Carey cleared her throat. "Aunt Beatrice," she said, "could _ we take the peaches to Miss Price?" "That's very thoughtful of you, Carey. I don't see why not, if you know where she lives." Paul seemed about to burst into speech but was silenced by a kick from Charles; aggrievedly, he swallowed his last mouthful of rice pudding.
"Yes, Aunt Beatrice, we do know where she lives." It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when the children knocked at Miss Price's neat front door. The path on which they stood was gaily bordered with flowers,, and through the half-open windows of the sitting room, Miss Price's dimity curtains fluttered in the breeze. The door was opened by Agnes, a village girl who served Miss Price for a few hours daily.
As the children entered the little sitting room, for a moment they felt very shy. There lay Miss Price on the sofa, her bandaged foot raised up on pillows. She still looked pale, but now her hair was tidy and her white blouse spotlessly neat.
"What lovely peaches! Thank you, my dears, and thank your aunt. Very kind of her, I'm sure. Sit down, sit down." The children sat down gingerly on the little spindly chairs.
"Agnes is making us some tea. You must stay and keep me company. Carey, can you open that card table?" The children bustled round and helped to set the room for tea. A little table near Miss Price for the tea tray and a white cloth on the card table for the scones, the bread and butter, the quince jelly, and the ginger cake.
They enjoyed their tea, and when it was over, they helped Agnes to clear away. Then Miss Price showed Charles and Carey how to play backgammon and lent Paul a large book full of pictures called Paradise Lost. Paul liked the book very much. He liked the smell of it and the gilt-edged pages.
When they had finished the game of backgammon and it seemed that it must be nearly time to go home, Carey took her courage in both hands.
"Miss Price," she said hesitatingly, "if it isn't rude to ask- are you a witch?" There was silence for a moment, and Carey could feel her heart beating. Paul looked up from his book.
Very carefully, Miss Price closed the backgammon board and laid it on the little table beside the sofa. She took up her knitting and unfolded it.
"Well," she said slowly, "I am and I'm not." Paul'sat back on his heels. "You mean, you are sort of," he suggested.
Miss Price threw him a glance. "I mean, Paul," she said quietly, "that I am studying to be a witch." She knitted a few stitches, pursing up her mouth.
"Oh, Miss Price!" cried Carey warmly. "How terribly clever of you!" It was the best thing she could have said. Miss Price flushed, but she looked pleased.
"How did you first think of it, Miss Price?" "Well, ever since I was a girl, I've had a bit of a gift for witchcraft, but somehow-what with piano lessons and looking after my mother-I never seemed to have the time to take it up seriously." Paul was staring at Miss Price, as if to drink in every detail of her appearance. "I don't think you're a wicked witch," he said at last.
Miss Price dropped her eyes unhappily. "I know, Paul," she admitted in a low voice. "You're quite right. I started too late in life. That's the whole trouble." "Is being wicked the hardest part?" asked Carey.
"It is for me," Miss Price told her rather sadly. "But there 2O are people who have a natural gift for it." "Paul has," said Charles.
Paul came nearer and sat down on a chair. He was still staring at Miss Price, as if he longed to ask her something. After a minute, he found courage. "Could you just do a little bit of magic for us now?" "Oh, Paul," exclaimed Carey, "don't worry Miss Price- she can't do magic with a sprained ankle." "Yes, she could," protested Paul hotly, "she could do it lying down, couldn't you, Miss Price?" "Well," said Miss Price, "I am a little tired, Paul. But I'll just do a little quick one, and then you must all go home. There you are!" Carey and Charles looked around quickly, following the direction of Miss Price's eyes. Paul's chair was empty. Paul had gone-but where he had been sitting perched a little yellow frog.
Before Carey or Charles had time to exclaim, Paul was back again, still staring expectantly at Miss Price.
"Oh," cried Carey, with a gasp, "that was wonderful, wonderful! How did you do it?" She felt breathless and almost afraid. Magic-a spell-she had seen it with her own eyes.
"I didn't see anything," complained Paul.
Carey looked at him impatiently. "Oh, don't be silly, Paul. You turned into a frog. You must have felt it." Paul's lips trembled. "I didn't feel anything," he said in a squeaky little voice. But nobody heard him. Carey was staring at Miss Price with shining eyes.
"Miss Price," she pointed out almost reproachfully, "you could have done that at the church concert, instead of singing." Miss Price laid down her knitting. A strange look crept into her face, and she looked hard at Carey as if she were seeing her for the first time. Nervously, Carey drew back in her chair.
"Although you sing so nicely," she added quickly.
But Miss Price did not seem to hear. There was a wild light in her eyes, and her lips moved quietly, as if she were reciting. "There must be some way," she was saying slowly. "There-must-be-some-way ..." "Some way of what?" asked Charles after a moment's uncomfortable silence.
Miss Price smiled, showing her long yellow teeth.
"Of keeping your mouths shut," she rapped out.
Carey was shocked. This was far from ladylike. "Oh, Miss Price!" she exclaimed unhappily.
"Of keeping your mouths shut," repeated Miss Price slowly, smiling more unpleasantly than ever.
Paul made a little wriggling movement in his chair. "Now she's getting wicked," he whispered to Carey in a pleased voice.
Carey drew away from him as if she had not heard. She looked worried. "What do you mean, Miss Price? You mean we mustn't tell anyone that-" She hesitated.
"That you're a witch?" put in Paul.
But Miss Price was still staring, as if she neither heard nor saw. "In just a minute I'll think of something," she said, as if to herself. "In just a minute-" Then Carey did something that Charles thought very brave. She got up from her chair and sat down beside Miss Price on the sofa.
"Listen, Miss Price," she said. "We did try to help you when you hurt your ankle. There isn't any need to use any kind of nasty magic on us. If you want to stop us telling, you could do it in a nice kind of way." Miss Price looked at her. "How could I do it in a nice kind of way?" she asked, but she sounded more reasonable.
"Well," said Carey, "you could give us something-something magic-and if we told anyone about you, we'd have to forfeit it. You know, like a game. Directly we told, the thing would stop being magic." "What sort of thing?" asked Miss Price, but as if the idea held possibilities.
Charles leaned forward. "Yes," he put in, "a ring or something that we could twist and a slave conies. And, if we told about you, the slave wouldn't come any more. Couldn't you do that?" Miss Price looked thoughtful. "I couldn't manage a slave," she said after a moment.