The King of the Hummingbirds Read Free

understand you,” said Olaf, somewhat uncomfortably.
    â€œNever mind, birdbrain,” said the princess and gave him a little pat. “Let’s start cleaning up this mess.”

The Witch’s Wish

    I n a certain kingdom there lived a wicked, disgusting old witch whose greatest pleasure in life was burning down synagogues and churches. In the beginning she set fire to them at the stroke of midnight, when no one was about; but later she grew more brazen and would often be seen lurking nearby, hiding behind a tree or peeking around past one of the parked cars in the parking lot, when the congregation was just leaving at the end of the service. One evening, feeling more brazen than usual, the wicked old witch slunk into a church or, possibly, synagogue while the service was still going. Since she didn’t want to burn down the church with people still inside it—such a thing would never have crossed her mind, for witch or no witch, she had about her a certain innate tenderheartedness—she seated herself inconspicuously in a pew at the back and waited for the service to be over. Without giving much thought to what she was doing, she began to listen to the sermon; and lo and behold, before she knew what was happening, she was converted.
    The old witch’s hands began to shake, and tears ran down her leathery old cheeks. “I have sinned unspeakably,” she moaned. “What can I ever do to make it up?”
    The congregation got to its feet to sing a final hymn, but the wicked old witch paid no attention, for she was lost in thought.
    â€œFirst off,” she mused, “I must stop being a witch.” But one question among many was, if she stopped being a witch, then just what would she be? She wrung her hands and bit her lips together—and then she got an idea: “I can sell paper flowers in the city,” she thought, “and give all my money to the poor.”
    She almost laughed aloud, she was so delighted. And oddly enough, her delight at the thought of her new life so changed her features that strangers going past her pew (for the congregation was now leaving) thought to themselves, “What a sweet little old lady! Who can she be?”
    When the old witch realized that the service was over, she got up and left the church. As fast as her legs would carry her, she went to find the queen of the witches, who lived in a hollow tree in the center of the forest. The queen of the witches was so cruel and ugly that at sight of her face an ordinary person would fall dead on the spot. All but the bravest of the witches closed their eyes whenever the queen came in sight, and as a matter of fact when she looked in the mirror, even the queen herself felt a little bit woozy.
    The witch knocked on the queen’s door and called out timidly, “Yoo-hoo!”
    The door opened about ten inches, and there stood the horrible, horrible queen of the witches.
    The old witch reeled at the sight, but, bracing herself, she looked the queen in the eye. “I’ve come to ask if you would mind if I stopped being a witch,” she asked. “Tonight I went to burn down a church and, I’m sorry to say, I was converted.”
    â€œZam booey!” exclaimed the queen, throwing the door wide open. “Come on in and tell me all about it!”
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell, really,” said the witch, entering the queen’s modestly furnished apartment. “I just want to stop being a witch.”
    The queen took the witch’s hand and led her to a chair near the fireplace where a huge cauldron was steaming and bubbling. When the witch’s knock came, the queen had been preparing a brew that would turn people’s pet parakeets into bats.
    â€œWhat kind of church was it?” asked the queen, lowering her grizzly eyebrows. “Was it a Presbyterian church? A Baptist church? A Jewish Orthodox synagogue? Was it Lutheran? Episcopalian? Buddhist?