Witch's Business by Diana Wynne Jones

Frank, like a parcel or something. We should do it to help him, out of the kindness of our hearts.”
    â€œWhat about the kindness of his heart?” said Frank. “If he wants to give us five pence out of it, I’m not going to stop him.”
    I am, thought Jess. Secretly, she had decided that the whole thing was too big and dangerous for them. If Biddy could whisk people away from shopping with their mothers to chase other people through games of croquet, and if she could do this because she had at least one grown-up and possibly two in her power, then she must be a very strong witch indeed. Jess felt it was time she and Frank became Limited. She decided to try to make their parents understand.
    â€œMummy,” she said, that evening, “suppose Biddy Iremonger really was a witch. What would we do?”
    â€œNothing, of course,” said Mrs. Pirie. “There is no such thing as witches.”
    â€œThere are ,” said Jess. “And I think Biddy is . I know four things she did.”
    â€œJess!” said her mother. “Biddy is a poor old lady, a bit mad, and very well educated indeed. She knows Greek.”
    â€œAnd magic,” said Jess. “Bad magic, Mummy.”
    Mr. Pirie suddenly rose out of his chair. “Jessica, that’s enough! If I catch you talking like that again, I’ll stop your pocket money till Christmas.”
    Jess had to stop, partly because of the threat and partly because it was plainly no good trying to convince her parents. So, before she went to bed, she caught Frank and gave him the little brown Eye.
    â€œThere,” she said. “That’s all I can think of. If we keep together, we’ll both be protected. Thread it on your tiepin and wear it. I’ll wear my bracelet, with the blue Eye on it.” She made sure Frank did as she told him, then and there.
    â€œWho did you say liked ordering people about?” said Frank.
    â€œVernon Wilkins,” said Jess, and went to bed.

EIGHT
    The next morning, before they set off for the Mill House, Frank asked Jess if she had put up the CLOSED FOR GOOD notice.
    â€œOh, good heavens!” said Jess. “Not yet. And I do want it up, because it looks as if it says we closed because we want to do good in future.”
    â€œIt could just as well mean we only do bad things,” Frank objected as he followed Jess down the garden. “Why not just take down the first notice?”
    â€œNot yet,” said Jess. “It was such a good idea. I want everyone to know.”
    â€œThere’s someone knowing now,” said Frank, as they reached the shed.
    Sure enough, someone was outside the window, reading the notice. When they got near enough, they saw, to their surprise, that it was Mr. Adams. He was laughing, in a dreamy sort of way, as if the notice amused him.
    â€œGood morning,” he called through the glass.
    Jess politely opened the window and said “Good morning” back. But, she thought, if he wants to be a customer, we’ll just have to say we’re closed.
    â€œI’ve got a message for you two,” said Mr. Adams, “but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.”
    â€œFrom Frankie and Jenny?” suggested Frank. Mr. Adams really was the most absentminded-looking person he had ever seen. It did not surprise him at all that he had forgotten the message.
    â€œNo,” said Mr. Adams. “It wasn’t them.”
    â€œYour aunt,” said Jess. “I mean—er—Miss Adams, is she? She wants to paint us.”
    â€œProbably,” said Mr. Adams. “I know she’s expecting you, so it must be. Perhaps if we walk down together the message will come back to me.”
    A little shyly, Frank and Jess let themselves out into the allotment path and walked along beside Mr. Adams. He seemed, as Jess said, to be a nice man, but he was so vague that he rather alarmed them. He said suddenly, “Her