"Walking along, I had a good chance to peek at the front pages, no harm in that. 'Hidden Secrets of Life Unveiled by that celebrated Student, Philosopher, Chemist, Naturalist, Psychomist, Astrologer, Alchemist, Metallurgist, Sorcerer, Explanator of the Mysteries of Wizards and Witchcraft, together with recondite views of numerous Arts and Sciences--Obscure, Plain, Practical, etc.' There! By God, I got a head like a box Brownie. Got the words, even if I haven't got the sense."
Elmira stood looking at her iodined finger as if it were pointed at her by a stranger.
"Clara Goodwater," she murmured.
"Looked me right in the eye as I handed it over, said, 'Going to be a witch, first-class no doubt. Get my diploma in no time. Set up business. Hex crowds and individuals, old and young, big and small.' Then she kinda laughed, put her nose in that book, and went in."
Elmira stared at a bruise on her arm, carefully tongued a loose tooth in her jaw.
A door slammed. Tom Spaulding, kneeling on Elmira Brown's front lawn, looked up. He had been wandering about the neighborhood, seeing how the ants were doing here or there, and had found a particularly good hill with a big hole in which all kinds of fiery bright pismires were tumbling about scissoring the air and wildly carrying little packets of dead grasshopper and infinitesimal bird down into the earth. Now here was something else: Mrs. Brown, swaying on the edge of her porch as if she'd just found out the world was falling through space at sixty trillion miles a second. Behind her was Mr. Brown, who didn't know the miles per second and probably wouldn't care if he did know.
"You, Tom!" said Mrs. Brown. "I need moral support and the equivalent of the blood of the Lamb with me. Come along!"
And off she rushed, squashing ants and kicking tops off dandelions and trotting big spiky holes in flower beds as she cut across yards.
Tom knelt a moment longer studying Mrs. Brown's shoulder blades and spine as she toppled down the street. He read the bones and they were eloquent of melodrama and adventure, a thing he did not ordinarily connect with ladies, even though Mrs. Brown had the remnants of a pirate's mustache. A moment later he was in tandem with her.
"Mrs. Brown, you sure look mad!"
"You don't know what mad is, boy!"
"Watch out!" cried Tom.
Mrs. Elmira Brown fell right over an iron dog lying asleep there on the green grass.
"Mrs. Brown!"
"You see?" Mrs. Brown sat there. "Clara Goodwater did this to me! Magic!"
"Magic?"
"Never mind, boy. Here's the steps. You go first and kick any invisible strings out of the way. Ring that doorbell, but pull your finger off quick, the juice'll burn you to a cinder!"
Tom did not touch the bell.
"Clara Goodwater!" Mrs. Brown flicked the bell button with her iodined finger.
Far away in the cool dim empty rooms of the big old house, a silver bell tinkled and faded.
Tom listened. Still farther away there was a stir of mouselike running. A shadow, perhaps a blowing curtain, moved in a distant parlor.
"Hello," said a quiet voice.
And quite suddenly Mrs. Goodwater was there, fresh as a stick of peppermint, behind the screen.
"Why, hello there, Tom, Elmira. What--"
"Don't rush me! We came over about your practicing to be a full-fledged witch!"
Mrs. Goodwater smiled. "Your husband's not only a mailman, but a guardian of the law. Got a nose out to here!"
"He didn't look at no mail."
"He's ten minutes between houses laughing at post cards and tryin' on mail-order shoes."
"It ain't what he seen; it's what you yourself told him about the books you got."
"Just a joke. Goin' to be a witch! I said, and bang! Off gallops Sam, like I'd flung lightning at him. I declare there can't be one wrinkle in that man's brain."