Hugh Lofting - The Twilight of Magic

‘Well?’ asked the Applewoman gently after a moment.

Anne again glanced across at her brother, this time as if for help.

‘We thought we ought to do something to try to aid him,’ Giles put in. ‘That’s why we came to you.’

‘To me?’ said Agnes. ‘Well, well! And did you tell anyone you were coming?’

The children shook their heads.

‘This needs thinking over,’ said Agnes, more, it seemed, to herself than to anyone else. She got up and moved over again to the back of the hut, where she disappeared behind a ragged curtain. The two cats rose also, like pages waiting on a queen, and followed her. At once the children slid together on the bench. And Anne whispered:

‘What do you think of her, Giles?’

‘I think she’s fine,’ her brother whispered back. ‘But those cats? My, they’re strange!’

‘Did you notice the way she seemed to know what you’re going to say before you say it?’ asked Anne.

‘Yes,’ answered Giles. ‘But you’re not afraid of that, are you?’

‘Oh, no. I ought to be, I suppose, if it’s magic. But somehow I don’t seem to be. I like her—a lot. What a funny, queer little room, Giles, isn’t it?’ Anne’s glance swept round the inside of the hut as she bit into a ripe peach. ‘Copper saucepans on the walls. No pictures. Old wooden chests—I wonder what’s inside them. A sleeping-basket for the cats—I suppose they make their own beds. And the apple barrow, over there, see the wheels sticking out from under the cover full of patches. Old clothes and a bonnet hanging on the peg. Oh, I do hope she’ll be able to help us about Father’s troubles, Giles. But she seems dreadfully poor herself ... Sh! Here she comes back again.’

Agnes hobbled forward to the bench at the fire. The two cats followed her into the room. Then they went off into a far corner, sat down side by side like a pair of soldiers and watched the blaze from a distance.

‘Well now, young people,’ said the Applewoman, ‘are you aware that you might get into serious trouble if your parents learned that you had been here?’

‘Yes, surely,’ said Anne. ‘But, oh, it’s so important that something be done for Father, Mother Agnes. And you were the only one we could think of who might be able to help.’

‘I see, I see,’ muttered the old woman ... ‘You know what folks call me, I suppose?’ she asked, suddenly looking at Giles with black eyes wide open, piercing.

‘Shragga the Witch,’ murmured the boy in almost a whisper, not meeting her gaze.

‘That’s it. “Shragga the Witch”,’ she nodded. ‘A lot they know, the fools! Tell me, do I look like a witch to you?’

‘No, indeed,’ said Giles quickly. ‘You look to me like a very—er—sensible woman. But we can’t quite understand those cats. That one over there, now, he has a sort of queer, creepy look in his eyes when he stares at me. Seems almost as though he were listening, taking in everything that’s said.’

Agnes chuckled.

‘Would you like him to come over here and join us by the fire? ... All right. Here he comes, look.’

The big sleek creature, with the firelight glinting green in his eyes, stalked slowly across the floor and planted himself solemnly at Giles’s feet.

‘But there you are!’ cried the boy. ‘You didn’t call him, you gave him no order, and yet he came as soon as you wanted him. How do you do it?’

‘You mean, how does he do it?’ said Agnes. ‘Well, I’m not sure that I know, myself. They are a pair of ordinary cats to look at, as you see. Larger than most—but very much cleverer. They were born twins, kittens from the same litter, you know. Perhaps it’s because we have lived together so long. They are older than either of you. And they are both very fond of me—quite jealous about it, sometimes, it would seem. Though, strange to say, they never fight and have never cried or made a single sound since I’ve had them. When they were younger I used to teach them all manner of tricks. It was very easy with such clever creatures. But now they seem to teach themselves—or one another. Sometimes I fancy that they are continually on the watch to know, or guess at, what I want, what I am going to do next. And that seems to sharpen up their wits. For anyone can see that they watch one another as well as watching me. But, be that as it may, they certainly often carry out my wishes without being told. And, after all, what’s strange about that? The same thing happens with people. But we are getting away from your father and his troubles.’

‘You will be able to help him, yes?’ asked Anne eagerly.

‘Well, now,’ said Agnes, ‘wait a minute. First of all I want you children to have one or two things quite clear in your minds. Since I am called a witch, I am in daily danger of being hauled up before the magistrates and perhaps even of being burned for my sins.’

Both the cats suddenly sprang on to her lap together. Anne fancied that one looked fierce and the other looked sad. Agnes smiled, patted them and pushed them gently down.

‘Therefore,’ she went on, ‘it is necessary that we go about the matter with much care. For there may be danger in it—for you and others. I don’t want you to tell any lies, to your parents or anyone else. But for the present I want you to keep your little mouths shut very tight.’

Both the children tried to close their jaws at once. But as Anne’s mouth was full of peach, and her brother’s full of pear, they only succeeded in looking like two bad cases of toothache. Agnes laughed.

‘I only meant that you mustn’t talk. No one knows you came here—’

‘Oh, excuse me,’ Giles interrupted. ‘We did ask two people how to find your home: Michael the Blind Man, and Luke.’

‘That’s no matter of consequence,’ said Agnes. ‘Old Michael is no gossip, and he doesn’t know whether you got here or no. As for Luke, he is a good boy. I’ve been trying to set that twisted joint in his leg. You can talk to him as much as you want. But your parents don’t know you have been here. And no one else must know. Remember, now. And don’t let yourselves get into a position where you’ll be questioned. And try’—Agnes rose from the bench and placed a hand on the shoulder of each—‘try not to ask me too many questions either,’ she ended slowly.

She moved over to the door and opened it.

‘It is time for you to be going,’ she said. ‘Come back tomorrow morning and—well, we will see what can be done. Good-bye!’

Next morning, the children were so anxious to get back to the Applewoman’s home that they hardly ate any breakfast at all. Luckily for them, their parents had not yet risen. And only the old cook Elsbeth grumbled something after them about not finishing their porridge, as they sped out of the house towards the garden gate.

The town at that early hour was very quiet, with almost empty streets. Fifteen minutes of running brought them again to the door of Agnes’s hut.

This time they did not have to knock. The door swung open as they approached and the old woman, with a bonnet on her head, came out to greet them.

‘It’s a good day for the seashore,’ said she. ‘Let’s go down and hunt for shells and pebbles while the tide is out.’

‘Yes, but we won’t forget about Father, will we?’ asked Anne.

‘Oh, no,’ crooned Agnes, in a strange, sing-song voice. ‘You know, I never forget anything. Often I wish I could. Come along, youngsters.’

Silently the two children followed her down the funny, winding streets, past wharves and landing walls, till a fresh sea wind struck their faces. It set the thrill of adventure tingling through their minds. Just the sharp, clean scent of it conjured up glories of travel, voyage pictures which they had never known but which they hoped some day to see.