CONTENTS
1 The Broken Broom
2 The Witch Takes a Bath
3 How to Trick a Witch
4 Felina Goes to the Store
5 A Permit to Keep a Witch
6 Felina Learns to Read
7 Grandfather Gives Felina a Gift
8 Christmas Is Coming!
9 A Visit to Dr. Perriwinkle
10 In a Witch’s Sock
11 The Snow Witch
12 Halloween and Happy Birthday
About Florence Laughlin
For Caroline, Maureen, and Maggie
1
The Broken Broom
It was Halloween.
The wind moaned like a thousand ghosts at the windows of the houses on Mockingbird Lane. Black cats chased one another across rooftops. And ghosts and goblins of all sizes ran through the streets.
Lucinda Doon was dressed like a ghost. A white sheet covered her clothes. It covered her yellow-gold hair and small brown shoes. It hid everything about her, except two laughing blue eyes, which peered out of two round holes.
She said, “Boooooo,” at Mr. Doon, her father. She said, “Boooooo,” at Itchabody, her great black cat. She went all around the block and frightened all the neighbors.
“Time to go upstairs to bed now,” said Mrs. Doon, when Lucinda came back into her own house. “Halloween is over.”
So Lucinda took off her ghost costume and hung it on the clothes tree. She washed her face and hands and put on her warm pajamas and crawled into bed. Then her mother kissed her tenderly and turned out the light.
Just as Lucinda was about to close her eyes she glanced out of the window—and thought she saw a witch! A black-clad witch, riding her broom across a pumpkin-yellow moon.
The little girl shivered happily and snuggled down under the covers to dream of the excitement she had had that night.
But Halloween wasn’t over. Not quite.
In the middle of the night Lucinda woke up with a start. She heard a strange noise outside the window. It sounded like somebody crying. Or perhaps like somebody trying not to cry.
It was pitch-dark now. But Lucinda got out of bed and turned on the light and opened the window.
There, on the branch of the big bare mulberry tree, sat a bedraggled little witch! She wore a peaked hat. She had big staring eyes. And something like a raindrop ran down her face and fell off the tip of her pointed nose.
“Who are you?” cried Lucinda.
“I’m a witch, as you should plainly see,” said the little witch crossly.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.” The little witch rubbed her eyes with the back of her fist. “I broke my broom and fell from the sky,” she said. “And the sky was wet.”
“How are you going to get home?” asked Lucinda anxiously.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting in this tree,” snapped the strange little creature. “But I do know one thing—if I don’t get back up there before the sun rises, I’ll have to stay on the ground for a whole year. Till next Halloween.”
Lucinda was almost sure she saw another tear. But she was too kind to mention it. She said, “Maybe I can help you. Mother has a brand-new broom. If you will come inside you may test it and see if it will fly.”
The big branch was very near the window. Lucinda held out her arms and helped the little witch crawl inside the room.
Itchabody the cat came out from under the bed. He arched his back and his fur stood up like pins when he saw the visitor. “Meeeow!” he said whiningly.
“I pull cats’ tails,” said the little witch.
Itchabody backed away, hissing. But as Lucinda and the witch crept down the stairs to the broom closet, the cat scampered past them. When they got to the kitchen he rubbed his back against the visitor’s long black robes and began to purr.
Lucinda took out her mother’s brand-new broom. The little witch got astride it and jumped up and down. But the broom refused to fly.
Then she said:
“Abracadabra
Thirteen cats:
Sesame, sesame
Pickled Bats!”
But still the broom made no move to lift her from the floor. “It isn’t magic,” said the little witch ungraciously. “I knew it wouldn’t work.”
“Let’s try the dust mop,” suggested Lucinda helpfully.
So they tried the dust mop. They tried the sponge mop. They even tried Mrs. Doon’s electric vacuum cleaner. And the little witch chanted all the magic words she knew, but she simply could not fly.
“That’s too bad,” said Lucinda. She felt very sorry for the little witch, in spite of her bad manners.
The little witch was worried, too. “I don’t want to stay around here a whole year,” she said. “I can’t stand people!”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay, at least for tonight,” replied Lucinda. “It’s too cold to go outside again. You may sleep in my bed, and in the morning my father will think of a way to get you back home.”
Lucinda and the little witch climbed back upstairs, but the little witch flatly refused to share Lucinda’s bed.
“I don’t like beds,” she said. “I like dark places. I’ll sleep in the closet.”
So, while Lucinda crawled back into her warm, cozy bed, the weird little figure in the pointed hat slipped into the closet and closed the door.
Itchabody the cat joined her there.
2
The Witch Takes a Bath
When Lucinda opened her eyes once more the sun was shining. She felt very sure that she had just had a curious dream and that the little witch wasn’t real at all.
But when she opened the closet door, there she was, sitting in a corner. Old Itchabody the cat jumped down from the witch’s lap.
“Good morning,” said Lucinda pleasantly.
The little witch glared at her. “What’s good about it?” she demanded. But she got up and came out into the room, blinking her eyes.
“Do you have a name?” asked Lucinda.
“Of course I do. It’s Felina. From ‘feline,’ you know. It means ‘little cat,’ ” she said proudly. “The old witch who mixes potions named me that because I have green eyes.”
“So you have!” cried Lucinda.
For the first time she noticed how enormous the little witch’s eyes were, and how green. They looked very odd in her small pointed face. She did look like a kitten, too, thought Lucinda. Not pretty, of course. But then, one didn’t expect a witch to be pretty.
“Come on,” said Lucinda. “It’s time to go down and eat breakfast. I’m as hungry as the three bears.”
She put on her robe and slippers and went down to the kitchen, the little witch following close at her heels.
“Well, well,” said Mrs. Doon, who was busy preparing breakfast, “what have we here?”
Mrs. Doon was seldom ever astonished at anything. But she did look a little surprised to find a witch in her kitchen.
“I want you to meet Felina, Mother,” said Lucinda formally. “She’s a witch. She’s left over from Halloween. Felina broke her magic broom and can’t fly back home, and I want Daddy to help her.”
“Help her what?” asked Mr. Doon, coming in just then. He was tying his tie.
Then he looked down at Felina and all he could say was, “Well, well, well,” and “WELL.”
So Lucinda explained all about the broken broom and how Felina had spent the night in the closet. And how she didn’t like people at all.
“So you see, Daddy,” she added, “if we can find the broken broom, maybe you could mend it and—”
“Won’t do any good,” said the little witch impatiently. “The wind grabbed the broom and b
lew it far away. Witches can only fly on Halloween anyway.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Doon again. He was concentrating on the problem. “Perhaps we could hire a helicopter to fly you home.”
Felina stuck out her sharp little chin.
“You’d never find the way without a magic broom,” she said. “I just have to stay down here till next Halloween. Then, if I’m out at midnight, I can catch onto another witch’s broom and ride away.”
Mrs. Doon was setting the table with bacon and eggs and pieces of golden-brown toast. She filled two big glasses with milk.
“Breakfast is ready, children,” she said. “Come now and eat.”
Lucinda was very hungry. She pulled up her chair and sat down. But Felina just sniffed.
“I only eat black-bat soup and jibbers’ gizzards,” she told them loftily.
“Well, we never have black-bat soup for breakfast,” said Mrs. Doon firmly. She sat down and began to pour the coffee.
“And I’m not about to go out into the woods to shoot any jibbers,” remarked Mr. Doon, taking his chair.
While Lucinda and her parents ate every bite of their breakfast, the little witch just sat in a corner and glowered at them.
“What are we going to do about her?” asked Mr. Doon in a low voice.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Doon. “She is obviously lost, poor little thing. And I must say, she does have a dreadful disposition.”
“Oh, please, Mother,” whispered Lucinda, “let her stay with us. I don’t think she is really mean. I think she’s just afraid of things.” She thought it would be great fun to have a real witch to play with.
“We do have enough room,” said Mrs. Doon slowly. “I suppose she could stay here till somebody claims her.”
So it was decided.
“I’m going to the office now,” said Mr. Doon, “but I’ll report the matter to the police. And I’ll ask around town to see if anyone is missing a little witch. We’ll see about it tonight.”
He got up and kissed his wife good-bye. He kissed Lucinda good-bye. He thought of kissing Felina. But when he looked in her direction she made a wicked face at him, so off he went.
* * *
“First thing we’d better do,” said Mrs. Doon, after she had done the dishes, “is to comb Felina’s hair and give her a bath.”
“Witches never comb their hair,” said Felina. “And they never take baths. Never, never, NEVER.”
“Witches who stay in my house do,” said Mrs. Doon. “Run and fetch a nice clean comb, Lucinda.”
Lucinda brought a comb and brush. Mrs. Doon put the kitchen stool on the back porch and perched Felina upon it. Quickly, she grabbed off the funny little cone-shaped hat and hung it on a nail.
“My hat, my hat,” screamed Felina. “Give me back my hat.”
“Just as soon as you get your hair combed,” said Mrs. Doon quietly.
So the little witch was forced to have her hair combed. It was so tangled that it took all morning long to get the snarls out.
Mrs. Doon combed on one side and Lucinda brushed on the other. They combed and they brushed and they brushed and they combed. And the little witch set up an awful fuss.
She screeched and she yelled. But Lucinda and Mrs. Doon were just as careful and gentle as they could be.
“Save the snarls,” insisted the little witch. “Witches’ snarls are full of magic.”
But Mrs. Doon just dumped them in the trash. And they combed and brushed and brushed some more, until the little witch’s hair was as smooth and shiny as a cap of black satin and curled up at the ends just like Lucinda’s.
“I hate it!” declared Felina. And just to be wicked, she stirred it into a mess again.
Mrs. Doon patiently combed it once more and made two silky braids. She tied the ends tightly with red ribbons.
But when Mrs. Doon forgot and started to take the dreary little hat out to the trash, Felina jumped from the stool.
“Don’t throw away my hat,” she pleaded. “Witches wear their hats always.”
The poor little witch looked so alarmed that Mrs. Doon came back quickly. She put the peaked hat on Felina’s freshly combed hair and the little creature reached up and held tightly on to it, afraid it might be whisked away again.
“I keep my magic in my hat,” she said.
“Now, then,” said Mrs. Doon with a sigh, “we must wash your dress. It’s all rumpled and muddy. You go with Lucinda and take a nice bath, and then you may put on some of her clean clothes.”
“I won’t,” said the little witch.
“Oh, come, take a bath,” pleaded Lucinda. “It’s lots of fun. I have soap that floats and a boat that sails.”
“I want my own dress,” said Felina.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Doon. “I’ll wash your little black dress and you may put it back on.”
And that is what happened. Lucinda and Felina got into a tub of warm, sparkling water and splashed about. Felina wore her hat and refused to wash behind her ears and she dashed soapsuds all over Itchabody, who was passing by. She gave a little cackling laugh when he went, “Phttt,” and hid under the washbasin.
But Felina did come out quite clean. And Mrs. Doon wrapped her in a big towel and let her sit on a stool and watch her dress go around and around in the automatic washer. Then she starched it and ironed it and Felina put it back on.
That afternoon, Lucinda saw the little witch standing before the mirror, turning from side to side. Her clothes were clean, her hair was smooth, and her face was clean.
“You look very nice,” said Lucinda kindly.
The little witch whirled about. “Bats and cats!” she said in a sassy voice.
Then she flew up the stairs and went into the closet and closed the door. She refused to come out to play, and she refused to come out for lunch. She didn’t come downstairs again until she heard Mr. Doon’s car drive into the garage that evening.
3
How to Trick a Witch
Mr. Doon was amazed when he came in and saw Felina sitting on the steps, holding the cat.
“Why, she looks almost like a human being, Mary,” he said to his wife. “Her hair is beautiful, though she still looks a little spooky in that awful hat. I don’t suppose there is anything we can do about her pointed nose and chin.”
“There’s something I can do,” said Mrs. Doon. “I’m quite sure black-bat soup and jibbers’ gizzards aren’t very nourishing, even for witches. She has refused to eat all day, so I fixed an extra-special supper. The poor little thing seems half starved.”
So Mrs. Doon and Lucinda set the table together. They put on a big platter of steaming chicken and dumplings. They brought in vegetables and salad and ice-cold milk. For dessert there was peach cobbler and ice cream!
“Come, little witch,” Mrs. Doon called then, “and eat your supper.”
But the little witch refused to come. “You can’t make me eat,” she said, stamping her foot and glaring at the good food.
“Nobody is going to make you,” said Mrs. Doon with a smile.
Felina crawled under the dining room table. The family sat down to eat.
First Mr. Doon said the blessing. Then he served the chicken and dumplings and vegetables.
“Mmmmmmm! This is the best chicken I ever tasted,” said Lucinda.
“The dumplings and gravy are delicious,” said Mr. Doon.
“The finest baked squash I ever tasted,” said Lucinda’s mother, “if I did bake it myself.”
For a while nothing was heard but the sound of forks scooping up the food. The smell of the delicious things to eat drifted over the edge of the table and made the little witch’s nose twitch.
Then Mr. Doon reached into the dumpling platter and brought up a gizzard. “I do believe that looks like a jibber’s gizzard, Mary,” he said.
“It certainly does.”
And all at once a spooky little black hat appeared above the edge of the table. The little witch edged slowly toward the empty chair a
nd slipped into it.
In a twinkling Mr. Doon dropped the savory gizzard onto Felina’s plate. He heaped chicken and dumplings beside it. Mrs. Doon quietly pushed the glass of milk within reach of a small hand.
Not a word more was said. But the food disappeared like magic. The glass was refilled with milk. Halfway through a big dish of ice cream and cobbler, the spoon dropped from the hand and the little peaked hat began to bend toward the table.
Mr. Doon left his chair and picked up the drowsy little witch and carried her to Lucinda’s room. Mrs. Doon and Lucinda tiptoed after them.
Carefully, carefully, they removed her shoes and unhooked her black dress. But the instant they touched the peaked black hat Felina came awake in a flash. She jumped off Mrs. Doon’s lap.
“You fell asleep,” said Mrs. Doon gently. “We were going to put you into Lucinda’s nice, warm bed.”
“No, no, no,” cried Felina. “Witches never sleep in beds like that.”
“You may wear some of my fuzzy pajamas,” said Lucinda. She ran to get a pair from her bureau.
Felina pushed them aside. She stood in the middle of the floor, glaring at them all.
Then Mr. Doon had to take over.
He looked down at the defiant little figure. “You are going to put on those pajamas and get into that bed, Felina,” he said sternly, “or I will spank you.”
Felina put her hands behind her. “You can’t spank witches,” she declared. She seemed about to cry.
“I don’t want to spank a witch,” said Mr. Doon kindly, “but I will if I have to.” He sat down on the bed. “Felina, come here. I want to tell you something.”
Slowly, she obeyed him.
“There are a few things that grown-ups know more about than children do. While you live in our house we want you to be happy. You may have your own way about all the little things, like what kind of ice cream you’ll eat and what toys you’ll play with. But when something is really important you must obey.
“When Lucinda’s mother or I say to you, ‘that’s an order,’ you do it,” said Mr. Doon.
“But why can’t I sleep in the closet?”
“Because the floor is cold and drafty. You might get sick, and we would feel very sad about it.”
The Little Leftover Witch Page 1
