big book. “Where’s the page that tells you how to break the spells?”

  “There isn’t a page like that in the book,” the witch said.

  “You mean we have to stay like this?” Nick asked.

  “Only in the daytime,” Stella told him. “Never mind. You’ll get used to it. I had to figure out how to get back in here. I can’t open the door when I’m a bird, but I can fly down inside the tree and wait till night comes.” She looked pleased with herself.

  “Mom will be mad at me if I’m late for dinner every night,” Nick said. “And she won’t like finding a bird in my bed in the morning.”

  Marjorie was still reading the book. “There’s a spell here that would turn you into a cat. Mother likes cats.”

  “Do you think your mother would let you keep two cats?” the witch asked. “I’d rather eat meat loaf than mulberries.”

  Nick turned to look at her. “Did you work the flying spell all by yourself, Stella?”

  The starling nodded. “The only hard part was banging myself on the head. I had to let the spoon float in the brew and come up from under it.”

  “That was quite a trick,” Nick said.

  “I’m sorry now that I bothered,” the witch told him.

  Marjorie was staring at the wooden spoon. It was still damp from the magic brew. She held it up. “Nick, look!”

  “I can see the key!” Nick said.

  Marjorie untied the key and hung it around her neck.

  “I can see you too, Marge. What does it mean?” Nick asked.

  “Do you remember what happened to the shoelace when it went into the brew a second time?” Marjorie said.

  “You mean that’s all it takes to break a spell?” Nick asked. Then he yelled, “Come on, Stella! Last one in the brew is a rotten egg!”

  Nick and Stella winged their way across the cave and splashed into the steaming pot. The magic brew foamed over their heads. Marjorie ran over to stir it with the wooden spoon.

  “Ready or not, here I come!” Nick climbed out of the pot. “How do I look, Marge?”

  “Wet,” Marjorie told him.

  Nick looked down at his blue jeans and sneakers. He stretched out his arms and wiggled his fingers. “I’m going to miss those wings.”

  Marjorie turned to look at the pot. A black point was rising out of it. This was the top of Stella’s hat. A second later Marjorie saw the wide brim. Bubbly drops of brew dripped from it over the witch’s face. She had bright green eyes, a long thin nose, and a pointed chin. Her straggly hair was as black as her hat.

  Marjorie had forgotten how scary Stella had looked at the window. She watched the witch’s bony fingers grab the rim of the pot as she climbed out. Stella seemed to get bigger and bigger. Marjorie wanted to run, but she couldn’t move.

  Stella’s buckled shoes thumped down on the dirt floor of the cave. She shook out the wet folds of her long black dress. Then she stretched out her skinny hand. “If you don’t mind, Marjorie, I’d like my spoon back.”

  Marjorie was sure that the witch would be much more dangerous when she had her magic spoon. And maybe she was angry because Nick and Marjorie had been using it. But the spoon did belong to Stella. Marjorie handed it to her. “Are you still going to use it after what happened?”

  Stella’s thin face cracked into a smile. Her green eyes sparkled. “I’ve had lots of fun with magic,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without it. Besides, now I know how to break the spells.” She rubbed her pointed chin. “At least I think I do. With magic you never can be sure of anything.”

  The witch walked over to the pile of dry leaves. She pulled a black broom from under the tattered blanket. “The trouble with this,” she said, “is that it only flies at night.”

  “Why?” Nick asked.

  “Because I worked the spell at night,” Stella told him.

  “Nick and I have to go home for lunch,” Marjorie said. “Do you want to join us, Stella?”

  “I’d like to,” the witch said, “but people always seem to stare at me. I’d rather be out when most of them are asleep. It was nice of you to ask me, Marjorie. I hope you and Nick will visit me sometimes.”

  “That would be fun,” Nick said.

  Stella yawned. “Don’t come too early in the day. I usually go to bed at sunrise.”

  “We’ll wait until afternoon.” Marjorie picked up the flashlight and walked to the door.

  Nick followed her out to the hollow in the roots of the tree. His clothes were still soaking wet. “I’m glad I had a chance to fly, Marge, even if it didn’t last long.” He grabbed hold of the clothesline and started to shinny up.

  Marjorie climbed up the rope after him. She shined the flashlight up into the hollow trunk of the tree.

  “Marge!” Nick yelled. “You’d better hang on tight. Somebody’s pulling up the rope!”

  The clothesline rose up through the hollow tree, dragging Nick and Marjorie with it.

  When they came out of the hole in the trunk, Marjorie looked around to see who had pulled them up. But there was no one there. She clicked off her flashlight and put it into her pocket. Then she untied the rope from the tree branch.

  “Too bad you had to give the spoon back, Marge,” Nick said. “Now we don’t have anything to wind the rope on. How are we going to keep it from getting tangled?”

  The clothesline stretched out and floated in the air.

  Marjorie stared at it. “Some of the magic in the spoon must have rubbed off on it,” she whispered.

  Nick touched the rope with one finger. “It’s damp from the magic brew in my clothes. Do you suppose that could have done the trick?”

  “Maybe.” Marjorie gently stroked the clothesline. “Stella said with magic you never can be sure of anything.”

  “At least we know it’s magic,” Nick said. “I wonder what it can do.”

  “Ropey,” Marjorie asked, “could you take us home?”

  The clothesline gave a happy little wiggle and rubbed against Marjorie’s arm.

  Marjorie and Nick held onto the rope with their hands and twisted their legs around it. The clothesline sailed up out of the old beech tree. It flew high over Prospect Park and across the roofs of Brooklyn.

  In almost no time Nick and Marjorie landed on their own front stoop.

  Marjorie gave the clothesline a little pat. “Thank you, Ropey.” She looped it over her arm.

  “We’ll have to be careful, Marge,” Nick said. “The clothesline probably can’t fly after the sun goes down.”

  “Mother doesn’t like us to be out after dark anyway.” Marjorie opened the door with her house key. “Now let’s see what we can have for lunch.”

  LET THE MAGIC CONTINUE.…

  Here’s a peek

  at another bewitching tale

  by Ruth Chew.

  Excerpt copyright © 1976 by Ruth Chew.

  Published by Random House Children’s Books,

  a division of Random House LLC,

  a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  “Rob, look at the poor little cat! She’s shut up all by herself.” Andy Gates pressed his nose against the window of the shop.

  His sister Robin watched the fluffy little white cat pick her way among a set of old dishes that had purple violets painted on them. The cat sidestepped a little china lady and squeezed between a huge plaster frog and a tall thing that looked like a fountain.

  The little cat stood on her hind legs and tried to crawl up the plate glass. She opened her pink mouth to meow. But Robin and Andy couldn’t hear her through the window.

  Robin moved her finger back and forth across the glass. The cat tried to catch Robin’s finger.

  “You’re lonely, and
you want to play,” Robin said.

  “I don’t remember this store. Wasn’t this where the delicatessen used to be?” Andy looked up at the sign across the top of the plate glass window:

  ZELDA’S AT HOME

  In the window there was a smaller sign:

  Come in and Browse

  Andy tried the door. It was locked. “How can we go in and browse? Zelda isn’t home.”

  A very small sign in the corner of the window said:

  We buy and sell

  Robin peeked through the glass door. The shop was crowded with cabinets filled with silver trays, Japanese dolls, marble eggs, and all sorts of other things. A fancy old clock with a swinging pendulum stood against the wall.

  Robin remembered that their mother had asked her to buy a loaf of rye bread. The bakery was in the next block. “Come on, Andy.” Robin took a last look at the little white cat. The cat looked back at her with round blue eyes. Suddenly the cat caught sight of something. She gave a jump and knocked over a glass vase.

  A shadow fell across the window.

  Robin and Andy turned around. They saw a little old woman dressed all in black. She was fishing a large key out of her handbag. The old woman fitted the key into the lock and opened the door of the little shop.

  “She must be Zelda,” Andy said.

  The woman turned her head and looked at the two children. She had the greenest eyes that either of them had ever seen.

  Through the open door of the shop they could hear the old clock striking five. Robin grabbed Andy’s hand. She pulled him after her down Church Avenue toward the bakery.

  “What’s the hurry for, Rob? I want to look at the things in Zelda’s.” Andy’s legs were shorter than Robin’s. He had to run to keep up with her.

  “It’s Friday,” Robin reminded him. “The bakery closes early.”

  When they reached the bakery, the man behind the counter was already putting the cakes away. There were only three loaves of bread left on the shelf. Robin bought the last loaf of rye bread.

  On their way out of the store Andy nearly tripped over a small white cat. He bent down to pet it. “Hey, Rob, doesn’t this look like the cat in Zelda’s?”

  Robin looked at the cat. “Yes,” she said. “Maybe it ran out when Zelda opened her door.”

  “Let’s take it back to her.” Andy bent down to pick up the cat. It dodged him and ran under a parked car.

  “It’s getting dark, and Mother’s waiting for us.” Robin took hold of her brother’s hand and started for home. When they came to the old house where they lived, Robin and Andy walked up the stone steps to the front door. Andy rang the doorbell.

  Mrs. Gates opened the door. Something streaked between Robin’s legs and ran into the house.

  It was the white cat.

  The cat ran up the stairs in the front hall. Andy tore after her.

  “What’s that?” Mrs. Gates looked up the stairway.

  Robin handed her mother the paper bag with the loaf of bread in it. “It’s Zelda’s cat.”

  “Who is Zelda?” Mrs. Gates asked. She opened the paper bag and sniffed the rye bread.

  “She’s the lady who has the funny little store where the delicatessen used to be,” Robin said. She stuck her nose into the paper bag.

  Andy came downstairs. He was carrying the cat. “Let’s keep her, Mom. She followed Rob and me home. She doesn’t want to stay with Zelda.”

  Mrs. Gates looked at the fluffy little cat. “Don’t be silly, Andy. You’ll have to take her back. But it’s suppertime now. You and Robin can take the cat home after supper. Go and wash your hands. Your dad is hungry.”

  “I’ll put the cat in my room for now.” Andy went back upstairs with the cat.

  Robin followed her mother into the kitchen. Mr. Gates was standing in front of the stove. He lifted the lid on a saucepan and peeked inside. Robin ran to give her father a hug. “What’s for supper, Daddy?”

  “Franks and beans,” Mr. Gates told her.

  “My favorite,” Robin said. She went to get the silverware to set the table.

  After supper Andy cleared the table and then went to his room. Robin put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. When she had finished she went upstairs. The door of Andy’s room was closed. Robin tapped on the door.

  The door opened a crack. Andy looked out. When he saw Robin, he said, “I found this cat chasing my marbles all over the room. She gets into everything.”

  Robin walked into Andy’s bedroom. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. There were schoolbooks scattered across the floor. The spread had been yanked off the bed, and the pillow had a small hole in one end. The feathers were leaking out. Andy was on his hands and knees, picking up the marbles.

  The white cat was chasing a feather across the top of Andy’s desk. When she saw Robin, the cat sat down and looked at her with round blue eyes. The feather was sticking out of one side of the cat’s mouth.

  Robin laughed. “You’re a mischief, little cat,” she said, “but I wish we could keep you for our own. Would you like that?”

  The cat stood up and jumped off the desk. She ran over to Robin and rubbed against her leg. Robin picked up the fluffy little cat and held her against her cheek. “You must be hungry, and I don’t have anything to feed you. I’ll have to take you back to Zelda right away.”

  Mrs. Gates was standing in the doorway. “It’s raining,” she said. “And I really don’t want you children out after dark. Tomorrow’s Saturday. You can take the cat back to Zelda right after breakfast. Bring her down to the kitchen now. I’ll give her a bowl of milk.”

  The little cat purred loudly.