by Edward Eager
"Let them build it somewhere else, then!" said Mrs. Witherspoon grandly. "Though personally I don't see the necessity. The more schools we have, the more people will want to move here, and we'll lose our lovely old village quality. New York people," she added in tones of distaste.
"I came here from New York," said Kip's mother rather coldly.
"To be sure, my dear," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "but you've fitted in beautifully. No one would ever know. As a matter of fact, Mr. Witherspoon's people lived in Brooklyn Heights at one time. But that was years ago. It's this new element we want to discourage."
"That means us," muttered James to Laura.
Lydia threw them a loyal look, and Kip made a strangling motion in the direction of Mrs. Witherspoon.
Kip's mother was standing up now. But she kept her voice polite. "I'm afraid I don't agree with you at all, Mrs. Witherspoon," she was saying. "We need that new school and I'm going to fight for it as hard as I can. All my friends are, too."
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Witherspoon grimly, surging to her feet, "you may find yourself in a very small minority. A very small minority indeed! Most of the responsible people in town generally agree with me!" And she stumped away toward the front gate and didn't even speak to Kip's father when he arrived home just then from his commuting train, though he raised his hat politely.
"Honestly, Fred," the four children heard Kip's mother saying to Kip's father a few minutes later, while he soothed her with a cooling cocktail, "I was so mad I could hardly see. She'll do it, too. She'll steamroller that new school right out of existence, no matter what we do. Half the town follows her just like a flock of sheep!"
"And that's the truth," said Kip, as he and Laura and Lydia and James wandered away from the house and into the road. "Mrs. Witherspoon just about runs this whole neck of the woods."
"She's a regular old queen," said Lydia. "A regular old mob-led queen."
"What's that?" said James.
"It's Shakespeare," said Lydia. "It means she led the whole mob. I think."
"That's Mrs. Witherspoon!" agreed Kip.
"I hadn't heard about this school," said James. "Do we need it?"
"Yes," said Kip. "We do."
"Then let's do something," said James. "Let's get all our friends to come to town meeting and vote on our side."
"Who could we get?" said Kip practically (though ungrammatically).
"There's the long-lost heir's parents," said Laura.
"Summer people," said Kip. "And weekends. Probably never go to town meeting at all."
"There's Miss King." But even hopeful Laura could see that gentle Miss King would stand small chance against Mrs. Gordon T. Witherspoon.
"Mr. Hiram Bundy?" suggested James.
Kip shook his head. "He's a public figure. Probably has to stay nonpartisan."
And it was then that Laura saw their way clear before them. "Then I guess it's up to the magic," she said.
"That's right," said Kip. "I was forgetting for a minute."
"This could be the big thing it's been building up to," admitted James.
"You mean we could get it to work on Mrs. Witherspoon?" said Lydia.
"How?" said Kip. "Make an image of her and stick pins in it?"
"No!" cried Laura in horror. "That might make her worse! If she's the way she is now, think what she'd be like with shooting pains!"
Everybody did, and shuddered at the thought.
"We could make an image and be kind to it," said Lydia. "Like the children in The Wonderful Garden."
"Sure," said Kip, "and soothe it and pet it and lay flattering unction to its soul!"
At the thought of soothing and petting an image that looked like Mrs. Witherspoon, all four gave way to giggles. Laura was the first to recover.
"No, don't you see?" she said. "That's exactly what we'll do, only we won't use any old image. We'll do it directly. To her!"
"You mean we could do her good turns," said James.
"And dance attendance on her and minister to her every wish," said Kip.
"Why not?" said Laura. "Then when she gradually gets used to us, she'll see how nice school children can be, and she won't mind having the school nearby at all!"
"I never thought," said Lydia, "that I'd ever go to any trouble for that old school!"
"But it won't be," said Kip. "It'll be a new one. Wait and see. Shall we start right now?"
"Better give her a chance to cool down," said James. "It's getting late, anyway. Better begin first thing in the morning."
"Let's go tell the well," said Laura.
And they went and told it in no uncertain terms.
The rest of that evening was spent in planning their campaign.
"We ought to go bearing gifts," said James. "Only what could we take? What have we got that she hasn't got?"
"I could bake my butterscotch brownies," said Laura. "Only she probably has scads of servants tempting her with tasty viands all day long."
"It's like picking out a Christmas present for somebody who has everything," said Lydia.
"I guess we'll just have to take her our own sweet selves," said Kip.
And in the end that is mainly what they did.
Only Laura did bake her butterscotch brownies and took a neat box of them along, just in case. And Lydia took along pencils and a drawing pad, but then she would probably have taken these no matter where they were going. And Kip took along his instant-developing camera. And James took along a half-worked-out idea in his mind.
Kip and Lydia led the way, because they knew where the mob-led queen lived. But as they left James and Laura's backyard, Kip suddenly smote his forehead.
"I was forgetting," he said. "Gordy!"
Lydia groaned.
"Who's Gordy?" said James.
"Gordon T. Witherspoon, Junior," said Kip.
"You mean she has young?" said Laura.
"Just one," said Kip. "Gordy."
"What's he like?" said James.
A discussion followed between Kip and Lydia as to whether Gordy was worse than his mother or just a little bit better. And they couldn't agree as to exactly what was so awful about Gordy, either. It wasn't that he was sissy and he wasn't downright mean, exactly.
"He's kind of white," said Kip, "and he forgets to close his mouth."
"He's got big hot wet hands," said Lydia. "I remember from that ghastly dancing school, when we were young."
"He hangs onto you," said Kip.
"He gets terrible ideas," said Lydia. "Still, maybe he won't be there."
"That's right." Kip brightened. "He's generally away. Private schools and camps. You can see why."
Laura paused as they went by the wishing well and gave it a final word. "This is the most important wish yet," she told it. "More important than the one about Miss King even. The whole future of our country depends on it. We've got to be educated."
And they set out.
Mrs. Witherspoon's stately mansion lay just down Silvermine Road, approached by way of a long curving sweep of blacktop driveway. Surprisingly enough, no one stopped the four children as they went along this. An army of gardeners was visible, but each one was too busy raking and clipping and operating sprinklers to notice.
"One thing she doesn't need," commented Kip, "is her lawn mowed."
Mrs. Witherspoon was entertaining a friend in the garden. Her aspect as she looked up was more forbidding than usual. But the four children summoned their courage and went straight up to her.
"Would you like some butterscotch brownies?" said Laura, holding the box out. "They're scrumptious."
Mrs. Witherspoon did not take the box. "If it's Girl Scout cookies," she said, "I took six dozen just the other day, and you weren't to come back for a year!"
Laura was incensed. "It certainly isn't," she said. "Mine are homemade!"
"Well, I don't want any," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "unless it's in aid of an accredited charity. No peddlers allowed."
James pushed in front of Laur
a. "We're not peddling," he said. "We're making a friendly call. We think neighbors ought to be neighborly. Isn't there some little thing we could do for you? Just name it. Would you like a sketch of your house by a prize winner in the art show?"
Lydia had already put pencil to pad. But Mrs. Witherspoon made a sound that in anyone less grand might have been described as a snort.
"The idea!" she said. "My house has been painted by famous artists. You can tell that little girl to stop drawing. You won't get a penny. Not a penny."
"Oh, there's no charge," said James. "It's free. Just part of our friendly home service."
"Humph!" said Mrs. Witherspoon. "That's what they all say, at first. You don't fool me for a minute. Not a minute." She advanced toward them, glaring threateningly.
"That's fine," said Kip. "Now stop right there. Don't move. Smile." His camera clicked. Mrs. Witherspoon had not smiled. "Now if you'll just wait a second while I develop it..."
Mrs. Witherspoon put a hand to her forehead. "This," she said, "is persecution."
"You poor thing, does your head ache?" said Laura. "Would you like me to rub the back of your neck?"
Mrs. Witherspoon was trembling, whether with rage or fear it was difficult to say. "Don't you dare," she said. "Don't you dare. You march right off this property before I call the police."
Everybody looked at James. Even he didn't seem able to think of any more friendly home services. "I guess it's no use," he said.
"Yes," said Laura, "what's the good of being kind to somebody who won't be kind back?"
"I don't think she knows how," said Lydia.
"Why, the impudence, I never heard!" said Mrs. Witherspoon.
"I'd slap her hands!" chimed in her friend.
The four children retreated the way they had come. "You see, Adele," they heard Mrs. Witherspoon saying as they departed, "that's the way it'd be all the time. Bad, impudent children trespassing on our grounds. Juvenile delinquents. We've got to block that school."
"You're right, Florence," said her friend. "I wasn't sure before, but after what I just heard, you're right! I'm changing my vote!"
"Now see what we've done!" said James, when they were safely behind a bay of concealing shrubbery. "We've made things worse. We've lost one of the few votes we had, even."
Everybody sat down on the grass in dejection.
"What'll we do now?" said Kip.
"Have some butterscotch brownies," said Laura.
There was a pause. Nobody could think of any bright ideas and besides all mouths were full. A voice broke the silence.
"What are you doing? Huh?" it said.
The four children looked up. A boy was staring at them over the top of the nearest shrub. His hair and eyelashes were light and his jaw was slack. James and Laura knew at once that it could only be Gordy.
"Can I have a cookie? Huh?" said that scion of grace and culture.
"Sure, help yourself," said Laura, passing him the box.
"Say, these are good," said Gordy explosively, through a mouthful of cookie.
James got up, dusting crumbs from his knees. "You can have what's left," he said coldly. "We're glutted." He started for the gate and the others followed.
"Where you going? Huh?" said Gordy, tagging right along. He put a hand on James's shoulder. James waited for him to take it off again, but he didn't.
"Est-ce nécessaire que ce goon come along avec us?" he muttered to the others.
"Quel horreur!" said Lydia.
"Pourquoi not?" said kind Laura.
"Sure. Il est harmless," said Kip.
"What you talking? French?" said Gordy.
"No, Choctaw," said James nastily. Inside he was seething. Not only was their whole day a grisly failure, but now they were saddled with this boring nincompoop. Everything was utterly and completely ruined. And they couldn't even have the satisfaction of going to the well and bawling it out or pleading with it to try harder, because the thought of letting a churl like this Gordy in on the magic was too degrading to contemplate.
"Whaddaya say we go swim in the reservoir? Whaddaya say?" said Gordy at this moment.
"Grow up, Gordy," said Lydia shortly. "With the whole river free to swim in, why do you want to go pollute the water supply?"
"'Cause it's more fun," said Gordy simply. "Sometimes the man chases you."
James and Lydia rolled their eyes at each other. What would they do with this mindless incubus? "Whaddaya say we walk to Wilton? Whaddaya say?" growled James in bitter mockery.
But Gordy was too thick-skinned to notice when he was being made fun of. Either that, or he had got used to it. "Okay," he said, beaming toothily.
And it turned out that was what they did. Or at least they started to. James wasn't quite sure where Wilton was, but he knew it was the next town. It ought to be a good long walk, he thought to himself savagely, as he stumped along the road. Maybe Gordy would get tired and go home. Or at least it would help kill the rest of this depressing morning.
But it turned out that Gordy knew a short cut through the woods. And it turned out that he could shinny up a tree better than James and almost as well as Kip. He got dirtier than any of the rest of them, too. Maybe it was because he was so white to start out with. Black collected under his nose and among his whitish eyebrows. This ought to have made him look even worse, but somehow it didn't. Somehow it made him look more like a man and less like a mouse. Pretty soon Laura and Lydia were chatting along happily with him, almost as though he were human.
"Honestly. Girls!" muttered James to Kip out of the side of his mouth. "No discrimination."
But as time wore on, even James was almost beginning to get used to Gordy. Until they came on the house in the woods.
They came on it about ten minutes after they left the main road. They went over a wooded hill that was still thick with last fall's oak leaves and there it was below them, little and old and gray and forgotten. A tangle of creepers framed its door. Maple tree branches pressed against the windows as though any minute they would break in and grow right through. Even from a distance you could tell that nobody lived there, and that nobody had, for years and years. Laura broke off what she was saying, and she and Lydia and James and Kip stood gazing at the house in awe.
"Hansel and Gretel," breathed Lydia.
"Snow White," added Laura.
"Whaddaya know?" said Gordy, his voice sounding unusually loud. "I never saw that before. We must have got off the path."
"Maybe it wasn't here before," said Laura.
"Huh?" said Gordy.
"Maybe it's only here on special days," said Laura.
"Once every hundred years," said Kip.
"Or when special people walk by," said Lydia.
"Whaddaya mean?" said Gordy. "You talk crazy." He picked up a stone. "Whaddaya bet I can't hit one of the windows from here?"
It was then that James gave Gordy up for the second time, and completely. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He just turned his back on Gordy and walked away, thrusting his hands in his pockets for fear he would hit him.
Lydia's reaction was different. She took Gordy by both shoulders and whirled him around to face her. "What's the matter with you?" she said. "Is that all you can think of when you see a wonderful old house like that, breaking its windows?"
Gordy looked surprised. "Well? What am I supposed to think?"
"Don't you have any finer feelings at all?" said Lydia. "Are you just base? You might think all kinds of things. You might think about history, and time, and all the years it's stood there and all the people who've lived in it. You might think of poetry:
'"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller.' or 'The House on the Hill':
'They are all gone away,
The house is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.'"
Gordy was sincerely baffled. "I don't get it. It's not on a hill, it's in a valley. What's so awful if I break a window? They're mostly smashed in already, anyway."
&
nbsp; Lydia rightly ignored this. "Or," she said, "it might make you think of magic."
"Huh?" said Gordy. "Magic is for kids."
"Oh, is it?" said Laura, joining in. "That's all you know!"
"Yipes!" said James despairingly to Kip. "That does it. Here we go!"
Now Laura and Lydia were telling Gordy all about the well and the magic and the adventures so far, except that they left out about the mob-led queen, out of consideration for his feelings, base though they might be.
Gordy stood looking from one to another of them with his mouth open, waiting for the signal to laugh. Then it dawned on him that they might be serious.
"You crazy?" he said. "You mean it?" He saw that they did. "Okay. If you're magic, c'mon! Show me some magic tricks!"
"We can't," Laura told him. "We've got the well working on an important wish now. It's too secret to talk about. Trying to make it do anything else would distract it."
At this, Gordy's behavior sank to lower depths. Uttering a jeering laugh, he went prancing and hooting down the slope toward the house, waving his arms in a manner that James could only call asinine. The others hurried after, from some instinct to protect the house from this mindless mockery.
"Look, ma, I'm magic!" yelled Gordy. "Abracadabra! Allez-oop!" And he made an amateurish magic pass at the door of the house.
It was then that it happened.
Slowly, creakingly, the door swung inward and remained invitingly (or forbiddingly) open.
Everybody looked at everybody else.
"A coincidence?" said James.
"Or the wind," said Kip.
"Maybe it isn't," said Laura. "Maybe it's the magic still working on that wish. Maybe we're meant to go in."
"What connection could this place have?" said James. "Anyway, the magic wouldn't work through him! It wouldn't stoop to it."
"Maybe it would," said Laura. "You never can tell with magic. It's very democratic."
Gordy was standing rooted to the spot. His face (between the patches of dirt) looked whiter than ever. "Whaddaya say we go on home?" he said now. "Whaddaya say?"
This craven utterance awoke James's courage. "Come on," he said. He and Kip strode forward manfully into the house, and the girls and Gordy followed.
Inside all was dust and neglect and the nibble marks of squirrels. Yet the walls were covered with wonderful old paneling that was only slightly damaged, and what furniture there was standing about looked old enough to be antique at least. The greenery pressing against the small windows outside shut out most of the light, but as the eyes of the five children became accustomed to the darkness, Lydia suddenly gasped and pointed. "Look!"
