The Wednesday Witch

by Ruth Chew

“Drat!” said the witch. “Now I’ll have to walk home.” She looked angrily at the cat. “It’s all your fault. Well, I won’t have you getting lost again.” She pulled the scissors from her pocket.

  Holding the cat by the scruff of the neck, the witch snipped her with the magic scissors. Cinders grew smaller and smaller and smaller. The scissors did not hurt. What they snipped did not fall to the ground or blow away in the wind. The magic scissors made things smaller but did not change their shape in any way.

  When Hilda stopped cutting, the cat was only one inch high. She could fit nicely in a walnut shell. And yet she was exactly like the big Cinders. Each tiny whisker was perfect. Her yellow eyes gleamed just as they always had, but now they were the size of the beads on Mrs. Brooks’s evening bag, the one Mary Jane was going through when the bath powder had spilled on Cinders.

  Hilda held the cat on the palm of her hand. “Beautiful! If I say it myself,” she cackled.

  The witch snipped the old vacuum cleaner until it was only big enough for a dollhouse. She caught sight of the package Mrs. Brooks left on the steps. She thought of snipping it small too, but she decided to unwrap it instead. The package was packed in cardboard and straw and tied with strong cord. When Hilda tried to cut the cord with her scissors it got smaller and tighter without being cut in two. The witch chewed through the cord. Cinders was now too small to help.

  When the string was off, Hilda tore open the box. She found a dollhouse, quite a nice one but not what she was looking for. She was going to kick it when she saw something in the corner of the bottom step, something that shone in the fading light.

  It was a pair of roller skates. Mary Jane had left them on the step. Now these would be more useful. The witch sat down and strapped on the skates. “I’ll improve them when I get home, but for now they’re better than nothing.”

  She dropped the tiny cat into her apron pocket. “There you are. Now, hold tight, and we’ll soon be home where you can have some nice witch’s brew.”

  Cinders thought about the witch’s brew and then about the tuna fish and chicken and leftover gravy in Mary Jane’s house. She dug her claws into the apron and climbed to the top of the pocket. There she clung for a moment. When Hilda bent over to tighten a skate strap, Cinders leaped quietly to the grass near the front walk.

  It was dark now. The witch did not see the tiny cat slip into the shadows.

  Hilda had not skated for years, and she wondered if she still could. She tried—first one foot, then the other. It was just as thrilling as she remembered. Hilda glided down the walk to the street, and then faster and faster she skated, guided by her sharp nose. Far off she could smell the pots of Witch Town.

  When she had gone, Cinders ran into the dollhouse. Everything in it was just the right size for her. She curled up in the corner of the tiny living room sofa and went to sleep.

  Mary Jane followed her mother upstairs to get the vacuum cleaner. They were both sad because the witch had taken Cinders, but Mary Jane still had hope. After all they did have James, the magic vacuum cleaner.

  The vacuum cleaner was in Mrs. Brooks’s bedroom, feeling sick with all the bath powder in it. “Mother,” said Mary Jane, “let me clean the jug.”

  “It doesn’t need cleaning. It’s brand new.”

  “No, it isn’t. The witch has been using it.”

  “The witch? Oh, you mean that funny little woman who took Cinders away. Hmmm. Let me see that vacuum cleaner. Mary Jane, you’re right! It isn’t new at all. Look at all those dents and scratches! I’ll have to telephone the company and complain.”

  Mary Jane didn’t think that would be the right thing to do. “Mother,” she said, “maybe this is a trade for our old one. Why don’t we see how well it works, and do let me clean it out.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Mrs. Brooks. “But be careful carrying it downstairs.”

  Mary Jane took James downstairs and out the front door to the garbage can under the steps.

  Her mother came after her. “Mary Jane, is that package still there? Aunt Harriet sent it to you from England. It’s a late birthday present.”

  Mrs. Brooks stared at the litter of torn paper and cardboard around the dollhouse. “Oh, you’ve opened it. You should have waited until we had it in the house.”

  Mary Jane was sure it was the witch who had opened the package, but she said nothing.

  James felt much better. He wiggled in Mary Jane’s kind arms, and she patted him to make him stay still. Her mother would have to take an aspirin and lie down if she saw James do anything peculiar. Mary Jane hurried upstairs with James and hid him in her closet.

  “Hurry, Mary Jane,” called Mrs. Brooks. “Help me bring in the dollhouse.”

  Mary Jane grabbed one end of the dollhouse. Her mother took the other. Together they carried it into the house.

  It was a slow hard trip upstairs with the dollhouse. They had trouble getting it around the corner at the landing. When they reached the top of the stairs, they carried it down the hall to Mary Jane’s room.

  “We can put it on top of your dresser,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Run and get a dustcloth. I do wish Cinders were here!”

  Any other time Mary Jane would have been wild with joy over a dollhouse like this with a stairway and a complete set of furniture. Now she hardly looked at it. Cinders was gone. Mary Jane wanted to cry.

  Mary Jane dusted the dresser, and they lifted the dollhouse onto it.

  Mrs. Brooks looked at her watch. “Goodness, it’s late. I’d like to help you arrange the furniture, but I don’t have time. I must get supper before Daddy comes home. Now, remember to write a thank-you letter to Aunt Harriet.”

  She hurried downstairs. Mary Jane sat on a chair in front of the dollhouse and looked in. She had never seen one like it. There were little electric lights that worked—only now they needed a battery. The furniture was packed carefully in newspaper and wedged into the rooms. Some of the furniture was not completely wrapped. Mary Jane could see the seat cushions of the chairs and the sheets and blankets on the beds. One little sofa was hardly wrapped at all. Curled up in the corner was a tiny black cat.

  Mary Jane lifted the sofa out of the dollhouse and looked at the cat. “English toys seem so real,” she thought. “This looks exactly like Cinders.” A tear rolled down Mary Jane’s nose and fell with a splash on the little cat. The cat jumped to its feet and opened its eyes wide.

  “It’s raining!” said Cinders. “Where am I?”

  Her voice was so small that Mary Jane had to strain her ears to hear. She lifted the cat to her face and examined her. “You look just like Cinders—only smaller.”

  “And you look like Mary Jane—only bigger.”

  “Oh, Cinders, it is you!” Mary Jane jumped with excitement.

  “Don’t drop me!” cried the cat. “It’s a long way down.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “The witch thought I’d be easier to carry if I were small. Her scissors make things small without hurting them.”

  Mary Jane heard her father’s voice. “Mary Jane, don’t leave your toys in the front yard. Come and get this.”

  Mary Jane put Cinders back in the dollhouse and ran to greet her father. He hugged her and then handed her a little vacuum cleaner. “Don’t be so careless, Mary Jane. I found this on the front walk. That’s a good way to lose your things.”

  Mary Jane remembered the skates. She went outside to look for them. She looked in the bushes and all around the walk. “Maybe I’ll find them tomorrow morning,” she told herself. “It’s too dark now.”

  During supper Mary Jane slipped a bit of lamb chop into her pocket. Luckily neither her mother nor her father saw her do it.

  After Mary Jane and her mother had washed the dishes and put them away, Mrs. Brooks said, “Let’s show Daddy the dollhouse Aunt Harriet sent you from England.”

  “I don’t have the furniture set up yet.”

  “Never mind.” Her mother took off her apron. “We’ll help you.”
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  Mary Jane’s mother and father crowded into her room and stood in front of the dresser to look at the dollhouse. Mary Jane saw Cinders curled up on the rug in front of the little fireplace. She quickly cupped her hand over the cat, scooped her up, and dropped her into her pocket—the one with the piece of lamb chop.

  Cinders was hungry. It was hard to eat such a big piece of meat. She pulled and tore at it with her sharp teeth. It was like eating in a hammock. Cinder kept rolling over. In her efforts to right herself, she dug her claws right through the dress into Mary Jane.

  “Ouch!” said Mary Jane.

  Mr. Brooks was setting up the bathroom while Mrs. Brooks fussed with the ruffles of the tiny four-poster bed. “What’s the matter, Mary Jane?” he asked. “You’re jumping about as if you had fleas.”

  Mary Jane went to her desk and put Cinders and the meat in the top drawer. She left it open a crack for air.

  Her mother and father were admiring the tiny set of dishes and the pots and pans. “I hope you’ll take good care of this, Mary Jane,” said her father. “Aunt Harriet must have paid a lot of money for it.”

  Mary Jane’s parents seemed to like the dollhouse just as much as she did. They did not go downstairs until they had unpacked everything and arranged the furniture. The only thing missing was a doll. Mary Jane had none the right size.

  “Where’s that little vacuum cleaner?” asked Mr. Brooks.

  “I left it downstairs.” Mary Jane brought it up and gave it to her father.

  “This is the nicest piece of all,” he said.

  Mrs. Brooks looked at it and turned pale. “I think I’ll take an aspirin and lie down.”

  When her parents had gone, Mary Jane took Cinders out of the drawer. The drawer was a bit greasy from Cinders’ tussle with the piece of lamb chop. Mary Jane gave the cat a drink of water in a soda-bottle cap, and Cinders smoothed her whiskers and sighed contentedly. “I’m glad the witch didn’t take me home with her. I would have had witch’s brew for supper. Do you know what’s in that brew, Mary Jane?”

  Mary Jane shook her head. She sat on her bed and put Cinders on her shoulder, close to her ear. Mary Jane loved to hear about the witch and her doings.

  “Well,” said Cinders, settling herself against Mary Jane’s collar, “the witch does all her magic with that brew. When she wants to put something under a spell she finds a recipe in an old book of hers. She adds the things in the recipe to whatever is in the pot. There’s everything from old suspenders to poison ivy in there. And she expects me to drink it!”

  “Poor Cinders! Was that how she made the magic scissors?”

  “Of course,” replied the cat. “Did you know she cut down your old vacuum cleaner?”

  “Yes, my mother was upset when she saw it. Magic makes her ill.”

  Mary Jane was reminded of James. She went to the closet and pulled him out. “Does James miss the witch?”

  “Oh, no, she used to kick him. You can see the marks.”

  “Does he need anything?”

  “He likes to travel. Don’t keep him cooped up. Do you have time for a trip this evening?”

  Mary Jane caught her breath with excitement. She tried to sound calm. “Just a short one. My mother might miss me.”

  Cinders loved to ride the vacuum cleaner. “Open the window,” she ordered, “and get the hose and wand.”

  “The wand? Oh, you mean that stick thing.”

  The hose and wand were still in her mother’s room. Mary Jane tip-toed down the hall and got them.

  “Put me on top of your head,” said Cinders. Mary Jane put the little cat on her head. “Now wind the hose around your neck. Did you notice how Witch Hilda did it?”

  The vacuum-cleaner hose was hard to keep in place. Mary Jane grabbed it with one hand and held the wand in the other. She opened the window and sat down on James.

  “Point the wand where you want to go and steer with it.”

  “Fly, James.” Mary Jane pointed the wand at the open window.

  The vacuum cleaner rose with a wobble, then became more steady and glided out the window. Mary Jane held the wand straight in front of her. Wherever she pointed it the vacuum cleaner flew—up, down, around a corner. As she passed the window of her friend Marian’s house she saw Marian doing her homework.

  “Oops!” said Mary Jane. “Home, James.”

  She flew in her own window just in time. Her mother was coming upstairs. Mary Jane pushed the vacuum cleaner into her closet and sat down at her desk. She took Cinders out of her hair, put her gently in the desk drawer, and dropped a piece of Kleenex in with her. “Try to clean up the mess in there,” she whispered. “My pencils will smell of lamb chop.”

  “Mary Jane, have you started your homework?” called her mother.

  “Almost.” Mary Jane shut the desk drawer to a crack and opened a book.

  Mrs. Brooks came in. “I’ve brought you a glass of milk and some crackers.”

  “Great!” said Mary Jane.

  Her mother looked at her. “Well?”

  “Thank you,” Mary Jane said.

  “Now, get busy.” Mrs. Brooks went out and quietly shut the door.

  Mary Jane was studying her spelling. Cinders was a great help with spelling. She read the words aloud, and Mary Jane wrote them down. Mary Jane poured some milk into the soda-bottle cap and set it in the drawer. “Will you help me with my homework when you’ve finished, Cinders?”

  The cat lifted a black face with milky whiskers. “I’ll try sitting on your shoulder to read. The letters are very big for me now.”

  Cinders helped Mary Jane with the spelling, showed her some quick tricks with arithmetic, and listened to her read. Soon the homework was done. Mary Jane noticed that the little cat was yawning. “Would you like to go to bed, Cinders? The basket you slept in yesterday is too big now.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around the dollhouse.”

  Mary Jane put the cat in the dollhouse. It was now neat and perfectly furnished. Cinders walked from room to room. She jumped on the red velvet chair to test how soft it was. She nodded to herself in the long mirror. She looked with disgust at the toy food. A little set of dishes charmed her. Mary Jane went to get some butter to put on a doll’s plate. She filled a tiny bowl with cream—it didn’t take much.

  Cinders ran her pink tongue round and round the bowl. “In some ways I rather like being this size.” When she finished her snack she ran through the house, scampered up the little stairway, and jumped into the four-poster bed. She wiggled under the covers and peeked out from between the curtains. “Good night, Mary Jane. See you in the morning.”

  In the morning rush to get ready for school, Mary Jane hardly had time to give Cinders breakfast. She ran upstairs with a scrap of bacon in her napkin. Cinders was prowling hungrily around the dollhouse kitchen. When she saw Mary Jane she meowed loudly. Mary Jane put the bacon on a doll’s plate and turned to leave. “Take me with you,” begged Cinders. “I don’t want to be alone all day.”

  “But I’m almost late now.”

  Cinders gobbled the bacon and jumped out of the dollhouse onto Mary Jane’s shoulder.

  “There’s no pocket in my dress.”

  “I’ll ride in your lunch box. By the way, what’s for lunch?”

  “A roast-beef sandwich, and you’d better go in the pencil case.”

  “I don’t like pencils, and I’d be crowded.”

  Mary Jane was firm. “I’ll put the pencils in the lunch box and you in the pencil case.”

  Cinders sighed. Mary Jane didn’t seem to trust her. Still, she would probably give her a little of the roast beef at lunch time.

  “Hurry, Mary Jane,” called Mrs. Brooks. Mary Jane put her pencils into her lunch box and pushed Cinders into the pencil case. She picked up her books and ran down the stairs and out the front door.

  As she clattered down the front steps she called back over her shoulder, “Mother, look for my roller skates, will you?”

  Hearing
a thumping in the pencil case, Mary Jane opened it a crack. “What’s the matter?”

  Cinders put her mouth to the crack and yelled, “I forgot to tell you. The witch took your skates.”

  “Well, I have the magic vacuum cleaner. It’s a good trade.” Mary Jane stopped talking and began to run. Hot and panting for breath, she reached the school yard and got in line just as the children were going into the school.

  She put the pencil case into her desk, but Cinders started thumping again. Mary Jane bent over and whispered, “What is it?”

  “Let me out. I’ll just stay in the desk.”

  Mary Jane saw the teacher, Mrs. Carson, looking at her. She didn’t dare argue with Cinders. Reaching into her desk she opened the pencil case.

  “Mary Jane,” said Mrs. Carson, “what is in your desk?”

  “My pencil case, Mrs. Carson.”

  Mrs. Carson smiled the cold smile of a teacher who has caught a pupil in a crime. She walked over to Mary Jane’s desk and held out her hand. “Let me see the pencil case.”

  Mary Jane reached into the desk. Something small and furry ran up her arm onto her shoulder and hid under her hair. It tickled. Mary Jane didn’t dare to giggle. She handed Mrs. Carson the pencil case.

  The teacher opened the case. “What else is in your desk?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Carson.”

  Mrs. Carson was a short, heavy woman. She always had the children pick up the chalk if she dropped it. No one had ever seen her bend over to look into a desk. The whole class watched. Mrs. Carson fooled them. “Give me your seat, Mary Jane.” Mary Jane moved into the aisle and let Mrs. Carson take her place. She stuck her hand in the desk but found nothing.

  “When she goes back to the front of the room,” whispered a small voice, “lean over your book.”

  The teacher stood up. She was still sure Mary Jane was up to something. “Very well, leave the pencil case alone and get to work.”