"Be quiet, Paul," Carey urged him. "You'll make him angry." Paul put his hand over his mouth, but he laughed just the same.
At last the witch doctor stopped, just in front of Miss Price. He threw back his head and made a weird howl, a howl that seemed to echo across the island. Miss Price looked back at him through her dark glasses. The children could not see her expression.
Suddenly, after a moment, there was another howl, higher, weirder, more piercing. The witch doctor lowered the broomstick. There was something about his attitude that seemed bewildered.
Suddenly Carey laughed. She gripped her hands together. "Charles," she whispered excitedly, "Miss Price did it. She did that last one." The witch doctor recovered from his surprise. He gave two jumps in the air, and then he howled again. It was a howl to end all howls. It went on and on. Carey imagined it echoing out across the reef, across the lagoon, across the darkening sea. Then the witch doctor stopped. He stared at Miss Price. He seemed to be saying, "Beat that if you can." Miss Price moistened her lips. She wriggled her shoulders as if her bonds constrained her. Then she pursed up her mouth.
This time it was a whistle-a whistle so agonizingly piercing that it hurt one to hear it. It was like a steam engine in anguish, a needlepoint of aching shrillness. The audience began to move, Carey gasped, and the witch doctor clapped his hands to his ears and hopped round as if he were in pain.
When it stopped, there was a murmur among the dancers. The witch doctor swung round. He glared at them angrily.
"Hrrmph!" he grunted, and approached Miss Price once more.
She looked back at him impassively. The dark glasses were a great help. Carey crossed her thumbs. She remembered all Miss Price had said in the garden, about how few spells she knew by heart, how everything went out of her head if she were fussed, how you had to have something to turn into something and something to turn it 'with. "Oh, Miss Price!" she breathed, "Miss Price!" as people call the name of their side at a football match.
The witch doctor held up the broomstick; with a twist he flung it into the air. It circled up into the darkness and came down turning slowly. He caught it with his other hand without looking at it.
There was a murmur of approbation among the crowd. They thought that was clever. The witch doctor did a few satisfied jumps.
Miss Price laughed. (Good, thought Carey, she isn't fussed.) The witch doctor glared at her. She sat quite still; curiously still, thought Carey-but something was happening. The children stared hard. There was a space between Miss Price and the ground-a space that grew. Miss Price, still in a sitting position, had risen three feet in the air.
There was a murmur of amazement. Miss Price held her position. Carey could see her teeth were clenched and her face had become red. "Go it, Miss Price," she murmured. "Hold it." She gripped Charles's arm. Miss Price came down, plonk, rather suddenly. From her pained expression Carey guessed she had bitten her tongue, but the shock had broken the creepers that bound her hands. Miss Price put her fingers in her mouth as if to feel if her tongue were still there; then she rubbed her wrists and glanced sideways at the children.
The witch doctor did a'few wild turns round the circle. He leaped into the air. He shouted, he twirled the broomstick. Carey noticed that every time he came too near the audience, they shrank back a little. When he felt the onlookers were sufficiently subdued and suitably impressed, he stopped his caperings and flung Miss Price's broomstick away from him. He then sat down on his heels and stared at the broomstick. Nothing seemed to happen. The man was still. And so was the broomstick. But there was a waiting feeling in the air, something that prevented Carey from turning her eyes away toward Miss Price.
"LOOK," said Charles suddenly. There was a gasp among the spectators, an amazed murmur. The broomstick was moving, in little jerks as if pulled by a string, toward the witch doctor.
"Goodness!" said Charles. A funny feeling was creeping down his spine. This stirred him more than anything Miss Price had done. Miss Price, too, leaned forward. She pushed her dark glasses up on her forehead. Carey could see her expression. It was the face of one who was deeply and absorb-edly interested. Steadily the broomstick moved on toward the witch doctor, who sat as still as a statue made of stone. Silently he seemed to be calling it. If there had been pins on the island, you could have heard one drop.
Miss Price stared a little longer at the broomstick, and then she pulled her glasses down over her eyes again and bent her head. She looked almost as though she had fallen into a doze. The broomstick stopped within a few feet of the witch doctor. It moved no further.
After a moment, the witch doctor raised his head. He looked round the circle, and then he looked back again at Miss Price. She still sat with head sunk forward on her chest. The witch doctor edged himself forward, on his behind, a little closer to the broomstick. "Cheating," whispered Carey furiously.
The broomstick again began to move, but this time it moved away from the witch doctor; not in little jerks, but steadily, surely, it slid toward Miss Price. The witch doctor hurriedly resumed his old position. The broomstick stopped.
"Oh, dear," exclaimed Carey. "I can't bear it!" Then reluctantly, in jerks, it began to move once more toward the witch doctor. Miss Price bent her head still lower and clenched her hands. Carey could see her knuckles shining in the firelight. The broomstick hesitated; then, with a rush, it slid across the sandy ground straight into Miss Price's lap. She gripped it firmly. She threw up her head. The witch doctor leapt to his feet. He gave three jumps, one awful howl, and moved toward Miss Price; in his hand gleamed something long and sharp. Gripping the broomstick, Miss Price faced him sternly. Her feet were tied; she could not move.
Carey cried out and hid her eyes, but Paul, sitting up on his heels, shouted excitedly: "A frog! A yellow frog! Miss Price! You did that lying down!" Miss Price glanced at Paul, a sideways thankful look. She gasped. Then she held out her two arms toward the witch doctor as if to ward him off with the broomstick. He stopped, with knees bent, about to jump. Then he seemed to shrink and dwindle. He sank downwards into his legs as if the heat of the fire was melting him. The children held their breaths as they watched. Every part of him was shrinking at the same time. It reminded Carey of what happened to a lead soldier when you threw it on the fire, but instead of a blob of silver, the witch doctor melted into a minute blob of gold, a tiny yellowish object, barely distinguishable upon the sandy ground.
"You see!" screamed Paul. "She did it! She couldn't do it quickly, but she did it!" Carey leaned forward, trying to see better. Suddenly the blob jumped. Carey shrieked. Paul laughed. He was very excited. "It's only a frog," he crowed, "a tuppenny-ha'-penny little frog ... a silly old frog." Carey slapped him.
"Be quiet," she hissed. "We're not safe yet." There was a strange silence among the dancers. They seemed afraid-afraid of the frog, afraid of Miss Price, afraid even of the children.