Three Adventure Tales Read online

  Also by Ruth Chew

  MAGIC IN THE PARK

  NO SUCH THING AS A WITCH

  THE TROUBLE WITH MAGIC

  THE WEDNESDAY WITCH

  WHAT THE WITCH LEFT

  THE WITCH AT THE WINDOW

  WITCH’S BROOM

  THE WOULD-BE WITCH

  THREE SHRINKING TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  DO-IT-YOURSELF MAGIC

  EARTHSTAR MAGIC

  MOSTLY MAGIC

  THREE WISHING TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  THE MAGIC COIN

  THE MAGIC CAVE

  THE WISHING TREE

  THREE WITCH TALES

  (AN EBOOK OMNIBUS):

  THE WITCH’S BUTTONS

  WITCH’S CAT

  THE WITCH’S GARDEN

  This is a 2015 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.

  Last Chance for Magic copyright © 1996 by Ruth Chew

  Magic of the Black Mirror copyright © 1990 by Ruth Chew

  Summer Magic copyright © 1977 by Ruth Chew

  Cover art copyright © 2015 by David Hohn

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. The three works comprising this collection were originally published separately by Scholastic Inc., New York, in 1977, 1990, and 1996. Summer Magic was originally published as Midsummer Magic by Scholastic Inc., New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks and A Stepping Stone Book and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web!

  SteppingStonesBooks.com

  randomhousekids.com

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

  eBook ISBN 9780449815892

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

  v4.1

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  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Ruth Chew

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Last Chance for Magic

  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

  Magic of the Black Mirror

  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

  Summer Magic

  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

  “Out of the way, everybody!” Mr. Robertson yelled. “This fence is coming down!”

  Terry and her brother, Max, jumped back. Their mother was behind them. She pulled both of them even farther from the tall old fence.

  The Robertsons had moved into the house last week. Like many houses in Brooklyn, this one was joined in a row with others. The houses looked alike, and each had a backyard with a fence around it.

  There was a row of the same kind of houses on the other side of the block.

  Yesterday, when their father left the stepladder in the front yard, Max and Terry took turns climbing it to look over the back fence.

  They saw there was a vacant lot between the two rows of houses. All sorts of trees and bushes crowded next to each other in the lot. A tangled vine with thick stalks and floppy leaves covered the ground and climbed the trees.

  “It looks like a jungle in the movies,” Terry said.

  Max found a loose board in the fence. “We could pry this off and slip through to explore the jungle.”

  Terry thought this was a great idea, but they never had a chance to try it.

  And now Mr. Robertson was starting to hit the rotten wood at the bottom of the fence with a big hammer. Some of the old boards broke and fell into the yard.

  “Look, Dad. A mountain of dirt is piled up behind the fence!” Max said.

  “Not just dirt. Here’s something that looks like part of an older fence. And what’s this?” His father dragged out a set of broken slats nailed together.

  “Maybe it was a trellis,” Mrs. Robertson said.

  “What’s a trellis, Mom?” Terry asked.

  “That’s a frame for roses to climb on,” her mother told her.

  “Dad,” Max said, “how many different fences do you think have been built here?”

  Mr. Robertson picked up a shovel and dug out a pile of dirt, a rusty pipe, and part of a red brick. “Probably a great many, Max. No fence could last long with all this junk pushing against it. I’m going to build a wall.”

  “That will take much more work than putting up a fence, George,” Mrs. Robertson reminded her husband.

  “There’s a new type of wall built of stones made to fit together,” Mr. Robertson said. “You don’t have to use cement, and it’s the best type of wall to hold back dirt. I’m going to go over to that building supply place on Fifteenth Avenue and order the stone. Do you want to come and choose the color?”

  “Oh, Dad,” Max begged. “May I come, too?”

  “No, Max,” his father answered. “You and Terry would be begging me to buy everything in the store. Your mom and I will do better alone. Come along, Betty.” He put down the shovel and walked to the back door of the house.

  “We won’t be long,” Mrs. Robertson told the children. She rushed after her husband.

  Terry picked up a broken slat and scraped at the dirt coming through the break Mr. Robertson had made in the fence. “Dad’s going to build a stone wall. Now we’ll never be able to go exploring.”

  Max nodded. “I know.”

  Terry ja
mmed the slat into the dirt and twisted it. “We should have gone through the fence yesterday when you found one of the boards was loose.”

  “Don’t be silly, Terry,” her brother said. “We’re lucky we didn’t pry the board off the fence. We’d have all this junk blocking our way on the other side. We couldn’t get through the fence and we’d have a job nailing the board back.”

  Terry picked up the shovel. She began to dig at the dirt through the broken fence. “Maybe we can make a tunnel. This stuff doesn’t seem too hard.”

  Max pointed at the dirt. “Put down the shovel, Terry,” he whispered.

  Terry couldn’t believe her eyes. The dirt she had been digging was moving all by itself. It twirled round and round and started to become a kind of funnel going sideways through the fence.

  As it whirled, the hole in the middle of the dirt became larger. The whirling whistled like a wind now.

  Then, suddenly, the whirling stopped and all was quiet. There was a little tunnel going through the ground behind the fence.

  Terry looked at her brother.

  “Are you scared?” he asked.

  “No, but I don’t know why I’m not scared,” Terry told him. “This is magic, isn’t it?”

  Max nodded. “It’s funny. I thought I’d stopped believing in magic, but I sure believe in it now.”

  “Then, what are we waiting for?” Terry got down on her hands and knees and started to crawl through the tunnel.

  Max followed his sister. “I guess you’re right, Terry. After all, this may be our last chance to see what’s on the other side of the fence.”

  The tunnel was just big enough for the children to crawl through. It was damp and cool under the ground. They could see a faint light somewhere in front of them. It seemed close, but they had to crawl for quite a while before they reached the end of the tunnel.

  Terry scrambled out onto soft damp weeds. She stood up and stretched. Then she bent over to grab her brother’s hand and pull him out of the tunnel.

  Max turned to look back at it. “Terry, it’s gone!”

  The ground was as green and weedy as if there had never been a tunnel there.

  “I’m not sure how we’re going to get back into our yard again,” Max said.

  Terry looked around. “The tunnel seems to have taken us into the middle of the jungle. There are so many trees here that I can’t see any of the houses.”

  “Well, we wanted to explore. We’d better get started.” Max walked toward a clump of tall flat grass and fuzzy brown cattails.

  Terry followed him. The ground under her feet felt soft and spongy. She saw Max reach the cattails, then try to step back. He lost his balance, slid into the tall grass, and disappeared.

  “Watch out, Terry,” he yelled. “There’s water here!”

  Terry had to push the cattails aside to see her brother.

  Max had slid down a slippery bank and was standing ankle-deep in a clear running stream.

  “It’s perfect for wading,” he said, “but I’d better get my sneakers off.”

  Terry lay flat on the ground. She held on to the cattail stems with one hand and took hold of Max’s hand with the other.

  He climbed back up the bank and sat down to take off his sneakers. Terry hurried to take hers off, too. It was August, and they were both wearing shorts.

  Terry left her sneakers beside the cattails. “I won’t have to bother with them while I’m wading.”

  Max put his wet sneakers on a flat rock. Then they both stepped into the shallow stream. Water striders played on the surface. The water was deeper in the middle of the stream. They heard a splash.

  Terry pointed. “Look, Max!”

  A fish leaped up after a water strider.

  “Too bad I didn’t bring my drop-line,” Max said.

  The stream wound along. Enormous trees lined the mossy banks. A kingfisher swooped down from an overhanging branch and snatched fish from the water.

  They were wading downstream. The water was higher than Terry’s knees now. Something brushed against her legs. “Max, I’m caught on something! I can’t walk.”

  Max waded over to her. “It’s some kind of net. We’d better go back.” He pulled the web of cords away from Terry’s legs.

  They started wading back upstream. Terry kept looking for the clump of cattails where she had left her shoes. There were more cattails than she remembered, but none of them were next to her sneakers.

  At last, Max said, “There are the skid marks I made in the bank. This is the place, Terry.”

  “It’s the place, all right,” Terry whispered. “But look over by that tree. Someone has picked up my shoes!”

  Someone was standing in the shadow of an enormous pine tree holding Terry’s bright red sneakers and staring at them.

  Max took his sneakers off the rock and began to put them on.

  Terry ran barefoot over to the tree. As she came closer to it, she saw that the person with her sneakers was a very young woman. She was saying, “Pretty! Pretty!” and was so busy admiring the sneakers that she didn’t notice Terry.

  “I think they’re pretty, too,” Terry said. “But my mom doesn’t like them.” When the woman caught sight of Terry, her mouth fell open, and her dark eyes opened wide. She even seemed afraid to move.

  “Please, may I have my sneakers?” Terry took them from the woman and bent down to put them on her feet.

  “Oh, they’re moccasins!” the woman said. She wasn’t afraid now.

  When Max walked over to join them, the woman looked from one to the other. “You are both washed-out looking!” she said. “I was afraid you were spirits. Now I see that you are Lenape but not Leni-Lenape. Is it some kind of sickness that makes the color fade from your hair and skin?”

  Neither Max nor Terry knew what to say. Max had blue eyes and blond hair. Terry’s eyes were green. Her hair was light brown and wavy. They looked at the woman. Her skin was a dark rosy tan, and her hair, worn in two braids, was straight and black and shiny. She was neither fat nor thin. She wore a sleeveless blouse and a knee-length wraparound skirt with fringes at the bottom. Both her clothes and her shoes were made of soft leather.

  “My name is Singing-Moon,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  “I’m Max,” he said. “And this is my sister, Terry.”

  A board dangled from one of the short bare branches on the lower part of the pine tree. Terry walked over to it. “Who is this?”

  Max came over to look.

  A baby in a leather pouch that laced up the front was strapped to the board.

  A little roof over his head protected him from sun and wind. Tiny spinning objects dangled from the roof to keep the baby amused.

  “That’s my little darling,” Singing-Moon told them.

  “What’s his name?” Max asked.

  “He’s not old enough yet to tell us what it is,” Singing-Moon said.

  “Do all children in your family get a chance to choose their own names?” Max wanted to know.

  Singing-Moon laughed. “Of course!”

  “How do they pick them?” Terry asked.

  “Something happens to them or they have a dream. Later on they can change their names. It is strange that you don’t know our ways,” Singing-Moon said. “You must have come from far away. Sit down and tell me about it.”

  Singing-Moon sat on the mossy ground under the big pine tree.

  Terry and Max sat facing her.

  Max spoke first. “We wanted to see what was on the other side of the fence behind our house. There was so much dirt behind the fence that Terry decided to dig a tunnel through it.”

  “What’s a tunnel?” Singing-Moon asked.

  “A kind of long cave with an opening at each end,” Terry told her. “I started to dig and then the dirt swirled around and dug a magic tunnel all by itself. I crawled through and Max came after me.”

  “But when I turned to look back at the tunnel, it was gone,” Max said.

  Singing-Moon nodded. �
��Magic is like that. You never know what it will do. I will talk to my grandfather about it. He is the chief of our village and is very wise. Perhaps you should change your names. Would you like to be Cave-Crawler and Traveler-Through-Tunnels?”

  “Maybe later, if that’s the only thing that will work,” Max said. “For now I’ll keep my old name.”

  A wind was shaking the branches of the pine tree. A long thin pinecone tumbled into Terry’s lap. Singing-Moon picked it up and looked at it. “Just ripe.” She pulled a basket of braided grass from under a bush and began to search the ground under the tree for more pinecones.

  Whenever a gust of wind came along, more cones rained down from above. Terry and Max joined Singing-Moon in gathering them.

  When they had scooped up all the cones they could see, Singing-Moon took her baby off the tree and tied him to her back with a woven strap. The strap went around her forehead and left Singing-Moon’s arms free.

  She started to pick up the basket of pinecones, but Terry stopped her. “I’ll carry that for you.”

  Singing-Moon smiled. “Very good. I was hoping you would come home with me. Max should have some sort of spear or club in case we meet a bobcat or a bear.”

  “I have something better.” Max pulled a slingshot from the back pocket of his shorts. He had made the slingshot himself and used it with spitballs for target practice in the basement at home.

  He went to the stream for smooth round stones. Max was certain spitballs would not be the best things to use for shooting bears and bobcats.

  Singing-Moon reached behind the pine tree and took out a wooden spear with a stone point. “I keep this near me all the time.”

  She led Max and Terry to a narrow path. It was just wide enough for them to walk one behind the other. The trees grew close together on each side.

  Singing-Moon walked without making a sound. Max and Terry tried to be just as quiet. They were careful not to rustle dry leaves or step on fallen twigs.

  Still the forest was a very noisy place, full of the chirpings of many kinds of birds and insects.

  When they came to a little open space between the trees, they heard a rustling in the underbrush.

  Singing-Moon stopped before she went into the clearing. She pointed her spear in the direction of the rustling sound.