The Wednesday Witch

by Ruth Chew

  Also by Ruth Chew

  MAGIC IN THE PARK

  NO SUCH THING AS A WITCH

  THE TROUBLE WITH MAGIC

  WHAT THE WITCH LEFT

  THE WITCH AT THE WINDOW

  WITCH’S BROOM

  THE WOULD-BE WITCH

  THREE ADVENTURE TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  LAST CHANCE FOR MAGIC

  MAGIC OF THE BLACK MIRROR

  SUMMER MAGIC

  THREE SHRINKING TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  DO-IT-YOURSELF MAGIC

  EARTHSTAR MAGIC

  MOSTLY MAGIC

  THREE WISHING TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  THE MAGIC COIN

  THE MAGIC CAVE

  THE WISHING TREE

  THREE WITCH TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  THE WITCH’S BUTTONS

  WITCH’S CAT

  THE WITCH’S GARDEN

  To Helen,

  who asked for

  a witch story

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1969 by Ruth Chew

  Cover art copyright © 2015 by David Hohn

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Originally published in the United States by Scholastic, Inc., New York, in 1969.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks and A Stepping Stone Book and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web!

  SteppingStonesBooks.com

  randomhousekids.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Chew, Ruth, author, illustrator.

  The Wednesday witch / by Ruth Chew ; with illustrations by the author.—First Random House edition.

  p. cm

  “A Stepping Stone Book.”

  Originally published: New York : Scholastic, Inc., 1969.

  Summary: The arrival of a witch who travels by magic vacuum cleaner is only the beginning of Mary Jane’s strange adventures.

  ISBN 978-0-449-81556-4 (trade pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-449-81558-8 (ebook)

  [1. Witches—Fiction. 2. Cats—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C429We 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014032383

  eBook ISBN 9780449815588

  This book has been officially leveled by using the F&P Text Level Gradient™ Leveling System.

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Ruth Chew

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Mischief

  Magic Scissors

  The Dollhouse

  Homework

  Cinders in School

  The Plan

  The Picnic

  More Mischief

  The Witch’s Idea

  The Witch in School

  Macaroni Magic

  Magic Measure

  Excerpt from Witch’s Broom

  “Now don’t let any stranger into the house, Mary Jane,” said Mrs. Brooks. “I’m going to the supermarket. If the doorbell rings, look through the peep hole first to see who is there. If it’s someone you don’t know, don’t open the door. And don’t get into mischief while I’m gone.”

  Mary Jane watched her mother walk down the tree-lined Brooklyn street. As soon as Mrs. Brooks turned the corner, Mary Jane ran upstairs.

  Today she would have plenty of time to go through all the things on her mother’s dressing table. Mary Jane wouldn’t dare touch them when her mother was around. But now she could even pick them up and try them out.

  There were so many things—tiny nail scissors, jars of face cream, a pink satin ribbon, three lipsticks, a big box of bath powder, an eyebrow pencil, a magnifying mirror, and—right in the middle, sparkling like a big jewel—a new bottle of perfume. It was called “Mischief.”

  Mary Jane twisted the stopper and slowly pulled it out of the bottle. At once the room was filled with a strange, exciting smell.

  The doorbell rang. Mary Jane ran downstairs, and was about to open the door. Then she remembered what her mother had said. “Before you open the door, look through the peep hole.” But the peep hole was high up on the door. So she went to get a dining room chair to stand on. The doorbell rang again.

  Mary Jane was pushing the chair against the door when the brass door knocker banged loudly. Whoever was outside must be very impatient, Mary Jane thought. She climbed up on the chair. The door knocker banged again.

  A harsh voice screamed, “Is anybody home?”

  Mary Jane put one eye to the peep hole and looked out. On the doorstep stood a short fat woman wearing a tall pointed hat. She had a vacuum cleaner with her, the kind that looks like a large jug. A skinny black cat with big yellow eyes and a ragged tail sat on top of the vacuum cleaner. And the hose to the vacuum cleaner was coiled around the fat woman’s neck like a big snake.

  Mary Jane tried to make her voice sound deep and growly. “Who are you?”

  “I want to show you a vacuum cleaner,” said the woman. She seemed to be trying to make her voice low and sweet, but it sounded like a scratchy whisper. “It’s a lovely vacuum cleaner. I will clean your house for you.”

  She looked so funny standing there in her long black dress and her pointy hat that Mary Jane could not help teasing. “You can’t fool me,” she said in the same deep voice. “You are a wicked witch! Go away!”

  With a loud click Mary Jane shut the peep hole. Then, ever so quietly, she opened it again and looked out. She saw the short fat woman shake her fist, stamp her foot, and then sit down on the vacuum cleaner. The woman held the metal wand in front of her and shouted, “Home, James!”

  The vacuum cleaner rose into the air with the witch. Mary Jane jumped off the chair and opened the door. She saw the witch sail higher and higher, over the treetops, higher than the apartment building on the corner. Mary Jane watched until the witch sailed away out of sight.

  “Meow.” It was the thin black cat, sitting sadly on the doorstep.

  The witch must have forgotten her cat, thought Mary Jane, or perhaps she is trying to trick me.

  “Meow,” said the cat again. Then, to Mary Jane’s surprise, it said, “I’m hungry.”

  Mary Jane couldn’t help feeling sorry for the skinny cat. “There’s some tuna fish left over from lunch,” she said. “Would you like that?”

  “I don’t know,” said the cat. “I’ve never had fish. All the witch feeds me is toads—when she remembers to feed me at all. And she has a pot of witch’s brew that she thinks is delicious, but I can’t stand it.”

  “What’s your name, cat?”

  “The witch calls me ‘Hey, you!’ ”

  “Oh, you poor thing!” cried Mary Jane, and she scooped up the cat. It was so light! Mary Jane could feel all the bones under the scraggly fur. She carried the cat into the house and shut the door.

  Mary Jane fed the cat in the kitchen. The cat ate the tuna fish hungrily but daintily. Then she drank a bowl full of milk. When she had finished she washed her face, smoothed her whiskers, and licked herself all over.

  Soon the black fur was smooth and shining. “You need a ribbon! There is a pink satin one that came on Mother’s perfume.”

  Mary Jane carried
the cat upstairs to her mother’s bedroom and tied the ribbon in a bow around the cat’s neck. “Just see yourself, cat.” Mary Jane put her on the dressing table in front of the mirror.

  The cat looked at herself with pride. “The witch would hardly know me.”

  “Tell me about the witch,” begged Mary Jane. “What was she doing here?”

  “It’s Wednesday, and she’s a Wednesday Witch.”

  “What’s a Wednesday Witch?”

  “Her magic is at its best on Wednesday. The rest of the week she works on her spells. On Wednesday she comes out of her cave and looks for mischief. She said she smelled mischief on your street today.”

  “Oh,” said Mary Jane. “I’d better put Mother’s perfume away.” She put the stopper in the bottle and put the bottle in its place. She was none too soon.

  Mary Jane heard the sound of a key in the front door. She picked up the cat and ran downstairs. Her mother came puffing into the house with two large bags of groceries.

  When Mrs. Brooks saw the cat, she put the bags on the floor. “Mary Jane, I’ve told you not to bring cats into the house. Take it back where it belongs.”

  Mary Jane watched her mother put away the groceries. She was glad to see three new cans of tuna fish.

  Mary Jane’s mother was folding the empty grocery bags. “Oh, dear, I’ll never get the house tidy before your father comes home. Here, put the bags away.”

  “I can’t take the cat back, Mother.” Mary Jane took the bags. “It’s a witch’s cat. She flew away on a vacuum cleaner, and left the cat here.”

  “Vacuum cleaner!” said Mary Jane’s mother. “Mary Jane, could you vacuum the rug?”

  While Mary Jane went to get the vacuum cleaner, Mrs. Brooks went into the living room with a dustcloth, and the cat followed her. Mrs. Brooks was about to dust a vase when she saw the cat jump to the mantelpiece and walk softly to the tall silver candlestick beside the clock. The cat dusted it carefully with her tail and swished away the dust around it.

  Moving to the clock she dusted that too. She gave a few expert flicks of her tail to the candlestick on the other side of the clock and leaped to the bookcase to dust a little china lady and a glass bowl. Mrs. Brooks put down the vase. The cat walked over to it, swished her tail up and around the vase, and jumped to the floor. Then she looked at Mary Jane’s mother with big sad eyes.

  Dusting was not something Mrs. Brooks enjoyed. This cat seemed to love it. For a long time Mary Jane’s mother just stood there. At last she said, “Are you sure that cat doesn’t belong to anyone?”

  By this time Mary Jane was running the vacuum cleaner. She had to shout to make herself heard over the sound of the motor. “Oh, she belongs to the witch.”

  Mrs. Brooks turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Mary Jane, I’ve told you so many times not to make up stories. Does the cat have a name?”

  “The witch calls her ‘Hey, you!’ ”

  After a moment’s thought Mary Jane’s mother announced, “I’m going to call her ‘Cinders’ because she does the work like Cinderella. Poor thing, she is much too thin.”

  While Mary Jane and her mother were making friends with the cat, Witch Hilda was flying home as fast as she could. The jug of the vacuum cleaner was not a comfortable seat, but Hilda was used to it. She pointed the metal wand in front of her and steered.

  This had not been a good Wednesday. The witch was angry at the little girl for not opening the door. She did not know why she had wanted so much to get into that house, except that it smelled so strongly of mischief. Now Hilda was eager to be home. She wanted to begin work on a new kind of spell.

  She was flying above a bank of pink sunset clouds. Night would soon fall. Hilda gave a cry of wild witch joy. Then she began to sing in her harsh voice:

  Oh, give me the life of a bat

  When the shades of night come down.

  I fly with my little black cat

  To the dear old witches’ town.

  Cat? Hilda looked down at her lap. No cat. She looked at the metal wand. No cat. She even closed one eye and squinted up the thick hose. Still no cat. “Drat!” said the witch.

  As she neared Witch Town, Hilda licked her lips at the thought of the pot of brew bubbling in her cave. “I’ll look for the cat after supper,” she said.

  Hilda lived in a large cave in the side of a mountain. Nearby were many other caves and shacks where witches lived. The smoke from their bonfires rose out of the dark woods, and sounds of chanting came from groups of witches sitting around huge black pots.

  The weary witch flew straight to her own cave with only a nod to some friends. She left the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the floor. It was too much bother to put it away.

  She grabbed a spoon and went to the black iron pot in the corner. What a shame! The fire was out, and the brew was cold. Hilda felt like crying.

  There was no little cat to send for firewood, so Hilda had to go herself. She found only a few twigs. The other witches had taken most of the wood. “Drat,” said Hilda, “why must they all build fires tonight?” In the end Witch Hilda had a cold snack of grasshopper legs. She went to bed hungry and in no mood to look for the cat.

  Next morning it rained. The witch climbed up on a high stool and took down an old black book. The pages were yellow, dog-eared, and spotted. Hilda liked to study the book while having her cup of witch’s brew.

  She licked her finger and turned the pages. “Salts, sandwiches, scissors!” The witch read the recipe for scissors twice and went to work. The recipe called for octopus eyelashes, among other things.

  The vacuum cleaner did a lot of flying that week while the witch collected what she needed. By Sunday night Hilda had everything the recipe called for. All Monday and Tuesday she dropped things into the big black pot and sang strange and terrible songs. At noon on Wednesday she dipped her big spoon into the hissing brew. Down at the bottom she found what she wanted. She fished out a little pair of pointed scissors.

  Hilda smiled. She looked at the sun. “Late. It’s Wednesday, and it’s late. I must hurry.”

  She jumped on the vacuum cleaner and ordered, “Mischief, James.”

  The vacuum cleaner whirred and wobbled. With a bounce it jumped into the air and sailed out of the cave into the sunshine. Hilda held tight to the sides of the jug. Her round body bobbed up and down with the motion of the vacuum cleaner. In her hurry she had forgotten to take off her apron. She dropped the scissors into the apron pocket.

  Hilda pointed the rod straight ahead and gave the jug a kick to make it go faster. Wednesday was more than half over. If she wanted any fun she would have to be quick.

  “I wonder where James is taking me,” thought the witch. She had been traveling for some time. The ground below looked familiar. The vacuum cleaner glided down and landed on a walk leading to a white house. “This must be where I lost the cat.” Hilda climbed off the jug, shook out her black skirt, gathered up the vacuum cleaner, and clumped up the steps of the house.

  She rang the bell and waited. The cover to the peep hole moved, and someone looked out. “I’m looking for a cat,” said Hilda. “Have you seen one?”

  “What sort of cat?” growled a deep voice.

  “Black,” replied the witch.

  “Oh, you could hardly call our cat black.”

  This was true. Mary Jane and Cinders had been going through Mrs. Brooks’s dressing table while Mary Jane’s mother was at the post office. Cinders had knocked over a box of bath powder and was now a strange shade of gray. Mary Jane could hear her sneezing.

  The witch also heard her. “That sounds like my cat,” she said. “Let me see it.”

  “I can’t let anyone in,” said Mary Jane.

  Just then Mrs. Brooks came up the walk carrying a large package. She laid it down when she saw the witch on her doorstep. “I’m glad you came so quickly. I see you’ve brought a new one. It’s a bit different from mine, but anything would be better. Come in.” She picked up James and rang the doorbell. “Open up, Mar
y Jane. This lady brought us a new vacuum cleaner. That’s fast service. I telephoned only this morning to tell them ours isn’t working very well.”

  Mary Jane opened the door and was face to face with the witch. Hilda’s green eyes looked into Mary Jane’s brown ones. “She’s not very big,” thought Hilda, “but she certainly smells of mischief.”

  Mary Jane’s mother could also smell something. She ran upstairs so fast that she forgot to put down the vacuum cleaner. She found Cinders in a pile of white powder, coughing and sneezing. Cinders looked so funny Mrs. Brooks had to laugh even though she was angry with Mary Jane. Then she plugged in the vacuum cleaner and cleaned up the mess.

  Poor James was not used to being used as a vacuum cleaner. The bath powder was choking him.

  Downstairs Hilda was upset. Time was wasting. “You know it’s my cat.” Hilda glared at Mary Jane, who glared back at her.

  “She wants to live with me. Can’t you get another cat?”

  “This one suits me,” said the witch. “I’m going to take her home with me.”

  Mrs. Brooks came downstairs, carrying the dusty little cat. When Cinders saw the witch she drew back against Mary Jane’s mother and tried to hide in her clothes.

  “That’s my cat,” said Hilda sharply. “I lost her a week ago.”

  “We have become very fond of Cinders,” Mrs. Brooks said gently. “Won’t you let us buy her from you?”

  “No,” said Hilda. “I need her.”

  Mary Jane’s mother sadly handed the trembling little cat to the witch. “Just a minute,” she said, “I’ll give you the old vacuum cleaner. You can send me a bill for the new one.”

  Hilda was handed the Brookses’ worn-out vacuum cleaner and gently but firmly pushed out the door.