The Wish Giver

by Bill Brittain

  Lying there with the thick quilt wrapped around her, Polly tried to figure out what was happening to her. She thought about it for nearly an hour without any success at all. “I…I don’t want to sound like a bullfrog all the time,” she whimpered.

  She sat up and stared at her reflection in the mirror on the far wall. She’d talked—she’d said real words!

  “Mother!” she called. “Mother, the bullfrog sound is gone. I can talk again!”

  Mrs. Kemp came a-running. “It must have been my tea,” she said. “Strong tea is good for whatever ails a body.”

  For the rest of the day Polly talked a blue streak, the words just tumbling from her mouth. After school the Wickstaff twins came by to see how she was feeling.

  “The croaking went away,” she told them. “I’m cured.”

  “Yeah,” said Lenora doubtfully. “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it,” Polly answered. “Listen to me talk.”

  “Polly, you were croaking when you came to school,” said Lenora. “Then you could talk again. Then it was back to the croaking.”

  “But now it’s all gone,” said Polly. “I’m all better.”

  “The croaking happened twice,” said Leland. “Who’s to say it won’t start up again, just when you least expect it?”

  Leland was right! The croaking might begin again!

  “Ohhhhh!” Polly groaned.

  “And there’s another problem,” said Leland. “You’d best tell it Lenora. You’re the one who heard it.”

  “What problem?” asked Polly.

  “Well,” Lenora began, “I overheard Agatha and Eunice talking together after school. They’re up to something, Polly—something to do with you. They were saying how they were going to do something to get even with you for tearing Agatha’s dress and for what you said to her in school.”

  That was the end of Polly’s happy feeling. The croaking might come back at any time. And on top of that, Agatha and Eunice were plotting against her.

  That night in bed, Polly lay sobbing into her pillow. Suddenly she shifted her head, listening.

  She’d often heard the sound before. But then it had come from off in the direction of Spider Crick. Now, however, it was right outside her window.

  Chirp-a-chirp! Chirp-a-chirp!

  JUG-A-RUM!

  Frogs! Thousands of them. And from the sound, they were just outside in the yard, each one talking to her in its own way.

  Chirp-a-chirp! Chirp-a-chirp!

  JUG-A-RUM!

  All that long night Polly tossed and turned and dreamed of big, slimy bullfrogs climbing in through her window and snuggling their wet bodies next to hers under the blankets.

  Polly woke at first light. The frogs had gone back to their swamp, and the only light in the room was the faint glow of dawn showing through the window.

  She sat up in bed, clutching the quilt about her neck. For the first time she could remember, Polly was deep-down scared. Twice yesterday, the only sound she had been able to make was a bullfrog’s deep jug-a-rum. Even now she was afraid to open her mouth for fear that the frog sound would come out.

  What made it happen? It wasn’t any disease she’d ever heard of. And she didn’t think she was going crazy.

  “What a terrible thing,” she said softly. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. At least for now, she had the power of speech.

  But she couldn’t go on like this for the rest of her life, making jug-a-rum sounds every now and then and who-knew-when. There had to be some reason for it. And if she could think of the reason, she might be able to do something about it.

  So Polly made it a point to say “hello” to everyone she met on the way to school that morning. That startled folks, because it wasn’t like Polly Kemp to be so pleasant. They didn’t know it was just her way of reassuring herself that she could still talk.

  Leland and Lenora were waiting for her on the playground. “Looks like your croaking ain’t the only strange thing going on in Coven Tree,” said Leland.

  “We came crosslots, behind Rowena Jervis’s house,” Lenora added. “Rowena was up early.”

  “Let me tell it,” interrupted Leland. “Y’see, Polly, Rowena was standing in the middle of that little grove of trees out in back of her house. She seemed to be talking to somebody. But as far as we could see, there wasn’t anybody with her. Just a bunch of trees. Can you imagine anybody standing and talking to a tree?”

  It did sound odd to Polly. When they’d sat together in the tent at the Church Social, Rowena had seemed perfectly all right. What could have started her to jabbering away to trees?

  Odd…strange…

  More pupils arrived. They began crowding around Polly, hoping she’d make frog sounds again. But as soon as they heard her speaking normally, they lost interest and went to play on the swings and slides. The morning lessons went by quickly, with Miss Morasco calling on Polly three times and Polly knowing each of the answers.

  Then came noon recess. All the boys and girls went out on the playground after lunch, and Polly wanted to swing. But when she got there, both swings were taken, with Charlie Peabody on one and Alfred Dawes on the other. So Polly sat to one side to wait her turn.

  But Charlie and Alfred stayed on those swings. And stayed and stayed. Every once in a while they’d glance over to where Polly was sitting, and they’d kind of laugh behind their hands. They knew they were getting her riled.

  Charlie called to her. “Bet you’d like to swing, wouldn’t you, Polly? But you ain’t gonna do it today. Maybe not tomorrow, either. Us boys need the swings, and you’re nothing but a dumb girl.”

  Polly wasn’t about to listen to that kind of talk. “Charlie Peabody!” she shouted, angry as anything. “You are a big hunk of nothing. And you too, Alfred. You two big gobs of mud ain’t got even the leftover brains that was given to boys after the girls got the good ones. And if you two dunderheads don’t—

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Polly clapped her hands over her mouth. Too late! Everybody on the playground looked over at her, and suddenly there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Miss Morasco rushed to Polly’s side.

  “Are you all right?” the teacher asked.

  Polly didn’t know whether to try and speak or just shake her head. Suddenly Lenora Wickstaff was standing there and talking to Miss Morasco in a whisper.

  “Polly ain’t feeling quite up to snuff,” Lenora said. “But she’ll be all right if the others’ll leave her alone for a while.”

  “Well, I…” Miss Morasco began doubtfully. Then she nodded. “Very well, Lenora.”

  Leland walked up and led Polly to a bench in the corner of the yard. “We’ll care for her, ma’am,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  While the rest of the students were herded to the other side of the playground, the twins got Polly calmed down to a point where she’d listen to what they wanted to tell her.

  “Lenora thinks she knows what’s making you start in croaking,” said Leland. “It don’t sound likely to me, but…well, you tell it, Lenora.”

  “Polly,” she said, “you told me that when it happened the first time—yesterday morning at breakfast—you were complaining to your mother about some burned toast.”

  Polly nodded, trying to hold back her tears.

  “When you get to complaining, you can say some pretty mean things, Polly Kemp.”

  Polly remembered how annoyed she’d been by the burned toast. She’d told her mother…Again she nodded, completely ashamed of herself.

  “And the second time,” Lenora went on, “you’d just said to Agatha Benthorn that she was…”

  Dumb…Polly clearly recalled saying the spiteful word.

  “Don’t you see, Polly? Just now you were in the middle of telling Charlie and Alfred what you thought of ’em, and it happened again. It appears like every time you start giving somebody what for, some kind of power pulls you up short and makes you begin croaking instead of talking.”

  “It seems that after a while, thou
gh,” Leland said, “the thing wears off, and you can speak human words again.”

  Polly stared from Lenora to Leland and back again. It was impossible! Yet what other explanation could there be?

  “Trouble is,” said Lenora, “there’s no telling what brought this thing on you now. You’ve been speaking your mind to people and snapping and snarling for years, but this is the first time…”

  But Polly knew why it was different now. She thought back to Sunday evening when she’d made the wish on the red spot. What had she said?

  I’m wishing that people will pay attention to me. And smile when they see me.

  That part had come true, right enough. When Polly started jug-a-ruming in school, she’d gotten plenty of attention. More than she’d really cared for. As for the smiling, most of the pupils had been laughing right out loud.

  But there was another part to her wish, too:

  …That someday soon, Agatha will ask me to come to her house.

  At least that part wouldn’t come true, thought Polly. Maybe it was for the best. If she got to croaking at Agatha’s house, and if Agatha and Eunice laughed at her again the way they had in school, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  The thought of what had happened set Polly’s head to spinning dizzily. She couldn’t help wondering how things would be from now on. There was no possibility of unwishing what she’d asked for. Thaddeus Blinn had left Coven Tree, never to return. She’d be like this forever, forced to say only whipped-cream compliments and sweet things to people, no matter how horrid they were. Either that or begin the ridiculous croaking.

  By the end of the lunch hour Polly was again able to speak. Miss Morasco looked her over carefully and even made her recite “Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers” before she was allowed to go to her seat. All afternoon Polly sat mute, considering the mess she’d made of things with her wish.

  Perhaps if she were to tell Agatha Benthorn how sorry she was for the wretched things she’d done and said, maybe Thaddeus Blinn would take pity on her and remove the magic spell. It was just a forlorn hope, but at least it was better than nothing.

  How to go about it was the problem. Agatha certainly wouldn’t talk to Polly at school, and it would be impossible to see Agatha at home. No children ever went inside the big house on the hill except Eunice Ingersoll. The two girls would sip tea and eat little cookies and act like real ladies.

  But before they could have their tea, they’d have to get the little cookies. They bought fresh ones every day. Before going home, Agatha would stop at the only place in Coven Tree where the cookies were sold—Stew Meat’s store!

  At dismissal Polly dashed out of school and ran across the playground as fast as she could. She tried to get straight all the things she was going to say. But no matter how she arranged them, they never seemed to sound right.

  Polly got to the store first. She was hiding behind a display of canned goods when Agatha and Eunice walked in the front door, gossiping to one another. While the two purchased their cookies, Polly started summoning up the nerve to step out and show herself.

  She’d just about got her courage up, when suddenly she began listening to what Agatha and Eunice were saying to one another.

  “I don’t know what’s come over her,” said Agatha. “Croaking like that, and right in school. Imagine! Do you suppose she’s doing it on purpose?”

  “I don’t think she can help it,” replied Eunice with a little giggle. “Polly wouldn’t want folks laughing at her the way they do when she makes that sound.”

  “Serves the little wretch right! After what she did to my dress and all.”

  Then a big grin spread across Agatha’s face. “I can hardly wait until Thursday.”

  “Do you suppose she’ll accept your invitation?” asked Eunice.

  “Of course she will. She’s been simply dying to come to my house for ages.” Then Agatha began whispering in Eunice’s ear.

  “Fix her once and for all…be really funny…my mother will…”

  “What a marvelous idea,” said Eunice finally. Both girls started giggling like little imps.

  Polly slipped out the back of the store. She knew that she—and JUG-A-RUM!—were the cause of the girls’ laughter. Well, she’d be hanged if she’d give Agatha and Eunice the satisfaction of humiliating her even more.

  Then Polly’s stubborn pride took over. No, she’d accept the invitation. Even if they were plotting against her, she’d show them she could be a real lady even if…if she croaked like a frog until she was old and gray.

  She ran around the outside of the store and came in through the front door, looking for all the world as if she’d just arrived from school. “Hello, Agatha…Eunice,” she said as politely as she could.

  Both girls greeted her like a long-lost friend. “How wonderful to see you, Polly,” Agatha purred.

  “And how well you’re looking,” cooed Eunice.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Polly,” Agatha said. “And I guess this is a good time to do it.”

  So in spite of everything, the last part of the wish is to be granted, thought Polly. But she managed to keep the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression on her face.

  “Ask me? Ask me what, Agatha?”

  “Polly dear, how would you like to join Eunice and me for tea on Thursday? After school? At my house?”

  The next day—Wednesday—Polly made up her mind that she was going to be friendly if it killed her. There was no way anybody was going to make her say anything mean and start croaking again.

  The first person she met as she walked onto the playground was Olivia Heidecker. As Polly came toward her, Olivia started to walk away.

  “I like that dress you’re wearing, Olivia,” said Polly. “Them ruffles at the shoulders are real pretty. Did you sew it up all by yourself?”

  “Listen, Polly Kemp, just because I can sew better than…” Then a strange expression appeared on Olivia’s face. “What…what did you say?”

  “I said I liked your dress. You matched the pattern at the seams just right. There’s not a lot of people who can do that.”

  “Why…why this old thing?” Olivia spread the skirt for Polly’s inspection. “Shucks, it didn’t take long to stitch it together. It was real nice of you to admire it, though.”

  Polly walked on, leaving Olivia shaking her head in puzzlement. Those were the first kind words Olivia had ever heard Polly say. What could have gotten into her, anyway?

  Even Charlie Peabody and Alfred Dawes couldn’t get Polly’s goat. They’d taken over the swings again and weren’t about to let somebody else have a chance.

  “I’ll bet you’d like to swing right now, Polly,” sneered Alfred as he swooped down toward her. “But Charlie and me ain’t moving for you nor nobody else.”

  “Fair’s fair, Alfred,” Polly told him. “You were here first, so I reckon you can swing as long as you like.” And she continued on toward the seesaw, leaving two very surprised boys behind her.

  Polly made it a point to say something nice to each of the students in Miss Morasco’s class that morning, and by noon the whole room was abuzz, all the boys and girls wondering what had come over Polly Kemp. On the playground at noon, Addy Cardiff and Karen Shay asked Polly to join their game of jacks. And Janice Proctor wondered if Polly’d help her learn long division.

  Only Agatha Benthorn and Eunice Ingersoll kept their distance. All that day they waited for the croaking to start.

  But it never did.

  As Polly walked home with the Wickstaff twins after school, it came to her mind that never in her life had she had such a wonderful day. But she couldn’t help wondering whether she’d be able to keep her tongue in check at Agatha’s house tomorrow.

  The next morning Polly got up early and spent a long time getting herself ready before coming downstairs. “Why, Polly,” her mother said as she sat down at the table, “you’re all dressed up in your Sunday best. Are you sure you want to wear that
to school?”

  “It’s not just for school, Mother,” Polly replied. “Miss Agatha Benthorn invited me to her house today for a party.” She made a little curtsy.

  “Oh? Is the whole class going?”

  “No. Just me and Eunice Ingersoll.”

  “Hmmph!” snorted Mrs. Kemp. She had her own opinions about Agatha and Eunice.

  That morning at school, Eunice and Agatha sought Polly out, first thing. “We hope you haven’t forgotten our invitation,” said Agatha.

  “No, I’ll be there.” But Polly was thinking about how Agatha had said “our invitation.” Like she and Eunice were Siamese twins or something, and one of ’em couldn’t do anything without the other.

  Twice that morning and once more in the afternoon, Polly caught the two with their heads together, pointing at her when they thought she wasn’t looking and hee-heeing like a pair of hyenas.

  After school the three of ’em bought the little cookies at Stew Meat’s store. Then off they went to the Benthorn house.

  Mrs. Benthorn, who had a face that put Polly in mind of a Holstein cow, met them at the door. The woman looked down at Polly the way she might examine a fly that had lit in her dish of ice cream.

  “Why…why Polly Kemp,” she said, and her lips pursed distastefully, as if she’d bit into a green persimmon. “I didn’t expect you to want to come here after…after…”

  Polly wanted to say something about it being bad manners to treat a guest like something the cat dragged in. But she swallowed her pride, and her face was all innocence as she answered Mrs. Benthorn.

  “Ma’am, I know I tore Agatha’s dress, and it was a mean and spiteful thing to do, and I apologize for it. I hope I haven’t put you to too much trouble on account of it. If there’s anything I can do to make good, I’m in your debt.”

  It was a pretty little speech, and Mrs. Benthorn listened to it dumbfounded. She’d expected something far different from the sharp-tongued Polly Kemp. “No…no, Polly,” she said with some confusion. “It’s quite all right. A few minutes with a needle and thread, and it was all mended. Come in. Come in, please.”