The Tree that Sat Down

by Beverley Nichols

  Miss Smith sighed. It was really very hard, the way one’s clients overworked one, these days. Still, she supposed she had better try. She did not want to hop it, not after having come all this way; besides, she was sure she would like the place very much. It looked nice and bad … just the right atmosphere. And she had taken to Sam at once, such a nice wicked little boy. Yes, she must certainly try to cure the toothache, particularly as she was badly in need of a job. Which was not surprising, for she was really a very poor sort of witch. At school, in the reign of Charles II, she had been the dunce of the class, always forgetting her spells, and losing her dogs’ tongues and newts’ eyes; she had never even really learnt to cackle properly. She was, in fact, a very second-rate sort of witch, but Sam could not be expected to know that.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ growled Sam.

  Miss Smith knitted her brows. ‘A cure for toothache?’ What did one do? She seemed to remember, rather dimly, that you had to have some sort of powder. Then what? You had to do something with three dead worms. But what? Mix them up in it, probably. Then what was it she had learnt about the cross-eyed toad? Did you put the powder on the cross-eyed toad or did you put the cross-eyed toad on the powder? For the life of her she could not remember. Still, it probably amounted to the same thing. She would get the powder and the worms; in her bag she already had three cross-eyed toads to whom she was very much attached; they were called Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; between them they could probably do something.

  She unfastened her bag and out hopped the toads. For a moment they sat there, blinking at the sunlight with their crossed eyes, and then, with one accord, they opened their mouths very wide and burst into song:

  Three little toads are we, are we,

  We are as bad as bad can be,

  Three little worse toads you won’t find,

  We spit in your eye and you’re stone,

  stone blind!

  ‘Aren’t they little darlings?’ cried Miss Smith, when they had finished. ‘As ugly as sin itself!’

  ‘Well, what are they going to do?’

  Miss Smith thought hard for a moment. Then she had an idea.

  ‘I want a piece of string, the nail of a murderer’s coffin and the wing of a bat that was struck by lightning,’ she declared.

  ‘I can manage the piece of string. But how’m I to get them other things?’

  Miss Smith sniffed. ‘I should have thought that one would have found them in any modern home,’ she retorted. ‘However, if you haven’t got them I shall have to make do with a rotten dodo’s egg. I imagine there will be no difficulty about that?’

  ‘Never heard of such a thing,’ snapped Sam.

  Miss Smith raised her eyebrows. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘we do live in the wilds, don’t we? You’ll be telling me next that you haven’t any hangmen’s nooses!’

  ‘Not a one. What’s more, you ought to provide them things yourself.’

  ‘If I’m expected to do that,’ she said, ‘I shall have to charge extra.’

  ‘I don’t care what you charge,’ shouted Sam, ‘so long as you stop this darned toothache.’

  ‘What’s more, I shall have to have an assistant.’

  ‘That’s easy.’

  Sam blew a shrill whistle and out of the cave lumbered Bruno.

  Miss Smith regarded Bruno with marked distaste. ‘Oh, dear!’ she exclaimed, ‘I don’t like the look of him at all. He looks good.’

  ‘He’s not as good as all that,’ growled Sam.

  ‘He looks quite good enough to do a lot of mischief,’ she retorted. ‘He looks as though he was shockingly honest and disgracefully kind; I can’t abide such people.’

  Poor Bruno lowered his eyes. He could not understand why it should be such a crime to be good. All he knew was that he disliked Miss Smith just as much as she disliked him. She was very pretty but she was bad; she reminded him of some of the people he used to know in the circus, like the Fairy Queen who had thrown boiling water over him when she was drunk.

  ‘He’s the only assistant you’ll get, so you’d better make the best of him.’

  ‘Well, I must say it’s all putting a great strain on me,’ sulked Miss Smith. ‘However, we’ll see what we can do.’ She was not really feeling nearly as sulky as she looked; in fact she was quite glad that Bruno was there, because if anything went wrong – as it probably would – she could put all the blame on him.

  She took Sam’s piece of string, laid it on the ground, muttered a few wicked spells over it. and then beckoned to Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. ‘Now darlings,’ she cried, ‘spit on this beautiful piece of string.’

  They hopped forward obediently, and spat.

  ‘Once more, lovebirds!’

  They spat again.

  She lifted up the string and gave one end to Bruno.

  ‘Hold this!’ she snapped, in a very different tone of voice. Then she went over to Sam.

  ‘Open wide!’

  Sam started back. ‘You’re not going to tie that round my tooth?’

  ‘Yes, I am, but it won’t hurt at all, because my darlings have spat on it, and all the pain will go into the string.’

  ‘I don’t approve of this,’ growled Sam. All the same, he allowed her to tie the string round the tooth.

  Miss Smith turned to Bruno. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘it’s up to you. If you pull properly it won’t hurt Mr Sam at all. But if you are a wilful, stubborn bear, and don’t pull properly it will hurt a lot.’

  Which was very unjust of Miss Smith, for no matter how poor Bruno pulled, it would have hurt and well she knew it.

  Miss Smith raised her hand. ‘One …’ she cried.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ shouted Sam. ‘It’s slipping off!’ He adjusted it again, and braced himself for the shock. ‘And mind you pull properly!’ he growled to Bruno. ‘If you don’t you’re for it!’

  ‘One!’ cried Miss Smith again. ‘Two … Three!’

  Bruno gave a huge tug.

  Sam yelled and leapt in the air.

  The next few minutes were a scene of wild confusion. Miss Smith darted round, chasing Bruno, screaming that it was all his fault; Sam hopped up and down, howling and yelping, and aiming kicks at the cross-eyed toads, who got in everybody’s way, because they were so cross-eyed that they could not see where they were going. To make matters worse, Old Sam, who had been sleeping in his cave, was awakened by the uproar and rushed out, shouting ‘Murder! Police!’

  It was late at night before they all went to bed. By that time Sam’s pains were over, and Miss Smith – who had put a magic potion in his tea – had convinced him that Bruno was the culprit.

  So on the whole he was satisfied.

  ‘She’s a good girl, she is,’ he growled to Old Sam, just before he went to sleep. ‘She’s going to make things hum around these parts.’

  He spoke more truly than he guessed.

  Chapter Eleven

  WITCHCRAFT

  MISS SMITH BEGAN her wicked work at once; on the following morning she was up early, making her preparations to call on Judy.

  ‘Are you going visible or invisible?’ demanded Sam, at breakfast.

  ‘Invisible at first, visible afterwards,’ she replied.

  ‘What’s the idea of being visible at all? Why don’t you just hang around and put poison in things, and give her a crack or two on the head?’

  Miss Smith tapped her beautifully manicured fingers impatiently on the table.

  ‘Sometimes you seem to forget that you’re speaking to a lady,’ she observed.

  Sam guffawed. ‘That’s good … that’s rich! You a lady!’ He lay back in his chair and bellowed with laughter.

  While Miss Smith was on her way to The Shop Under the Willow Tree, Judy was attending to the first of the morning’s clients in the Beauty Parlour. It was still very early and she was washing up the breakfast things when the bell rang.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, and pinning a wild rose in her hair, she hurried out.

  There,
standing at the counter, was a squirrel. She was a very pretty squirrel, with a long, bushy tail, which she kept swishing backwards and forwards, as though she were nervous about something.

  ‘Miss Squirrel, I believe?’ said Judy, advancing.

  ‘Yes – that is my name,’ she replied, with a little giggle. ‘How ever did you know?’

  ‘I think everybody in the wood knows the members of your distinguished family,’ replied Judy, with a polite bow.

  Miss Squirrel simpered. ‘It’s very nice of you to say so,’ she said. ‘But that’s just the trouble – people don’t know us. At least, they mix us up. Only last night I was mistaken for my cousin Etty. And her tail’s at least an inch shorter than mine.’

  ‘Really?’ said Judy, wondering where all this was leading to. ‘It seems very strange that anybody should have mistaken her for you.’

  ‘That’s what I say,’ replied Miss Squirrel eagerly. ‘And I don’t want it to happen again. In fact, it mustn’t happen again.’

  ‘But how can I help you?’

  Miss Squirrel looked very coy, and took a little nibble at an acorn which she was holding in her left hand. Then she leant forward and whispered … ‘This is a beauty parlour, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘A real beauty parlour … not a make-believe?’

  ‘No … it’s absolutely real.’

  ‘In that case, I thought …’ Again she hesitated, and blushed, and swished her tail over her face as though she didn’t dare to come out with what she wanted to say.

  ‘What did you think?’

  Miss Squirrel made a great effort. ‘I thought I’d have it dyed!’ she proclaimed. And then she sat down on a log, and buried her face in her tail, and kept darting bright little glances at Judy through the fur.

  ‘Have it dyed?’ echoed Judy, bewildered. ‘Have what dyed?’

  ‘My tail, of course!’

  Judy was so astonished that she could not think of the right thing to say.

  ‘But … but …’ she stammered.

  ‘Oh, please don’t go on saying but-but,’ cried Miss Squirrel. ‘But what?’

  ‘But what colour?’ gasped Judy, just to gain time till she could think of something else.

  Miss Squirrel beamed all over, and took her tail away from her face, and stroked it in a very elegant way. ‘I thought a nice pale pink.’

  ‘Pale pink?’ echoed Judy.

  ‘You think a brighter colour?’ Miss Squirrel looked at her sideways, with the silliest expression.

  ‘Well, not exactly brighter.’

  ‘Pale blue, then?’ Miss Squirrel took another nibble at her acorn, and continued to gaze at Judy with the silly expression.

  ‘Well,’ said Judy, ‘I’m not sure about pale blue.’

  ‘I believe it would become me,’ observed Miss Squirrel. ‘When we had a picnic in the bluebell glade last spring, I had a great success.’

  ‘I’m sure you had,’ said Judy. ‘But you didn’t have your tail dyed then.’

  ‘But if it had been dyed, I should have had an even greater success.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Of course I think so.’ There was a hint of sharpness in Miss Squirrel’s voice. ‘Really, Miss Judy,’ she said, ‘you aren’t being much help.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘I thought this was a Beauty Parlour,’ went on Miss Squirrel, speaking more sharply than ever.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t sound like the Beauty Parlours I’ve read about. In those, the great idea was to make people look different from what they really were. If you had a grey tail you dyed it pink. If you had a straight tail you gave it a curl. If you had a curly tail you made it straight. If you had long fur you cut it off, and if you had short fur you bought extra fur to make it look long. That’s my idea of a beauty parlour.’

  She looked quite hot after this long speech, and fanned herself violently.

  Judy sighed. It was all very difficult. She hated the idea of Miss Squirrel with a pale blue tail almost as much as the idea of Mrs Manx with an artificial one, but if she did not do as she was asked Miss Squirrel would only run off to The Shop in the Ford. And heaven knows what they would sell her there!

  So she forced herself to smile and said: ‘You … misunderstand me, Miss Squirrel. The reason I hesitated was because I thought you looked so charming as you are.’

  ‘Well, of course, that’s a matter of opinion,’ replied Miss Squirrel, tossing her head coyly.

  ‘However, of course, I shall be happy to oblige you.’

  ‘Pale blue?’

  ‘Yes. I have a very pretty pale blue in stock.’

  And indeed she had. It was made by blue butterflies fluttering over the cups of blue Canterbury bells in the rain, and flickering the raindrops into the bells, one by one. And there were many other things in it to make it bluer still, such as the dew from fresh violets, plucked on a blue morning under a cloudless sky.

  ‘Can I put it on straight away or shall I wait till I get home?’

  ‘I think you had better wait till you get home,’ said Judy, ‘as it takes a little while to dry. If you will excuse me, I will go and mix it up.’

  She went to the back of the shop and for a moment Miss Squirrel was left to herself.

  *

  Meanwhile Miss Smith was walking through the wood. And as she walked, all the evil things of the wood raised their heads and gave her welcome.

  Evil is a very powerful force; there is only one force more powerful, which is Good. Evil is infectious; it spreads itself far and wide. If there is anything evil at large, all the other evil things know it by instinct; they rejoice and grow strong.

  Miss Smith arrived at about the same time as Miss Squirrel, but she did not declare herself at first; she wanted to study Judy. So she sat down on a log and listened, quite invisible. It did not take her long to make up her mind. ‘A dreadful little girl,’ was her verdict. ‘Good through and through. Not a single decent nasty thought about her. Almost as good as that awful old Bruno.’ Miss Smith shivered and felt quite sick; real goodness always had that effect on her.

  She listened to the argument about the blue tail, and when it was over, and Judy had gone to prepare the mixture, she decided that it was time to make herself known. So she walked a little distance away, stepped behind a tree, and made herself visible again. Then she let the toads out of her bag.

  ‘Now darlings,’ she said to them, ‘we’re calling on a silly girl who may not like you as you are, so I’m going to change you into three little puppies.’

  ‘No!’ croaked the toads, very crossly. They hated being turned into puppies; it made them hot and itchy.

  ‘Only for ten minutes, my poppets.’

  The toads shook their heads.

  ‘Three little ugly puppies,’ she pleaded. ‘As ugly as sin!’

  They shook their heads more than ever.

  ‘Mother will be angry if you don’t do as she asks.’

  ‘Spit in your eye,’ observed the toads, coldly.

  Miss Smith was beginning to get angry. And yet she could not help loving the toads; they were so wicked. In fact, they were so wicked that she did not dare to offend them; if she changed them into puppies against their will they might rush after her and give her a lot of poisonous bites.

  ‘You’re making it very difficult,’ she pleaded.

  The toads merely shrugged their shoulders. As there was evidently no arguing with them, Miss Smith sighed, and led the way to the shop.

  Miss Squirrel was the first to see her.

  ‘Oh, what a beautiful lady!’ she cried.

  Judy turned round. ‘Whoever can it be?’

  ‘It might be a Princess!’ exclaimed Miss Squirrel. ‘Oh – if only I had my new tail!’

  Miss Smith approached the counter.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, in a very sweet voice. ‘Is this a shop?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ replied Judy. ‘May I have t
he honour of selling you something?’

  ‘I expect there will be lots of things you can sell me, later on,’ lied Miss Smith who had no intention of buying anything. ‘But first may I look round?’

  ‘Of course, madam,’ replied Judy. Then she noticed the toads, who were glaring at her with a very wicked expression, and she could not prevent a little gasp of dismay coming from her lips. ‘Are these … are these with you, madam?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes, indeed they are, the little darlings,’ cooed Miss Smith. ‘Aren’t they precious? Aren’t they little honey-bags?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ stammered Judy, though anything less like little honey-bags she had never seen.

  Miss Smith smiled and nodded. ‘Would you believe me when I tell you that of all the toads I have ever known these are much the wickedest?’

  Judy stared at her in surprise, and even Miss Squirrel was startled by such a recommendation.

  ‘The wickedest?’ echoed Judy.

  For a second an ugly look came over Miss Smith’s face. What a stupid mistake to make! She was always forgetting that these humans thought that it was wrong to be wicked. Then she smiled again.

  ‘Whatever was I thinking of?’ she exclaimed. ‘I meant the best. That’s what I meant. Didn’t I, my poppets?’ She turned to the toads, and gave them a broad wink. ‘Aren’t you the best toads in the world, my lovebirds? Aren’t you good?’

  ‘You said it,’ proclaimed the toads. And at once they burst into song:

  Three little toads are we, are we,

  We are as good as good can be,

  We wouldn’t hurt the smallest fly,

  We never spit in mother’s eye.

  ‘You see?’ cried Miss Smith. ‘What did I tell you? However, we mustn’t allow the little angels to distract us.’ She bowed to Miss Squirrel. ‘I see that this lady is waiting to be served.’

  ‘Oh, it’s of no consequence,’ declared Miss Squirrel, though she was really longing to take her bottle and run home and dip her tail in it.

  ‘Was it a perfume you were buying?’ enquired Miss Smith.

  ‘Well, not exactly a perfume,’ admitted Miss Squirrel, beginning to blush all over.

  ‘Surely not an aid to beauty? Not with your looks?’