Three Witch Tales Read online

  Also by Ruth Chew

  NO SUCH THING AS A WITCH

  WHAT THE WITCH LEFT

  MAGIC IN THE PARK

  THE TROUBLE WITH MAGIC

  THREE WISHING TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  THE MAGIC COIN

  THE MAGIC CAVE

  THE WISHING TREE

  This is a 2013 Stepping Stones ebook.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Witch’s Buttons copyright © 1974 by Ruth Chew

  Witch’s Cat copyright © 1994 by Ruth Chew

  The Witch’s Garden copyright © 1978 by Ruth Chew

  Cover art copyright © 2013 by David Hohn

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books,

  a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  The three works comprising this collection were originally published separately by Scholastic, Inc., New York, in 1974, 1978, and 1994.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks and A Stepping Stone Book and the colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web!

  SteppingStonesBooks.com

  randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  eISBN: 978-0-449-81588-5

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  The Witch’s Buttons Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Witch’s Cat Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  The Witch’s Garden Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  “Oh, Sandy, don’t tell me you’ve already lost a button!” Mrs. James was changing the diaper on Sandy’s baby sister. She was tired and cross.

  Sandy had just come home from school. She looked down at the brass buttons on her new navy blue coat. There were only five instead of six. “They were all here when I left school. I must have lost it on the way home,” she said. “I’ll go back and look for it.”

  Sandy walked the four blocks to school. She was careful to go just the way she had come. She looked among the dry leaves in the gutters, under the parked cars, and all over the sidewalk, but she didn’t find the button. At the school Sandy turned around and started back toward home again. She kept on searching for the button.

  “What are you looking for?” Janet Kramer had come out of an apartment house on the corner. She was carrying roller skates.

  “A button,” Sandy said. She wasn’t sure she liked Janet. She was a nosy kid, always wanting to know everything, and full of advice.

  “Oh,” Janet said. “I see. It’s off your coat. Those buttons with anchors on them are common. I’ll bet we have some in our button bag. Come into my house and I’ll look.”

  Sandy wondered if Janet had meant that the button was cheap, but she followed the other girl through the brick gate into the apartment house.

  Janet’s apartment was on the first floor. She had a key to her front door. “Mom’s still at work,” Janet said. She left the skates by the door.

  The button bag was in the bottom of a sewing cabinet. It was an old canvas bag filled with dozens of buttons of all kinds. Janet dumped them out onto the kitchen table, and the two girls began to search through them.

  “My grandmother used to cut buttons off old clothes and save them,” Janet explained. “She gave Mom this bag.”

  Sandy was so interested in the buttons that she almost forgot to look for one to match those on her coat. Some of the buttons had animals carved on them. Some had pieces of colored glass like jewels. Sandy found one made of bone. It was shaped like a little man.

  Janet picked out three brass buttons with anchors on them. The first was too small. The second had a dark background behind the anchor. The ring on the back of the third was broken.

  “No luck,” Janet said. She began to scoop up the buttons and throw them back into the bag.

  Sandy held onto the one shaped like a little man.

  “That wouldn’t look right on your coat, Sandy,” Janet said, “but you can have it if you want it. Maybe you could use it on a Halloween costume.”

  “Thanks.” Sandy put the button into her pocket. “But what shall I do about my coat button?”

  “They sell buttons in the trimming store on Thirteenth Avenue,” Janet said.

  “I have a quarter.” Sandy put her hand into her pocket. She felt the quarter, and she felt the button. The button seemed to twist in her hand. She pulled it out and looked at it. There was a grin on the little man’s face. Sandy almost dropped the button. “Janet,” she whispered, “it’s alive!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Janet said. “Come on. We have to get to the trimming store before it closes.”

  Thirteenth Avenue in Brooklyn is crowded with all kinds of little stores. Many of them show much of their goods in cardboard boxes on the sidewalk. Sandy and Janet passed stalls of fresh vegetables and stands where dried fish were sold.

  On Friday afternoon the Jewish-owned stores close before sundown. The two girls reached the trimming store while it was still open. They walked through the narrow aisles, past the counters covered with gold braid, ball fringe, lace of all colors, and boxes of sequins. At the back of the store a young man with a beard was talking to a little gray-haired woman.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t have any old or unusual buttons. We only stock what is most asked for. You might try an antiques shop. Sorry I can’t help you.” The young man turned to Sandy. “What can I do for you, young lady?”

&nbs
p; Sandy pointed to the buttons on her coat. “Please,” she said, “do you have a button to match these?”

  The young man made his face very solemn. “Well,” he said, with a wink at the little gray-haired lady who was still standing at the counter, “I don’t know. Those are very rare.”

  “He thinks he’s funny,” Janet whispered. “Look at the box on the shelf behind him.”

  Sandy saw a box with four sizes of buttons just like hers glued to the side of it. She felt in her pocket for the quarter. By mistake she took out the little bone button that was shaped like a man.

  Before she could put the button away, a musical voice said, “Just a minute, please. May I see that?”

  It was the little gray-haired woman. Sandy looked at her. She had a round face with a curvy mouth, a pointed nose, and wide-set greeny-blue eyes. She held out her hand for the button. Sandy thought she could feel the button squirm.

  Sandy held the little button-man up for the woman to see, but she kept a tight grip on it.

  The young man with the beard put the box of brass buttons on the counter. “Let’s look in here.”

  Janet fished out one of the right size. “How much is this?” she asked. She nudged Sandy to pay attention.

  “They’re six for a dollar,” the young man said.

  “I only need one.” Sandy put the button-man back into her pocket and took out the quarter.

  The young man smiled. “We’ll make it ten cents.” He took the quarter and gave Sandy a dime and a nickel change. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to close the store.”

  The girls left the trimming store. Janet said, “He turned out to be a nice guy after all. Only I wish people wouldn’t tease.”

  Sandy and Janet walked back down Thirteenth Avenue. They passed the carpet store and walked between the tall rolls of linoleum which stood on the sidewalk. When they came to the Italian bakery they stopped to look at the pastry in the window.

  “Sandy,” Janet whispered, “isn’t that the woman who was in the trimming store? Do you think she’s following us?”

  Sandy looked. The little gray-haired woman was coming toward them. Sandy began to walk fast. Janet ran after her. “What’s the matter, Sandy?”

  “She wants the magic button,” Sandy said.

  Janet made a face. “Oh, Sandy!” Then she said, “Anyway, it’s a game. Come on. Let’s run.”

  The two girls chased down the busy street, zig-zagging around the barrels of fish and baskets of pumpkins. It was getting dark. No matter how fast they ran the little woman was always right behind them. By the time they reached Sandy’s house, both girls were out of breath.

  “Bye, Sandy.” Janet streaked toward home.

  Sandy ran up her front steps and rang the bell. Her mother opened the door. “You were gone a long time,” Mrs. James said. “Did you find the button?”

  Sandy stepped inside her house, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. She took the new brass button with the anchor on it out of her pocket and gave it to her mother.

  After supper Mrs. James said, “Sandy, Daddy and I are going to the movies. I want you to baby-sit for Lisa.”

  Sandy hated baby-sitting. “Oh, Mother!” she said.

  “You should be glad to help your mother, Sandra,” Mr. James told her. “She needs a rest sometimes.”

  “What shall I do if Lisa cries, Mother?” Sandy asked.

  “Give her the bottle of milk I have ready in the refrigerator,” Mrs. James said. “Be sure to warm it first.”

  When her mother and father had gone, Sandy tiptoed upstairs to the baby’s room to make sure her sister was still asleep. Lisa lay on her stomach. Her eyes were closed. The baby’s feet were sticking out from under the pink blanket. Sandy pulled the blanket over them and quietly left the room.

  She remembered the little button-man. Sandy had left it in her coat pocket. Her mother had sewn on the new brass button and hung the coat in the hall closet.

  Sandy went downstairs to the closet and felt in the coat pocket. The button was still there. She pulled out the little man and looked at it. Each feature of the tiny face was perfect. The little man had a short nose and a long chin. Was he smiling? Sandy couldn’t be sure. His clothes looked like those the Pilgrim Fathers wore in Thanksgiving pictures.

  Sandy turned the button over. The back was carved just as nicely as the front. In the middle was a loop to sew the button on.

  It was an interesting button, but there was really nothing strange about it, Sandy decided. She wondered now why it had seemed magic.

  Sandy had an idea. She could wear the button around her neck. She went to the kitchen drawer and found a piece of string. Sandy tried to push the end of the string through the loop on the back of the button. She couldn’t get it to go through. At last she took a darning needle from her mother’s workbox and threaded it with the string. She poked the needle through the loop and pulled the string after it. Before Sandy could hang the string around her neck, she heard Lisa start to cry.

  Sandy ran upstairs to the baby’s room. Lisa had rolled over onto her back. Her eyes were still shut, but her mouth was open. Her face was red, and she was howling. When Sandy came into the room the baby opened her eyes and stopped crying for a moment. Then she opened her mouth to start again.

  Sandy swung the button on the string in front of the baby. Lisa shut her mouth and made a grab for the button.

  The telephone rang downstairs. Sandy tied the string to the top bar of the baby’s crib and gave the button a push. It swung gently back and forth.

  Sandy ran downstairs to answer the phone. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello, Sandy.” It was Janet’s voice.

  “Oh, hi, Janet. I just found a good use for that button you gave me. It keeps my baby sister from crying.”

  “Be careful she doesn’t swallow it,” Janet said. “Sandy, it’s about that button that I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh,” Sandy said, “you want it back.”

  “Not exactly,” Janet told her. “But, remember the woman who followed us this afternoon? Well, she caught up to me after you went into your house.”

  “How?” Sandy asked. “You sure were running fast.”

  There was a silence while Janet thought about this. Then she said, “All I know is she grabbed hold of my arm.”

  “Weren’t you scared?” Sandy asked.

  “Scared of what? She’s just an old lady who collects buttons—kind of a nice old lady. She wants me to tell you she’ll pay five dollars for that button I gave you. It’s an antique.”

  Sandy didn’t say anything for a minute. Janet had given her the button without knowing how much it was worth. At last Sandy said, “If you want the button back, Janet, I’ll give it to you.”

  “Oh, Sandy, I didn’t say I wanted it back,” Janet said. “Now you’re mad at me. And we were just getting to be friends.”

  Sandy heard the baby start to cry. “I have to take care of my sister, Janet,” she said. “I’m not mad. Come over tomorrow. We’ll decide what to do about the button. Bye.” Sandy hung up the telephone and raced upstairs to Lisa’s room.

  The baby was looking up at the little button-man. He was no longer swinging by the string. Instead he was standing on the top bar of the crib, waving his arms and making faces at the baby.

  As soon as Sandy came into the room, the little man toppled off the bar. Once more he was just a button swinging on the end of a string. Lisa stopped screaming.

  There was only one thing to do. Sandy walked over to the crib and untied the string from the bar. She held the button up by the string and stared into the tiny face. “There’s no use pretending you’re just an ordinary button,” she said. “I saw you sticking out your tongue at my sister.”

  The button didn’t move. Sandy held it close to her ear. “Can you talk?”

  There was no answer.

  “Maybe I ought to sell you to the woman who offered five dollars for you,” Sandy said.

  Suddenly the
button gave a sharp twist in her hand. Sandy heard a shriek. “Five dollars! What an insult! Can’t you tell that woman is a witch?”

  Sandy almost dropped the button. “No need to scream,” she said. She held the button in front of her and looked at it.

  The little man had his hands on his hips. His eyes flashed under his wide-brimmed hat. He didn’t look like a button at all.

  “Who are you?” Sandy asked.

  The little man didn’t answer.

  “If you don’t want to tell me I may as well sell you to the Witch.” Sandy looked to see what effect her words had.

  “Oh, I suppose I may as well tell you everything. Only first put me down, and take this rope off me. I feel like a fish on a line.” The little man reached behind him to grab at the string.

  Sandy pulled the string out of the loop in the little man’s back. She set him down again on the top bar of the crib. The baby watched everything with big dark eyes.

  The little button-man sat down on the bar and crossed his legs. “First of all,” he said, “my name is Silas. As you may have guessed, I wasn’t always a button.”

  “Why does the Witch want you so much?” Sandy asked.

  Silas frowned. “Don’t interrupt,” he said. “It’s rude.”

  Sandy thought it rude of him to say so, but she waited for him to continue.

  He stretched his arms, crossed and uncrossed his legs several times, fiddled with the wide collar of his coat, and then said, “I was once a person like you.”

  “What happened?” Sandy asked, forgetting that he didn’t like to be interrupted.

  Silas didn’t answer. He rested his long chin in his hands and seemed to be thinking hard. At last he said, “I spent so many years shut up in that awful button bag that I can hardly remember what happened before.” He wrinkled his eyebrows and scratched his head. “I remember that I was sewn to a fur cloak for ages. It never seemed to wear out. That cloak was handed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter. How I hated it. Once long long ago a little boy kept me for a good-luck charm.” Silas smiled. “Maybe I was lucky for him. He lived to be a very old man, and he always carried me in his waistcoat pocket. I was nearly buried with him, but his granddaughter found me and sewed me to the fur cloak.”