We screamed with joy! The Rich Man jumped when we screamed. The Rich Man's name was Mr. Trent.
"And Mr. Trent shall be the Black Woman who pushes you all about!" we screamed.
"I will not!" said Mr. Trent.
But Carol had already tied a black velvet ribbon on the Rich Man's leg to show that he was!
Our Aunt Esta seemed more encouraged every minute. She stood us all up in front of her. Even Father. She read from her book. It was a poem. The poem said:
Now come ye all to the Witch's Ball,
Ye Great, ye Small,
Ye Short, ye Tall,
Come one, Come all!
"I will not!" said the Rich Man.
He sweated.
"Oh Shucks! Be a Sport!" said my Father.
"I will not!" said the Rich Man.
He glared.
Our Aunt Esta tried to read from her book and wave her wand at the same time. It waved the Rich Man in the nose.
"Foul Menial!" waved our Aunt Esta. "Bring in the Captives!"
"Who?" demanded the Rich Man.
"You!" said our Aunt Esta.
The Rich Man brought us in! Especially Father! He bound us all up in silver paper chains! He put a silver paper ring through my Father's beautiful nose!
"Oh, I say," protested my Father. "It was 'guests' that I understood we were to be! Not captives!"
"Ha!" sniffed the Rich Man. "Be a Sport!"
They both glared.
Our Aunt Esta had cakes in a box. They seemed to be very good cakes. "Now in about ten minutes," read our Aunt Esta from her book, "you will all begin to feel very queer."
"Oh-Lordy!" said my Father.
"I knew it!" said the Rich Man. "I knew it all the time! From the very first mouthful-my stomach--"
"Is there no antidote?" cried my Mother.
Our Aunt Esta took off her horn-rimmed spectacles. She sniffed.
"Sillies!" she said. "This is just a Game, you know!"
"Nevertheless," said the Rich Man, "I certainly feel very queer."
"When you all feel equally queer," said our Aunt Esta coldly, "we will proceed with the Game."
We all felt equally queer just as soon as we could.
Our Aunt Esta made a speech. She made it from her little book.
"Poor helpless Captives (said the Speech). You are now entirely in my power! Yet fear not! If everybody does just exactly as I say, all may yet be well!"
"Hear! Hear!" said my Father.
The Rich Man suddenly seemed to like my Father very much. He reached over and nudged him in the ribs.
"Shut up!" he whispered. "The less you say the sooner it will be over!"
My Father said less at once. He seemed very glad to know about it.
Our Aunt Esta pointed to a boxful of little envelopes.
"Foul Menial," she said. "Bring the little envelopes!"
The Rich Man brought them. But not very cheerfully.
"Oh, of course, it's all right to call me that," he said. "But I tell you quite frankly that my daughter Posie's maid will never stand for it! Her name is Elizabeth Lou!-Mrs. Jane-Frank-Elizabeth Lou-even!"
Our Aunt Esta looked at the Rich Man. Her look was scornfuller and scornfuller.
"All Witch's servants," she said, "are called 'Foul Menial!'-From the earliest classical records of fairy tale and legend down to--"
"Not in our times," insisted the Rich Man. "I defy you in any Intelligence Office in New York to find a-a--"
Our Aunt Esta brushed the contradiction aside. She frowned. Not just at the Rich Man. But at everybody. "We will proceed with the Rehearsal-as written!" she said. She gruffed her voice. She thumped her wand on the floor. "Each captive," she said, "will now step forward and draw a little envelope from the box."
Each captive stepped forward and drew a little envelope from the box.
Inside each envelope was a little card. Very black ink words were written on each card.
"Captives, stand up very straight!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive stood very straight.
"Knock your knees together with fear!" ordered our Aunt Esta.
Every captive knocked his knees together with fear.
"Strain at your chains!" ordered our Aunt Esta. "But not too hard! Remembering they are paper!"
Every captive strained at his chains but not too hard! Remembering they were paper!
Our Aunt Esta seemed very much pleased. She read another poem from her book. The poem said:
Imprisoned thus in my Witchy Wiles,
Robbed of all hope, all food, all smiles,
A Fearful Doom o'er-hangs thy Rest,
Unless thou meet my Dread Behest!
"Oh, dear-oh, dear-oh, dear-oh, dear!" cried our Mother. "Can nothing save us?"
My Father burst his nose-ring!
Rosalee giggled!
Carol and I jumped up and down! We clapped our hands!
The Rich Man cocked his head on one side. He looked at our Aunt Esta. At her funny black pointed hat. At her scraggly gray wig. At her great horn-rimmed spectacles. At the hump on her back. "U-m-m," he said. "What do you mean,-'witch-y wiles?'"
"Silence!" said our Aunt Esta. "Read your cards!"
We read our cards.
Carol's card said "PINK BREEZE" on it. And "SLIMY FROG."
Our Aunt Esta poked Carol twice with her wand. "Pitiful Wretch!" said our Aunt Esta. "It is now two o'clock.-Unless you are back here exactly at three o'clock-bearing a Pink Breeze in your hands-you shall be turned for all time and eternity into a Slimy Green Frog!-Go hence!"
Carol went hence. He henced as far as the Mulberry Tree on the front lawn. He sat down on the grass with the card in his hand. He read the card. And read it. And read it. It puzzled him very much.
"Pitiful Wretch, go hence!" cried our Aunt Esta.
He henced as far as the Larch Tree this time. And sat down all over again. And puzzled. And puzzled.
"Go hence, I say, Pitiful Wretch!" insisted our Aunt Esta.
My Mother didn't like Carol to be called a "Pitiful Wretch."-It was because he was dumb, I suppose. When my Mother doesn't like anything it spots her cheek-bones quite red. Her cheek-bones were spotted very red.
"Stop your fussing!" said our Aunt Esta. "And attend to your own business!"
My Mother attended to her own business. The business of her card said "SILVER BIRD" and "HORSE'S HOOF."
Even our Aunt Esta looked a bit flabbergasted.
"Oh, dear-oh, dear," said our Aunt Esta. "I certainly am sorry that it was you who happened to draw that one!-And all dressed up in white too as you are! But after all-" she jerked with a great toss of her scraggly wig, "a Game is a Game! And there can be no concessions!"
"No, of course not!" said my Mother. "Lead me to the Slaughter!"
"There is not necessarily any slaughter connected with it," said our Aunt Esta very haughtily. But she hit my Mother only once with her wand.
"Frail Creature," she said. "On the topmost branch of the tallest tree in the world there is a silver bird with a song in his throat that has never been sung! Unless you bring me this bird singing you are hereby doomed to walk with the clatter of a Horse's Hoof!"
"Horse's Hoof?" gasped my Mother. "With the clatter of a Horse's Hoof?"
My Father was pretty mad. "Why, it's impossible!" he said. "She's as light as Thistle-Down! Even in her boots it's like a Fairy passing!"
"Nevertheless," insisted our Aunt Esta. "She shall walk with the clatter of a Horse's Hoof-unless she brings me the Silver Bird."
My Mother started at once for the Little Woods. "I can at least search the Tallest Tree in my world!" she said.