The Witch Family (3 page)

From under her peaked black hat the little witch girl's hair hung long and blond and straight, very unusual in a witch.

"
BEHOLD
!" spelled a voice from the end of the porch.

Old Witch gave a start but decided to ignore the intrusion. She sank back on her haunches. She was exhausted from the difficult abracadabra she had performed and weak with wonder at the dazzling spectacle of a beautiful fair-haired little witch girl. She cupped her long curved chin in the nobby palms of her hands, and she looked long and hungrily at Little Witch Girl—not hungrily in the manner that she might have in the old times before she had been "banquished" and was still a mean old bad Old Witch, but hungrily in the new way, for love and company.

"Hello," she said with a croak to the little witch girl.

"Hello," answered the little witch girl with the merest, slightest suspicion of a tiny, charming croak in her own voice.

"Be ye Malachi?" asked Old Witch. "Be ye" seemed the correct language to use to such a pretty girl. "Be ye Malachi, or whatever that name be that
her
keeps harping on?"

"Malachi!" The little witch girl laughed. "Of course not. He's a bumblebee. Oh, I get it. You thought that I was a bumblebee in disguise. Well, I'm not. My name is Hannah, and I am a plain witch."

"Welcome," said Old Witch affably. "I'm glad you are not an old bumblebee!"

The little witch girl made herself at home and examined everything. She flew inside, and with her in it, the house did not look bleak anymore. It still looked shabby and old, but it did not look ugly. She flew back outside. "What a beautiful place this is," she exclaimed, "all so shiny and slippery!"

The sun was rising. Beautiful colors, rose, pink, gold, and violet, were reflected in the glass hill. The top of the hill, where the witch house was, seemed to float above the rosy-tipped clouds. Even Old Witch was impressed, though black, naturally, was her favorite color. "Oh, to glory be!" she said.

The clouds began to lift. Little Witch Girl stared way way off in the distance. Far away she could see a blue line, the horizon, the edge of the ocean.

"I like the porch. I like the view," said the little witch girl. "But where's my rocker, my red rocker? And where's my bed?"

"I didn't know you were coming." Old Witch apologized. "Or I'd have had a bed and a rocker. They're coming, though. Wait ... just wait..."

A slow smile spread over Old Witch's face. "They'll be coming, the rocker and the bed," she said with a soft croak. But to herself, she said, "At least I
hope
they'll be coming." Would her abracadabra work for her again? She tried very hard, and it did work. With her abracadabra, incantations, runes, and chants, Old Witch got the following necessities for the little witch girl: a little red rocker that played a tune when you rocked in it (the tune was, "Little Witch, Little Witch, A-born in a Ditch"), a little brass bed with small brass owls carved on the four posts, and a little black brush and comb.

Brush and comb? A necessity? It is against witch rules to take off hats and brush and comb hair. Was Old Witch going to disobey witch rules concerning hair?

A slight buzzing sound could be heard to which Old Witch paid no heed as she recklessly seized the brush and the comb and grabbed hold of the little witch girl.

"
DONT
!" spelled a buzzing voice sharply in her ear. This voice skipped the apostrophe. Otherwise the spelling was perfect.

As before, Old Witch heard the word of Malachi, but again she paid no heed. Witches never comb their hair, and many even sleep in their hats. This would not be comfortable for us, but witches do not mind, for it is the custom never to take off peaked hats. Even Amy, who knew this rule about witches always having to keep their peaked hats on and who may have made the rule up along with the banishment, had never drawn witches with their hats off—always with hats on. Old Witch, herself, had never taken off her own hat and combed her own hair, but she had decided to brush and comb Hannah's hair, for she had never seen anything as soft and pretty. Though witches do not comb their own hair, they hanker to get their hands into other people's. Remember Rapunzel! And how the old witch in that story liked to comb and comb Rapunzel's hair! Of course Little Witch Girl's hair was not as long as Rapunzel's famous hair, but it was lighter in feeling. Old Witch was determined to get her hands into it as soon as possible. She threw Hannah's hat on the bed and she began to comb.

The buzzing grew loud again, and it sounded ominous. Old Witch brushed her hand around her head as though to shoo something away, but she continued to break the witch rule—never to comb witch hair.

"Stop that!" cried the little witch girl angrily. She did not like to have her hair combed and to break witch rules. "Stop that!" she cried again. "That hurts!" she said. "Don't you hear Malachi?"

"
STOP
!" spelled the bee.

"Ouch!" said Old Witch. She dropped the comb. Something had stung her on the wrist. Being magic now, Malachi, unlike ordinary bees who have but one stinger, had refill stingers, and the minute he used up one, another stinger popped into place. Being much larger than most bumblebees, he had an extra cell for stinger refills as many pencils do for lead. The little witch girl broke away and crawled under her little brass bed. She stayed there, peeking out, until Old Witch promised to comb no more. Then Little Witch Girl crept out. She put the brush and comb way, way under the bed, and she sat down and watched Old Witch suspiciously.

Old Witch was puzzled. She sucked her bee bite, and she studied it carefully. A bee had stung her and she could not see the bee. She shook out her shawl. There was no bee in it or on her or anywhere around, for Malachi, his warning having been heeded, had returned to his crumbly groove in the ancient board in the sunny part of the porch. From his place of camouflage, his watchful, anxious eyes did not relax their vigil.

The little witch girl was still indignant. Her feelings were very ruffled. "Do you want me to catch cold?" she asked Old Witch. She put her hat back on, went outdoors, sat down in her red rocker, turned the music off, and rocked silently.

After a while she felt better and she said, "Thank you for the presents. We are not up to the abracadabra for red rockers in school yet. We are only up to easy ones like getting a bird's feather" (Old Witch croaked gently in encouragement. "That's good," she said), "a happy toad, and a milk pod. Next week, in witchiplication, we are going to take up harder ones."

Old Witch nodded.

"Want to see me get a feather? I'll try for two feathers, one for your cat and one for my cat."

Old Witch nodded again. Her cat, Old Tom, fixed the newcomer witch with his green eye. He had one yellow eye and one green eye, and it is the green eye of a witch cat that fixes. "Why only the feather of the bird?" this green eye seemed to ask.

Little Witch Girl did not mind being fixed by the green eye of Old Tom or by the green eye of Little Tommy, either. Tommy was learning fast from the old cat, and he fixed his green eye here, there, and particularly at the sunny end of the porch, though he did not know, being so young, that he was looking at the place where there was a magic bee.

In her sweet, rather husky voice, the little witch girl said an abracadabra, keeping time to the chant with her rocking. She had to start several times because abracadabras are like safety locks. If you do not know the right combination, the abracadabra will not work properly and you may get the wrong thing. Finally, Little Witch Girl got the abracadabra right, and she produced two beautiful bright red feathers, a long one for Old Tom and a tiny one for Little Tommy.

Little Tommy played happily with his feather while Old Tom sniffed his and twitched his tail and reminisced about birds. Naturally, no birds dwelled up on this high glass hill where nothing grew. In fact, the only bird ever seen up here was Amy's emissary, the red cardinal bird. He passed by the glass hill every day on his way to and from Mount Rose Park, across the street from Jasper School, where he went for food. He liked his reflection in the glass hill and was obliged to come this way, anyway, in case there was a special message from or to Amy.

"Did you see that?" the little witch girl asked Old Witch proudly. "I got those feathers."

"That's very good," said Old Witch. "You did very nicely." She paused a moment, and then she said cannily, "Since you did so well with the feathers, how about something harder? Be ye interested in trying your hand at the abracadabra for getting me a ... bumblebee, say?"

Little Witch Girl shook her head. "Oh, no," she said. "I be not."

Feeling happier and more at home now, Little Witch Girl turned the music part of her rocker back on, and she peacefully sat and rocked.

Old Witch could not take her eyes off the little witch girl. She was quite overcome at her good fortune. She had not realized that she was
that
lonely, that her incantations would bring her a little witch girl for company. "Oh, to glory be!" she said with a happy hoarse croak. Now she would never be lonesome on this glassy hill. She thought up ways to amuse the little witch.

"How about a race around the top of the hill on our broomsticks?" she asked.

The little witch girl was delighted. So, around and around the top of the hill the old witch and the little witch, with their cats astride their broomsticks, flew and raced. Old Witch let Little Witch Girl win every race. This shows what a good person Old Witch was becoming.

But when the races were over, and the big and the little witch had come to a breathless stop on the rickety front porch, the little witch girl was rather scared at the way Old Witch croaked, "Heh-heh! Oh, the hurly-burly!" And she was still more scared when Old Witch danced a fast jig known as "the backanally." This is a real witch dance, and Old Witch danced it all around the little witch girl, who looked straight ahead at the horizon and pretended not to see. But, as the dance went on, she became more and more scared, for whether she looked at Old Witch or not, she could not help but see a great deal of the backanally dance.

She cried, "Stop that!" and ran inside and crawled under her new brass bed again. Such a very little witch was still quite unaccustomed to backanally dances.

A certain forbidding buzzing sound could be

heard again. But Old Witch did not hear it because she was singing so loudly. Once in a while she hopped higher into the air suddenly, as though she had been bitten. But she did not care.

"I'll be good! Oh, I'll be good!" she kept on singing. Little Witch Girl stayed right under the bed because the way Old Witch said "good" was enough to scare her stiff. It sounded like "good" in the witch meaning, not "good" in the way that Amy had ordered. The better the witch, from the witch point of view, the worse she is from our point of view and must be banished to glass hills. That's what Amy said.

For a moment Old Witch was mixed up. She had forgotten which "good" she was supposed to be. With her awful "heh-hehs" she certainly did not sound "good" in our way. But when Old Witch saw the little witch girl take refuge under the bed again and heard—in a lull in the dance—the loud buzzing of the bee, she realized her mistake. She knew that she must not frighten Little Witch Girl or Amy might take her away again. Amy might send her right back where she came from, wherever that was, and cancel Halloween hurly-burly besides.

As Old Witch thought these reformed thoughts, the buzzing sound grew faint. There were no more sudden stings. She said amiably, "Come out, my dear. That was just the noted dance called 'backanally.' Come. Ride your broomstick. You ride very well. Yes, indeedy."

"Thank you," answered the little witch girl stiffly from under the bed where she lay, leaning on her elbows, looking out. She really had been very frightened at the "backanally." Suddenly, way up here on this bleak glass hill, all alone with Old Witch, the little witch girl felt lonely. What did it matter that Old Witch was Head Witch of all witches? Little Witch Girl still felt lonely. "Thank you," she repeated coolly. "And I am a very sweet little witch," she said as if to reassure herself, "and I never go outside the line in coloring," she said. "And I like to draw pictures," she said. "And don't scare me again!" she said.

"Ah-h-h," said Old Witch in as gentle and admiring a croaky voice as possible. "Ah-h-h, to glory be!" And as quick as a flash she got Little Witch Girl some crayons by abracadabra. Also some paper.

So, the little witch girl came crawling out from under the bed and sat down on the porch in her red rocker to draw pictures. She could rock and draw at the same time. As the day wore on, she became accustomed to the sound of Old Witch and was not scared of her heh-hehs anymore.

Watching the little witch girl gradually becoming more at ease, the old witch slyly put forth the suggestion again. "Betwixt now and Halloween," she said, "be ye going to catch that, well, that old biting bumblebee for me, perchance?"

"What be the matter with you anyway?" asked Little Witch Girl. "Always talking about bees. Do you perchance have a bee in your bonnet?"