Authors: Edward Eager
Sylvia seemed glad to see her, and smiled and said, "Hello." But when she learned the doctor was going to take her back to Hopeful Hill, her face puckered as if she were going to cry.
Doctor Lovely looked at me, sort of helplessly, and I knelt down by Sylvia, feeling awful and hoping the magic would help me say the right thing.
"Sylvia," I said, "I'm awfully glad you came to call. Come again, anytime. Tomorrow I'll come calling on
you,
the way I said. I'll come every day. Maybe I could bring the kids with me."
I looked at Doctor Lovely to see if that would be all right and she nodded. "Only not all at once."
Sylvia's face unpuckered a little. She pointed at Deborah. "Her first." And then we all went out to the driveway.
Just as Doctor Lovely and Sylvia were starting up, we saw Mom's limousine turn in, with Craddock our chauffeur at the wheel. And right away everybody else said good-bye quick, and jumped in Doctor Lovely's car, too. That is how Mom affects people sometimes. That is how I had been afraid she would affect Sylvia.
I hated to see them go. But Sylvia leaned out of the car and blew me a kiss good-bye.
"Really, Gordy," said Mom a few seconds later, coming into the playroom and looking at the remains of the spoon bread. "What has been going on? And who were all those people in the drive?"
"Oh, nothing," I told her, sort of airily. "I merely had a few friends in for supper."
And I went upstairs feeling good about the way I'd handled things. But of course after I got in bed I realized I hadn't solved anything. Sylvia would never get really well at Hopeful Hill. I knew that, and I thought Doctor Lovely did, too. It didn't seem to me the magic had things under control at all. I lay awake puzzling about it for a long time, and when I went to sleep, I dreamed about it all night. In the morning I had to be called three times.
Maybe that is why I was extra dumb in school the next day. Not that I am fever extra bright. And not that you have to be very bright in my class.
When I got Mom to send me to public school, I thought I'd be in the same room with James and Kip and Laura and Lydia, and everything would be wonderful. But I might have known.
I am not really like them at all. I haven't read lots of interesting books and I can't think quickly, and it is only right that they should be in the bright class and I should end up in the dumb one.
The school can call it six-one-B if it wants to, but it is the dumb class and everybody knows it. That's why we have to have a really tough teacher like Miss Wilson who can handle us. Miss Wilson has been teaching since about the year one, a:nd there is not much that she does not know about handling dumb kids. I am not the dumbest kid in the class. I am just somewhere down near the bottom.
But this morning I seemed to be dumber than anybody. We were having improper fractions, and I. couldn't seem to understand how to make them proper again. I kept thinking about Sylvia instead. Finally Miss Wilson said I'd just have to stay after school and she'd go over it all with me then, and not waste the time of the entire class.
My heart sank, because I had promised to call on Sylvia at Hopeful Hill, and if Miss Wilson kept me, I might be too late.
But the whole day went on just like that. I was as bad in history and English as I was in arithmetic.
By the time it was three o'clock and I was staying after, I was so sleepy and worried and mixed up that I couldn't even remember what a least common denominator was. Miss Wilson put her book down. "Gordon Witherspoon," she said, "exactly
what
is on your mind?"
I decided to throw myself on her mercy. Maybe the magic would melt her. Because nothing else would.
So I said, "Miss Wilson, do you believe in wishes?" And I went on to tell her about the well, and about everything that had happened.
I guess the magic worked, for by the time I finished about Sylvia, Miss Wilson didn't look like herself at all. Usually she is sort of hard and dry, and as if she'd been breathing too much chalk dust. Now her face was soft.
"The poor little thing," she murmured. "The poor little thing." Then she pulled herself together and shut her book with a snap. "Gordon Witherspoon," she said, "this foolishness can wait. Come with me."
We got our hats and coats from the cloakroom and I followed her down the stairs and into her car, which was a treat, because she drives a Thunderbird, and
fast.
First we stopped at her house, which is big and white on a big neat lawn on Main Street, and Miss Wilson ran inside. She was out again in ten seconds, carrying a big box tied with pink ribbon. And we headed for Hopeful Hill.
In the lobby we had a little trouble with a bossy nurse, because it wasn't visiting hours. But Miss Wilson was grand. "I," she said, "am Ermentrude Wilson." Just as if she were saying she was Queen Elizabeth. So now I know what Miss Wilson's first name is. On our grade cards she always puts just "E. Wilson," and no wonder. But I will never tell.
Just then Doctor Lovely appeared, and after that it was all right. We went into the little side room and pretty soon a nurse brought Sylvia, just like the day before. Sylvia ran right over to me and took my hand.
"Hello," she said. "You're late." And she smiled. When she saw the smile, Miss Wilson went all soft and started murmuring, "Poor little thing" again.
Sylvia's face began to pucker and I was worried. It seemed to me she had probably been called a poor little thing often enough already, and it is no good feeling sorry for yourself. I know.
But Miss Wilson has sense, and right away she brisked up again. She looked at me and maybe I gave her an idea. Because suddenly she did that same joke I'd told her about, pushing back her scalp and saying her ponytail was too tight. On Miss Wilson it looked
awful.
Sylvia laughed and laughed.
And then Miss Wilson said, "Sylvia, I have brought you a present," and handed her the box, but sensibly let her untie the pink ribbon herself.
I would be the last to know about dolls, but I would say the doll in that box was tops, for a doll. Sylvia's eyes got big and round and she said, "Oh!"
"It was mine when I was your age," Miss Wilson told her. "No one has played with it since. At my house I have every doll and dollhouse I have ever owned. I was saving them for ... but never mind. Perhaps you would like to come and see them."
And then she left Sylvia playing with the doll and drew Doctor Lovely aside. They seemed to forget I was there. But I could still hear.
"I wonder," she said, "if you would let me take Sylvia. I have a large home and ample means. I have been teaching school in this town for twenty-five years. The Board of Education will vouch for me. Perhaps just at first she could visit in my classroom, till she is ready to join the third grade. And after school"—she smiled rather sadly I thought—"I have all the time in the world. I have always wanted a child of my own."
Doctor Lovely looked at her, and I guess she approved of what she saw. "Why not ask Sylvia?" she said.
"Sylvia," said Miss Wilson, "would you like to come visit me and my dollhouses for a while? Perhaps you might even want to stay."
Sylvia turned to me. "Would you come and see me?"
"Sure," I said. "But you'll be making friends of your own once you're in the third grade." I do not know any of the kids in three-one-A personally, but I am sure there are lots of good types.
Sylvia smiled round at all of us. "All right," she said.
It seemed to me the adventure was over. I had to hand it to the magic for working everything out just fine. I staited edging away, but Miss Wilson looked up. "Wait," she said, and she followed me to the door.
"Gordon," she went on, "I know that you have friends in Mrs. Van Nest's class. I have been wondering if you wouldn't be happier with them. It is a fast group, of course, but I think if you enjoyed school more, you might do better work and be able to keep up."
I couldn't believe it. The thought of being with Kip and James and Laura and Lydia was too much. Still, maybe they'd get tired of me if I were there all the time. And they would be disgusted if they saw how dumb I can be in class, sometimes.
But that wasn't really it. The thing was, it seemed mean to leave Miss Wilson now, just when I was getting to know what she was really like. Perhaps I could help her with Sylvia, too, at first.
So I said, "Let's wait till midyears, and then see.
Miss Wilson's face looked funny. "Thank you, Gordon," she said. And then she went down on her knees by Sylvia again.
I looked at Doctor Lovely. She grinned. "Congratulations, Hippocrates," she said.
I do not know why she keeps calling me these names. But I grinned a crocodile grin right back. "So long," I said. "I'll be seeing you." And I ran out of Hopeful Hill and all the way down Silvermine Road as fast as I could, to tell the others all about it.
This is Laura writing now because it was my turn next.
If this were a real book, I would probably start out by telling how we waited for Gordy after school that day, and how he didn't come, and how worried we all were. And I would say things like "Meanwhile, back at the school" and "had I but known."
But what would be the point, when you already know exactly where Gordy was and what he was doing?
It is those parts in books that James and I always skip. I only mention it at all because it was while we were waiting for Gordy that Dicky LeBaron came swaggering up to us, and you might as well know about him now as later. He was wearing black denim trousers and motorcycle boots and a black leather jacket as usual, and he was just as hateful-acting as usual, too.
"If you're looking for your rich friend," he said, "he had to stay after." And then he sort of sneered, and went swaggering away.
Lydia started after him, but I stopped her. There is no point in talking to some people. Consider the source is what I say.
Dicky LeBaron is the kind of person that I used to think only happened in cities, and then people write plays and articles about them and call them juvenile delinquents. It was quite a shock to find that they can turn up in the country, too.
Dicky had never been anything but insulting to me, and I was sure he bullied Gordy in six-one-B, though Gordy would never say. As for Lydia, she and Dicky were old enemies. Lydia often boasted of what she would do to Dicky LeBaron if she had the chance, and sometimes I thought it might be interesting to let her try. But right now our bus was waiting.
In the bus we forgot Dicky LeBaron and argued about what to do next with the magic. James thought Gordy's staying after school meant we were free to take over and rescue Sylvia from durance vile. When we passed Hopeful Hill, he and Kip wanted to get out and deploy about the building, at least. But I thought we ought to go to the red house and wait for Gordy. So that's what we did, and pretty soon he came running down the road and told us all about Sylvia and Miss Wilson.
I thought it was a beautiful happy ending like a movie, but Lydia was indignant. "What kind of magic is that?" she said. "Saving her from one old witch just to hand her over to another!"
Gordy looked stubborn. "You don't know Miss Wilson," he said. "She's all right."
Lydia wasn't satisfied. "If
I'd
been there, the ending would have been different. But the whole adventure just skipped everybody but Gordy!"
"Don't you see why? I do," I said. "It's because I was mean and grabby when Gordy made the wish. So the well left us right out of the whole thing."
"Moral lessons," said Lydia. "When I get
my
adventure, I'm not going to let any old moral lesson come into it at all."
That is how she always talks. As to whether or not it worked out that way when she came to have her turn, let that remain to be seen.
I will not tell about the next few days, because James said we would leave out the times when nothing happened. Suffice to say that nothing did.
Except that every day Gordy went to see Sylvia and took a different one of us along each time. So far as anyone could see, Sylvia and Miss Wilson were getting along fine. "But just wait," said Lydia.
All this while, of course, we kept our eyes peeled for good turns that needed doing, wherever we went. But no long-lost heirs or damsels in distress were forthcoming, and by Saturday I decided we should stay home and try letting the magic come to us. There were a lot of leaves that needed raking, and maybe if we attended to those, the magic would see how useful we were being and take a hint.
So Kip and Gordy and Lydia and I raked, while Deborah buried herself in the piles of leaves and James sat on the wellhead and read us interesting bits from the
Advertiser
out loud.
The
Advertiser
is our town newspaper and it comes out every week, but James is the only one of us who ever looks at it much. James likes to keep up with everything. He even reads the letters to the editor. It was one of those that he read to us now.
"Dear Sir:
Here's good luck to our new railroad station.
A Well-Wisher"
"Honestly, did you ever hear of anything so feeble?" he went on. "If I didn't have anything better than that to say, I wouldn't write a letter to the editor at all."
"What does it mean?" I wondered. "We don't have a new railroad station. Do we?"
"Maybe it's a secret code," said Kip.
"Maybe it's somebody who's got a well like ours, with wishes in it," said Deborah, poking her head up from the nearest leaf pile.
James stared at her. "Out of the mouths of babes!" he said.
"You mean," said Kip, "that maybe there're other people with magic in this town, too?"
"Why not?" said James. "When you think of all the magic there must be, floating around. And when you think of all the wells people have in their front yards. Maybe it's a whole organization, and we've just joined the club."
This was an exciting idea. "Or if there isn't," I said, "we could start one. We could organize all the people with wells, to work together. If we all wished at the same time, there's nothing we couldn't do. I think it's a sign. I think it's what the magic wants. James was sitting right on the well when he read the letter. Probably the magic seeped through. Probably if he'd been sitting somewhere else, there wouldn't have been any letter at all. Anyway, we've got a name now. We're Well-Wishers from today on. We wish everybody well, don't we? It stands to reason."