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  Little Witch

  60TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION

  BY

  ANNA ELIZABETH BENNETT

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  HELEN STONE

  Sky Pony Press

  New York

  © 1953, 2013 by Anna Elizabeth Bennett

  Published by arrangement with HarperCollins Children’s

  Books, a division of HarperCollins Publishing

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  ISBN: 978-1-61608-964-1

  Printed in China

  Little Witch

  CONTENTS

  1 THE BLACK SPELL BREW

  2 BRAVE MINIKIN

  3 THE FLYING BROOMSTICK

  4 THE WATER NIXIE

  5 MR. BEANPOT, DETECTIVE

  6 ENCHANTED FLOWERPOTS

  7 THE BIRTHDAY CAKE

  8 MRS. SPUTTER

  9 THE YELLOW POWDER

  10 GRANDMA TO THE RESCUE

  11 THE MAGIC MIRROR

  12 MOONFIRE

  1

  THE BLACK SPELL BREW

  The ugliest, most rickety house in town belonged to the old witch, Madam Snickasnee. It stood on the very edge of the town, a small, melancholy house with steps so old that one was in danger of falling through them; but Madam Snickasnee was too busy working her black magic and riding around on her broomstick to do anything about it—even if she had wanted to.

  She had a daughter, however, who hated the house, and looked with longing at the gay, neat houses of the town. Her name was Minikin—Minx for short; she was nine years old, and she wished with all her heart that she were not a witch’s child.

  This evening Madam Snickasnee was preparing as usual for her nightly jaunt on her broomstick to see what trouble she could stir up.

  “Don’t you want to come along with me, tonight?” she asked, in her harsh crow-voice. “You haven’t been out riding in a week!”

  “No, I don’t,” said Minx. “I don’t like riding around in the dark and cold.”

  “You disobedient girl!” shrieked the old witch. “You’re no child of mine! You’ll have to start changing your ways pretty soon or you won’t grow up into a decent witch!” She glared at Minx with her little red eyes, clapping her tall, pointed hat on her scraggly hair.

  “Well, as long as you’re feeling so high-and-mighty,” she went on, “you can just get to work and cook up a pot of Black Spell Brew, and if you don’t do it, you won’t get anything to eat tomorrow!”

  Minx watched with relief as the witch sailed out the open door, up into the dark sky.

  After a while, the girl went over to a cracked mirror, and leaning her arms on the ancient bureau beneath it, gazed at her reflection intently. She saw a thin, delicate face, a wide, soft mouth, and big eyes as dark as ripe blueberries. She had a dimple stuck in her chin, which she did not like, wishing it had been placed in her cheek, instead. But even magic could not change that now. Rummaging through a drawer of the bureau, she found a somewhat toothless comb and ran it through her black hair, smoothing it around her shoulders. Then suddenly she gave a little jump and gasp, turning around swiftly.

  “Oh! I know I saw her! I know I did!” she said aloud to the empty room. “That’s happened so many times when I’m looking in the mirror.” She stared eagerly into the mirror again. “I’ll be looking in the mirror like this, and then all of a sudden, I think I see a lady in there—the most beautiful lady in the world, looking over my shoulder. But I’m never quick enough to see her for sure.

  She sighed. “Well, I’ve got to go cook up the Black Spell Brew.”

  She took down the magic pot from a shelf, and placed it on the stove. It was an old-fashioned stove that had to be fed with wood in order to cook anything. She got the blaze started, and then went to fetch the jar of magic powder to make the brew.

  “Oh dear! I wish I didn’t have to do this!” she said. “The witch must be going to enchant some more children. As if we didn’t have enough right here in this house!”

  She went over to the wide window sill on which stood seven flowerpots. In each pot grew a different kind of flower. These, however, were not ordinary flowers; they were children of the town who had been enchanted into flowers-in-pots because they had been rude to Madam Snickasnee. Minx took great care to keep them watered and in good condition. She wished she could discover the magic formula to change them back into children.

  “You poor things,” she said to the flowers, “I hope you don’t feel unhappy. I wish I could help you. I wish you were all children again, and then maybe you would play with me!”

  The flowers seemed to stir a little bit, and Minx was sure they understood. She was so lonely for children to play with, because all the children in the town were afraid of the witch’s child.

  Suddenly her face brightened. “I’m not going to make that horrible old brew yet! I’m going to work on my experiment!”

  She looked over all the jars of magic powders and liquids on the shelves. There were hundreds of them, all different colors. Almost every night when Madam Snickasnee went out, Minx worked on her experiment trying out a different powder each time. She was trying to make the right kind of magic to cause a fairy to appear. She had never seen a fairy, and she was very eager to have such a delightful experience. So far nothing had happened except once when a lot of toads started hopping out of the kettle, and another time when some large balloons floated into the room. Every time she tried her experiment she felt rather nervous because she did not know what might come of it.

  The witch’s big black cat, Scorcher, came into the room and rubbed against her legs. He had very wicked yellow eyes, and Minx felt as if he knew what she was up to.

  “Go away, Scorcher, that’s a good cat,” she said, although she added privately to herself that he certainly was not a good cat. He scratched and bit and made himself a pig over song birds.

  In a little while she had her magic liquid bubbling merrily in the pot. It was a delightful pink color, and Minx was almost sure that it was the right mixture this time.

  The room became filled with vapor, and pretty soon a shape began to form above the stove. Minx could feel her heart hammering against her chest, and she squeezed her hands together anxiously. What would it be this time? Oh, would it—Oh, could it be a fairy?

  First appeared a funny pointed face with big ears and slanting eyes; then a child’s body down to the waist, and then—for goodness sake! The rest was the shape of a colt! Half boy and half horse he was, and he leaped swiftly out of the kettle, landing with a clatter on the floor.

  “What—what are you?” asked Minx, uneasily.

  “I’m a centaur, of course, stupid,” he said. “Half boy, half horse, that’s me!”

  Scorcher’s back was arched, his fur stood on end, and he was spitting ferociously.

  “Be quiet, you fiend,” said the little centaur.

  Scorcher leaped at him, claws out
stretched; but the centaur thumped him firmly on the head with a solid hoof, so that Scorcher lay stunned for a few minutes.

  “I can’t stand cats with such sour dispositions,” said the centaur. “Now please tell me, miss, why you chose to conjure me up?”

  “‘Conjure?’” repeated Minx, blankly.

  “That means ‘to call forth by magic,’ stupid,” said the centaur. “And you’d better make your request pretty snappy because soon I’ll be fading off back to Mythicalia.”

  “Oh, I—I don’t have any request,” stammered Minx. “I was just trying out an experiment.”

  “Oh, you were!” said the centaur, sneeringly. “And I had to make this trip for nothing!”

  “I was just trying to make a fairy appear,” explained Minx, humbly.

  “A fairy!” hooted the centaur, throwing back his head and laughing wildly. “Why in the name of Pan would anyone ever waste their time on those silly little pests! Pains in the neck they are, and when you think of all the disgusting stuff which has been written about them! Tons of it! Oh, my oats and hay! You’re wasting your time, sweetheart!”

  Minx glared at him, indignantly. “Well, I don’t care what you think. You’re just jealous, you nasty old centaur!”

  The centaur leaped at her, and she drew back in fright. “Have a care!” he said, lifting a threatening hoof. “Remember what happened to your old cat! And see that you don’t go conjuring me up again! I was just in the midst of a delicious dinner!”

  His voice became fainter, and he began to grow misty around the edges. With a thankful heart, Minx watched him disappear altogether. Quickly she washed out the magic pot and put it back on the shelf. She knew that if she did not make the Black Spell Brew her mother would be horribly angry; but she was very tired, and wanted to go to bed.

  She went over to a ragged blanket that was spread out on the floor, and lay down.

  “I wish—Oh, I wish I could see a fairy,” she thought, drowsily. “I wish I had some children to play with . . . I wish I knew who the lady in the mirror is . . . I wish I could change the flowerpot children back . . . I wish I wasn’t a witch’s child.”

  And then she took her wishes with her into sleep.

  2

  BRAVE MINIKIN

  Madam Snickasnee was most certainly outraged the next morning when she discovered that Minx had not prepared the brew.

  “Lazy good-for-nothing!” she stormed. “Pray tell what did you do with your time last night?”

  “I slept,” said Minx.

  “Slept! Well, if you’re going to be a proper witch you’ll have to learn to do your sleeping in the daytime like other respectable witches. You’re just not cut out to be a witch, I guess! But I’ll see to it that you mend your ways or I’ll change you into a flowerpot, or maybe something much less pretty!”

  Minx shuddered and glanced over at the seven flowerpots on the window sill.

  “I said you wouldn’t get anything to eat today, and I’ll keep my word!” continued Madam Snickasnee. “I’m going to make a delicious breakfast of toads on toast before I go to bed, and after that I’m going to lock all the food up. Then maybe you’ll do as I tell you the next time!”

  Minx knew better than to argue; so she said nothing. She felt very hungry as she watched the witch gobble down her breakfast. She was not fond of toads, but she would have eaten anything this morning, as her stomach felt so empty.

  She heard the school bell ringing, and thought, as she did every day, how much she would love to go to school. She had never been to school, and she had no idea what they did there; but it would be fun to be with other children. If only they would not run away from her!

  Presently she heard her mother’s snores rattling from the blanket on the floor, and she went swiftly to the door. Today she was going to do something important—something brave.

  Quickly she slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind her. Her heart beating furiously, she walked rapidly up the road toward the schoolhouse. Oh, if only, if only they would not run away from her this time! She saw some wild asters growing by the road, and stopped to pick some. Swiftly she twined them in her dark hair. They made her look odder than ever; but she didn’t know this; she thought only that she must look less like a witch’s child.

  When she arrived at the red brick schoolhouse, she looked at it fearfully.

  “Maybe I’d better not go today,” she said to herself. “Maybe I’d better come back tomorrow.”

  Then it seemed as if she almost heard a voice whisper: “Go in, go in NOW.”

  She looked around, but could see no one. Then she walked slowly into the building, pausing inside the door, quite bewildered. It was such a wide hall, and there were so many doors. Where should she go? Just then she saw a man coming toward her.

  ‘Where you belong, sister?” he asked, in a friendly tone of voice.

  “I—I don’t know,” said Minx. “Are you the head one?”

  The man laughed, smothering the sound behind a large fed hand. “Say, sister,” he said, “I guess you’re new here. I’m Mr. Noddle, the janitor. I guess you need to go see the principal. Come along with me.”

  Looking around timidly, Minx followed the kindly Mr. Noddle along the hall. Some of the doors were open, and she could see children sitting in classrooms. At last Mr. Noddle led her into the principal’s office, and explained to the young lady at the desk that it was a new girl.

  The young lady took her in to the principal.

  “Mr. Bunch, this is a new girl,” explained the young lady, and left her there.

  Mr. Bunch was sitting behind a large, cluttered desk, staring at her fiercely from beneath thick, black eyebrows. He had a mustache which was even thicker, and if possible, blacker, and every now and then he would lasso one end of the mustache with his tongue, and chew on it hungrily.

  Minx gazed at him in fascinated terror.

  Finally, Mr. Bunch spoke. His voice was as bristly as his mustache.

  “Well, young lady, what is your name?”

  “Minx.” Her voice sounded weak and wobbly.

  “Minx what?”

  “Well, it’s really Minikin. Minikin Snickasnee.”

  Mr. Bunch’s eyes popped. “The witch’s child!” he roared.

  Minx started to back toward the door. But again she seemed to hear the voice whisper, “Don’t be a sissy. Stand up to him!”

  She shut her mouth into a firm line, raised her head, and fixed Mr. Bunch with a long, defiant look. Then she said, “I want to go to school. I have a right to, haven’t I?”

  Mr. Bunch passed a trembling hand across his forehead. “Why—why of course you have. In fact,” he glared at Minx again, “why haven’t you been to school before?”

  “My mother wouldn’t let me come,” said Minx. “But today I just made up my mind I would.”

  “Your mother will find herself in a fine pot of trouble,” grumbled Mr. Bunch, “if she breaks the law!”

  Minx tried to picture Madam Snickasnee in a pot of trouble; but instead she saw other people stewing in Madam’s pot—Mr. Bunch, for one.

  “Can you read?” asked Mr. Bunch.

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll have to go into the first grade,” said Mr. Bunch, “and learn with the babies.”

  This did not bother Minx very much, until the young lady took her to the first grade, and she saw the little children staring at her in surprise. She felt very silly, such a big girl, among these little ones. But she thought, “I don’t care. I’m going to learn, too.”

  The teacher, Miss Taylor, was young and kind, although she seemed rather scared of Minx.

  At recess time Minx ran outdoors with the others. She looked around to find children of her own age. At last she saw some girls playing jacks, and she started toward them; but as soon as they saw her, they ran away, screaming, “Oh, the witch child! Run! Run! The witch child!”

  Minx fought to keep back the tears, but she was feeling very weak from hunger, and at last she co
uld be brave no longer. She leaned her head against the wall of the school building, and sobbed.

  Suddenly she heard a shy, sweet voice say, “Why are you crying?” and looking up, she saw a girl about her own age. This girl had a round, cheerful face with pink cheeks, and wide gray eyes. Her smooth yellow hair was tied back with a perky pink bow.

  Minx wiped away her tears and said, “I’m Minx, the witch’s child. Aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “No, I’m not,” said the girl, calmly. “I’ve often wanted to talk to you because I think it must be very interesting to be a witch’s child. Isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not,” said Minx, gloomily. “I wish I wasn’t a witch’s child.”

  “Here,” said the girl, producing some cookies from her pocket. “Would you like these?”

  Minx snatched them hungrily and started stuffing them in her mouth.

  The girl stared. “My goodness, you act as if you haven’t eaten all day!” she said.

  “I haven’t,” said Minx. “My mother is punishing me.”

  Just then the bell rang for the end of recess.

  “Meet me after school,” said the girl. “My name is Frances. Maybe you’d like to come home with me.”

  “Oh yes!” cried Minx, joyfully.

  The afternoon seemed endless to Minx, and at dismissal time, she started to rush out to meet Frances, but Miss Taylor detained her.

  “Minx,” she said, nervously, “when you come tomorrow, be sure to wash yourself well, and wear a clean dress.”

  Minx looked at her in great surprise. “But I only have this one dress,” she said.

  Miss Taylor seemed distressed. “Well, please, Minx,” she said, “wash it out over the weekend.”

  “Yes, all right,” promised Minx, anxious to meet Frances.

  At last the two girls were walking toward Frances’s home, and Frances was asking all sorts of questions.

  When Minx told her about the magic kettle, Frances’s face sparkled.

  “Oh, how exciting it would be to have a magic kettle! Couldn’t you let me see it some day?”