The King of the Hummingbirds Read Free Page B

in the dark like deep-toned jewels.
    Looking into the pool, the witch said to herself morosely, “I wish—”
    â€œWatch out!” cried a voice.
    â€œI beg your pardon?” the witch exclaimed with a jump, for the voice had startled her half out of her wits. She looked all around, but she couldn’t make out who had spoken to her.
    â€œI said ‘Watch out,’” said the voice. It was a large old toad with a tiny, elegant silver crown, sitting on a root at the opposite side of the pool. The toad continued, speaking very slowly—for the truth is he was stupid—“You have to be careful what you wish around here. This is a wishing pool. See all those tombstones over there?”
    The witch looked, and there among the trees, sure enough, were a number of tombstones.
    â€œThose are the graves of people who happened to stand near the pool and say, QUOTE , I wish I were dead, END QUOTE .”
    â€œWhy do you shout so?” asked the witch, her hands over her ears.
    â€œI only shouted QUOTE and END QUOTE ,” said the toad. “I didn’t want the pool to think I was making the wish myself. A person can’t be too careful.”
    â€œI see,” said the witch. Then she said, “Excuse my curiosity, but do you ever make any wishes of your own?”
    â€œOnly once,” said the toad, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I used to be a handsome prince, but I hated it. I was lousy at it, to tell you the truth. One day as I was walking past the wishing pool, I said to myself, ‘I wish I were a toad,’ and zam , it happened.”
    â€œ Zam booey you mean,” the witch said.
    â€œYes, zam booey,” the toad corrected himself, looking terribly embarrassed. “That’s the expression.” He sighed. “I always get it wrong.”
    â€œDon’t you like being a toad?” the witch asked, for they were straying, she felt, from the subject.
    â€œIt’s awful, I assure you. You should see the things toads eat!”
    â€œHow unpleasant for you,” said the witch. “But if you don’t like being a toad, why don’t you wish yourself back into a handsome prince?”
    â€œWell,” said the toad, scratching his ear thoughtfully, “I didn’t like being a prince either, you see. I was always falling off my horse, or knocking my crown off by not bending low enough when I walked through doors. Every time I ran I’d trip over my sword, and when the royal fool told jokes, I could never get them.”
    The witch sighed sympathetically. “It’s a sad predicament,” she said.
    â€œYes, it is,” said the toad with a look of surprise. He hadn’t thought of it before. “But tell me, what were you about to wish?”
    â€œWell, I was about to wish—”
    â€œ SHE WAS ABOUT TO WISH BUT SHE DOESN’T WISH NOW !” the toad broke in loudly, making sure it was clear to the pool, which was even stupider than he was.
    â€œYes, I was about to wish that I had never been born.”
    â€œOh my! How distressing! That’s the worst of all possible things to wish!” cried the toad, breaking into a sweat. “What on earth can have driven you to that?”
    The witch told him the whole story, and the toad listened politely and attentively, head cocked. When the story was over the toad said, “Why it’s perfectly simple: all you have to do is wish you were a sweet old lady selling flowers and giving all her money to the poor.” Then the toad fell into a brown study. “However,” he said at last, lifting one long, webbed finger, “you must be sure it’s what you really want. There’s something to be said, of course, for being a sweet old lady; but on the other hand, surely there’s something to be said for your present occupation. What is the life of a witch like, exactly?”

    â€œWe occasionally burn down synagogues and