"Norton, Mary - Bedknob and Broomstick 01-02 - Bedknob and Broomstick" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Mary)

"In the night."
Paul looked stubborn. He felt as if he might be going to cry. Miss Price always passed so quickly. She would have been gone before he could call anyone, and they would have said at once, "Don't be silly, Paul." Besides, it had been his secret, his nightly joy. His bed was beside the window, and when the moon was full, it shone on his pillow and wakened him. It had been exciting to lie there, with his eyes fixed on the pale sky beyond the ragged blackness of the cedar boughs. Some nights he did not wake up. Other nights he woke up and she did not come. But he saw her often enough, and each time he saw her, she had learned to fly a little better.
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At first she had wobbled so, balanced sideways on the stick, that he wondered why she did not ride astride. She would grip the broomstick with one hand and try to hold her hat on with the other, and her feet, in their long shoes, looked so odd against the moonlit sky. Once she fell-and the broomstick came down quite slowly, like an umbrella blown inside out, with Miss Price clinging to the handle. Paul had watched her anxiously until she reached the ground. That time she landed safely.
Partly, he did not tell because he wanted to be proud of Miss Price. He did not want the others to see her until she was really good at it-until, perhaps, she could do tricks on a broomstick and look confident instead of scared. Once when she had lifted both hands in the air at the same time, Paul nearly clapped. He knew that was hard to do even on a bicycle.
"You see, Paul," Carey grumbled, "it was really very selfish; now Miss Price has hurt her ankle, she won't be flying again for ages. Charles and I may never have the chance of seeing her!"
Later, as they were solemnly eating lunch in the high, dark dining room, Aunt Beatrice startled them by saying suddenly, "Poor Miss Price!" They all looked up, as if she had read their secret thoughts, and were relieved when she went on calmly, "It seems she has fallen off her bicycle and sprained her ankle. So painful, poor soul. I must send her down some peaches."
Paul sat with his spoon halfway to his mouth, and his eyes moved round from Charles to Carey.
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
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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.