The Wish Giver Read online

  Sometimes, however, Polly’s mouth got in the way of their friendship. But unlike the village children, the twins didn’t just walk off when Polly’s mouth got the best of her. Leland and Lenora believed in getting even.

  Once Polly was yammering at Leland for pretending they’d gotten lost in a deep part of the forest. Right in the middle of her angry shouting, Lenora sneaked up and dropped a little green snake down the collar of her shirt. Another time, when a wasp stung Lenora and Polly jeered at her cries of pain, the twins picked her up and tossed her in the crick, clothes and all.

  This time they’d thrown mud. Now they stood at the edge of the woods, and Leland grinned at his sister.

  “Ain’t it nice, being way out here, Lenora?” he said. “Just the two of us.”

  “It sure is,” Lenora replied. “No Polly Kemp around with her infernal jabbering.”

  “You’re talking like I was a mile away,” said Polly angrily. “I’m standing right here talking to you.”

  “Did you hear something, Lenora?” Leland asked.

  “Yeah,” said his sister. “It must have been an ol’ froggy down in the swamp.”

  “I ain’t no…” howled Polly. But then the tone of her voice changed. “I don’t want you to stay mad at me,” she went on softly.

  “That frog’s sounding more human all the time,” said Leland.

  “I…I’m sorry I talked that way. Please come back.”

  Lenora turned about. “Well I’ll be…That ain’t no frog, Leland. It’s Polly Kemp. What are you doing out here, Polly?”

  Polly knew the twins were teasing her, but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t want them to walk away again.

  “I didn’t see either of you at the Church Social,” she began finally. “I looked everywhere for you.”

  “We didn’t go,” Leland told her. “Everybody expects you to spend money there. I feel funny when I don’t have any to spend.”

  “And I don’t like all the girls in their fancy dresses laughing at me ’cause all I’ve got to wear is overalls,” said Lenora.

  “We’ll listen if you want to tell us about it.” Leland tried to act bored, but Polly could tell that both twins were eager to hear what went on.

  “It was fair to middling,” she began. “The booths were real pretty, and there was lots of nice things for sale. But most folks acted like they usually do, either real uppity or else staring right through me like I was invisible or something. Mrs. Peabody carried on something fierce just because I said her cookies tasted like biting into a sofa pillow.”

  The twins giggled. Then Lenora stuck her nose in the air and stuck out a limp-wristed hand. “I suppose,” she said, trying to act real fancy, “that Agatha Benthorn and Eunice Ingersoll were there.”

  “Stop that, Lenora!” Polly snapped. “Just because I’m trying to make friends with Agatha and Eunice, you’ve got no call to make fun of me.”

  “Them two ain’t nothing but frilly little skunkweeds,” said Leland. “If we show ’em something we found in the woods, or just walk up and talk to them, they get all high-and-mighty and treat us like we were nothing but a bushel of dirt.”

  “Do you think they’d want to see that frog you found?” added Lenora. “I guess not. One look, and they’d go scooting off with their noses in the air and holding their lacy skirts high so’s not to get any dirt on them. You just ain’t their kind, Polly. And you should be thankful for that.”

  “They never so much as give you the time of day,” said Leland. “So why you keep chasing after those stuck-up little prigs is beyond me.”

  “They’re quality folks!” said Polly. “And rich, too. I plan to be just like them someday. I’ll live in the biggest house in Coven Tree and buy everything I ever wanted and—”

  “I think you’ve gone fuzzy in the head,” Leland declared.

  “I ain’t. You’ll see.”

  “Agatha and Eunice are too dumb to enjoy the woods and the crick and the things we like,” snorted Lenora with a toss of her head. “All they like to do is sit on silk pillows and talk about the latest fashions and drink weak tea and…Yucck! Come on, Leland. Let’s go home.”

  Off they went, leaving Polly standing in the red twilight.

  It was dark by the time Polly got home. She entered the living room, and her mother looked up from the lapful of clothes she was sewing and mending for the Coven Tree ladies who had neither the time nor the skill.

  “You’re late,” Mrs. Kemp said. “How are Leland and Lenora?”

  “Consarn those two. I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what anybody thinks. I’m going to make friends with Agatha and Eunice if it kills me. Then folks will sit up and take notice of me, all right!”

  The next day—Sunday—everybody in Coven Tree was all togged out in fine fashion for going to church. The women had on bright dresses, and the men wore suits and ties, sometimes tugging at collars that were too tight.

  Agatha Benthorn looked pretty enough to gladden the heart of an angel. Her hair was curled, and she wore a new dress covered with lace. Around her waist was a wide pink ribbon, tied in back with a bow.

  The service went just fine, with the Reverend Terwilliger preaching a sermon that must have had the Devil shaking in his boots. It wasn’t until afterward that the trouble started. When Agatha came outside, Polly was right behind her.

  Agatha rushed down the steps to greet Eunice Ingersoll. At the same time Polly reached out and took hold of one of the loops of the pink ribbon bow. There was a loud ripping sound. Agatha stood at the bottom of the steps with the bow of her dress all ragged and torn. Polly was at the top, with a big piece of ribbon in her fist.

  One look at Polly and you could see how sorry she was for what she’d done. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  Then Agatha ran up the steps to Polly and slapped her right across the face—hard!

  “Agatha, I…I…”

  If Polly didn’t have any words, Agatha sure did. “You wretched thing!” she spat. “You tore my beautiful dress, you…you ragamuffin! Of all the spiteful—”

  “Agatha, if you’ll just—”

  “No!” Agatha leveled a finger at Polly the way she might have pointed a pistol. “You are dirt, Polly Kemp! You are dirt, and everything that’s horrid. There’s not a person in town who wants anything to do with you. So just stay away from me, do you hear? Stay away!”

  Off went Agatha, leaving Polly red-eyed and almost crying. She just wanted to be friends with Agatha…and now the thing seemed spoiled beyond repair.

  Polly moped about the house all day, and her mother wondered if she was coming down with some illness. Evening came and Polly trudged up to her room to do her homework. Outside, down by Spider Crick, the frogs began their shrill chirping and peeping.

  Chirp-a-chirp! Chirp-a-chirp!

  To Polly it sounded like: Ag-a-tha! Ag-a-tha!

  And then a deep bullfrog’s croak, like the string of a bass fiddle being plucked.

  JUG-A-RUM!

  Suddenly Polly got up from her chair. She walked to the little table near the window. There, just as she’d left it after the Church Social, was the card with the red circle on it.

  In the twilight, Polly turned the card over and over in her hands. Oh, it was foolish of course. Yet she’d paid her fifty cents. Thaddeus Blinn had told her that whatever she asked for would be hers. What was the harm in trying?

  Carefully she placed her right thumb over the red circle. “I want ever so badly to be liked,” she said softly. “And not just by Leland and Lenora, either. I want people to greet me and not walk on the other side of the street whenever they set eyes on me. And especially I want Agatha Benthorn to invite me to her house for tea.

  “So that’s what I’m wishing for, Mr. Wish Giver. I’m wishing that people will pay attention to me. And smile when they see me. And I wish that someday soon, Agatha will ask me to come to her house. I know I’m a fool for believing Thaddeus Blinn is anything but a fake, but…”
>
  Suddenly Polly dropped the card. That was funny. The red spot felt warm—almost hot—against her thumb. She looked down at the floor, and a little gasp escaped from her throat.

  The card had fallen under the bed, away from the light of the tiny lamp. In the darkness the spot on the card glowed like a burning coal.

  Outside her window the sound of the frogs could still be heard.

  Chirp-a-chirp! Chirp-a-chirp!

  Ag-a-tha! Ag-a-tha!

  JUG-A-RUM!

  Polly tossed and turned in her bed until late that night. She couldn’t get her mind off Agatha and the torn dress. The frogs down by Spider Crick kept up their chirping and croaking. Finally in the small hours of the morning, Polly nodded off.

  She woke up just shy of eight o’clock. She was still tired, and her eyes felt like they had sand in them. Polly washed herself, combed her hair, and got dressed, feeling meaner than a snapping turtle on account of not sleeping well. She trudged downstairs and into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Kemp sighed and shook her head when she saw the mood Polly was in and hoped her daughter would hold off any complaining until she got to school. But Polly took one look at her toast and eggs and started in.

  “Mother, the toast is just horrid. It’s all burned and—

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  How on earth could a bullfrog have gotten into the house? Mrs. Kemp wondered. Why, it sounded like it was right in the kitchen.

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Mrs. Kemp’s eyes lit on Polly. The girl was sitting bolt upright with one hand at her throat. She looked like she was about to scream, but the sound that came out was:

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Polly’s mother shook her head in exasperation. “You can stop that right now, young lady,” she said. “Making frog sounds isn’t going to get you out of school today. You’ve told me you were sick too many other times, and then—”

  “JUG-A-RUM! JUG-A-RUM!”

  “That’s enough, Polly!”

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “All right, be a frog if you want to. But get that breakfast into you and be off.”

  Before she knew it, Polly was standing on the front steps with her coat on and her schoolbooks under her arm. Her mother slammed the door behind her.

  Polly shuffled down the road to school, scared to death by the croaks that come from her mouth when she tried to speak. Once or twice she tried talking to herself, unable to believe what had happened.

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  When she was about halfway to school, she heard running footsteps on the path behind her. She turned around, and there was Adam Fiske. She hoped he’d just pass on without saying anything, but as he came up beside her, he slowed to a walk.

  “Good morning, Polly,” said Adam. “After today I’ve got a few days off before final tests start. What do you think of that?”

  Polly didn’t like it at all. The older students were lucky. She still had to go to school every day.

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “You don’t have to get sassy with me, Polly Kemp,” Adam told her.

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Adam stopped walking and looked carefully at Polly. “Hey, you do that real good. It sounds just like a bullfrog.”

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “I’ve got better things to do than talk to somebody who only makes frog sounds,” said Adam. “’Bye, Froggy.” And he trotted off down the road.

  When Polly reached the school playground, the first thing she saw was Agatha Benthorn standing near the swings whispering something into Eunice Ingersoll’s ear. Eunice pointed, and Agatha turned about. She made an ugly face at Polly and stuck out her tongue. Then she and Eunice linked arms and walked away with their heads high, leaving Polly behind, unable to say a word.

  It wasn’t fair, Polly thought miserably. She hadn’t intended to say anything peevish or nasty. Instead, she wanted to tell Agatha how sorry she was about tearing the dress. But all she could do was croak, and if the two girls heard her, they’d laugh. Polly didn’t think she could stand that.

  “For once you kept your mouth shut,” she heard someone say, “instead of letting it get you into trouble. Good for you, Polly.”

  It was Lenora Wickstaff. Leland was with her. Polly tried to speak.

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “You sound just like a bullfrog,” said Leland with a big grin on his face. “Where’d you learn to do that, Polly? Can you teach us?”

  “JUG-A-RUM! JUG-A-RUM!”

  “Leland’s talking to you, Polly,” said Lenora. “Can’t you do anything but croak at him?”

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Leland and Lenora looked at one another in astonishment. They led Polly to a quiet corner of the playground. “Say something, Polly,” Lenora ordered in a hushed voice. “Like…what’s your name?”

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “Come on, Polly,” said Leland. “Stop fooling around.”

  “She’s not fooling, you dumb lummox,” Lenora told her brother. “Nobody fools with tears running down their face. Polly, what’s happened?”

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “Here, dry your eyes.” Lenora took a handkerchief from her pocket and started scrubbing at Polly’s face.

  When the school doors opened, Lenora and Leland stood close beside Polly and pretended to be talking to her and listening to her. Polly got to her room just as the teacher, Miss Morasco, was about to call the roll.

  “Robert Appleton?”

  “Here.”

  “Agatha Benthorn?”

  “Here.”

  Polly gazed miserably at the floor. Soon her name would be called. She’d have to answer. Already she could imagine the whole class laughing at her.

  “Eunice Ingersoll?”

  “Here.”

  “Polly Kemp?”

  Polly waved her hand about frantically. Miss Morasco just had to see she was in her seat. Maybe the teacher wouldn’t ask…

  “Polly Kemp?” Miss Morasco looked up from the class list in her hand. “Polly,” she said, “the rule is clear. To be marked present, you must answer ‘Here’ when I call your name.”

  Silently Polly nodded her head. A boy chuckled, and Agatha Benthorn leaned toward Eunice Ingersoll. “First time I ever saw Polly Kemp without any words to say,” Agatha told Eunice.

  Polly heard the remark. She was so outraged she didn’t even think about croaking.

  “Here!” said Polly loudly.

  Miss Morasco nodded and went on with the roll call.

  Polly couldn’t believe what had happened. Somehow she could talk again!

  For the whole morning Polly didn’t say much, and what she did say was in a whisper. But the croaking seemed to have completely disappeared. Just before lunch she was able to give Miss Morasco the capitals of all the states with only two mistakes.

  On the playground the boys were hogging both swings and even the seesaw. It made Polly angry. She was about to shout at them to give the girls a turn, when Leland Wickstaff grabbed her arm and led her to a corner of the school yard where Lenora was sitting.

  “You look meaner than a snake with the toothache, Polly,” Leland said. “But don’t start in yelling. Maybe shouting is what made you lose your voice in the first place.”

  “I’m just glad it’s over,” said Lenora. “When did the croaking start, Polly?”

  “This morning,” Polly replied. “I was eating breakfast, and I was right in the middle of complaining to mother about how she’d burned the toast when—”

  “If I complained to my ma about burned toast, she’d whack my backside,” Leland told her.

  “You just give your voice a rest, Polly,” said Lenora. “Miss Morasco said it was real nice, the way you’ve been so polite all morning. She told me she’d never seen you like this before.”

  Polly smiled. She liked hearing that Miss Morasco was pleased with her.

  After lunch was arithmetic class. It was Polly’s best subject.

  Agatha Benthorn was sent to th
e blackboard to do a multiplication problem. Her hand shook as she wrote the numbers. Everybody in Coven Tree knew Agatha didn’t know beans about arithmetic.

  “Seven times seven is seventy-seven,” Agatha mumbled to herself.

  Polly’s hand shot up. “Seven times seven ain…isn’t…seventy-seven,” she called out. “It’s forty-nine.”

  “Quite right,” said Miss Morasco. “Someone else had better finish up, Agatha.”

  Agatha slunk back to her seat. Polly leaned over and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Polly said. “Anybody could make—”

  “Don’t you say a word, you…you urchin!” Agatha whispered. “Maybe you know your numbers, but you’re trash, and that’s all you’ll ever be!”

  Well, that tore it! Nobody—nobody—talked to Polly that way.

  “Agatha Benthorn, you are dumb!” shouted Polly, not caring who heard her. “You ain’t got the sense that—

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Everybody in the class looked around to see where the frog was.

  “JUG-A-RUM! JUG-A-RUM!”

  It was happening again!

  “It’s Polly Kemp!” howled a skinny boy in the back row. “Polly sounds like a bullfrog!”

  The other pupils were pointing their fingers at her and laughing. Polly couldn’t stand it.

  “JUG-A-RUM!” she shouted.

  The laughing and jeering got louder.

  “Stop it at once!” At the sound of Miss Morasco’s voice, the students became as still as stones.

  “Polly, are you croaking like that on purpose?” the teacher asked.

  Polly shook her head. “JUG-A-RUM!”

  “Come to my desk, Polly,” said Miss Morasco.

  Moments later Polly was trudging along the path to her house. When she arrived, she gave her mother the note Miss Morasco had written. Mrs. Kemp read the note and then tried to ask Polly some questions, but the only answer she got was:

  “JUG-A-RUM!”

  Mrs. Kemp gave Polly some hot tea and then sent her to bed, promising to call the doctor if she wasn’t better in the morning.