children?"
"No," he assured her. He couldn't resist asking, "Do you?"
"How dare you?" she demanded. "How dare you criticize when you know nothing about us? Do you find my children annoying? Well, did you ever stop to consider whether there might be a reason for their misbehaving? Would you excuse them for being noisy and out of sorts if I told you they've been cooped up in the house for the past two weeks with illness? How about if I
told, you their father may not recover, and their little sister just died?"
"I'm so sorry," the wizard said, for though he had a tendency to get impatient quickly, he didn't wish ill on anyone. "I had no idea."
The witch snorted and turned back to the blacksmith, who had finished repairing the latch.
The wizard felt terrible for finding the family irksome when they'd been through so much hardship. Under the circumstances, he was willing to forgive them, even the little girl, who was sticking her tongue out at him.
The smaller boy was still sniveling, but now the wizard realized it was because he had a cold. He realized this when the boy, who had his finger stuck up his nose, withdrew that finger to wipe it on his brother's sleeve. The older boy didn't notice because he was surreptitiously tying his sister's braids together.
The witch paid the blacksmith, then said, "Come, children, now we're off to speak to the miller."
The wizard wanted her to know he regretted
looking down on her and her children, so he stood where he was and repeated, "I am truly sorry."
The witch was cross for his being in the way. "Why? What have you done now?"
"Nothing," he stammered. "I meant I'm sorry for all that's happened to you."
The witch glanced around suspiciously. "What happened?" she demanded.
The wizard was becoming confused. "The children's father, who's sick. The little girl who died."
"I never said there
was
sickness and death," the witch snarled as though he'd intentionally misunderstood. "I said, 'What if...' Actually, my children are the way they are because they're spoiled brats." She shook her head and pushed past him, muttering, "Dumb twit of a wizard." She added, "You'll never find true happiness until you learn to be less judgmental and look beyond the surface of things."
If that was a simple statement, it didn't really follow what she'd just said. If it was a spell, normally the wizard would have felt the magic,
especially if it was being directed at him. But the children were jostling him as they pushed by on their way out, and he might have missed it.
Still, if it
was
a hex, it wasn't a bad one. He wasn't unhappy with his life as it was. He had his garden in the summer—when it wasn't overrun by rabbits—and fishing, and puttering about. And if he sometimes did get lonely, that was usually just about the time his students got back in the fall. Then, about the time they started really getting on his nerves, it would be summer again.
Life was satisfying, the wizard thought as he stepped up to the counter to give the blacksmith his order, if maybe somewhat predictable.
True happiness, he decided, was overrated.
The Beautiful Princess, the Wicked Stepmother, and the Ugly Stepsister
Once he got home, the wizard was happily tending his garden when a crow with a message tied to its leg came and refused to leave.
"Help," the message said. (It was written in lavender ink on pink stationery, all delicately perfumed and sealed with a miniature sealing-wax rose.) "I'm being held prisoner by my wicked stepmother, and my ugly stepsister has put a spell on both me and my betrothed. Please, please,
please,
help me."
It was signed, "Sincerely, Princess Rosalie," and whoever Princess Rosalie was, she had dotted the i's in her name by drawing tiny roses.
The wizard could be cranky, but he had a soft spot in his heart for people in trouble, and this sounded like serious trouble. "How far?" he asked the crow.
The crow, standing on the left arm of the scarecrow in the wizard's garden,
"No," he assured her. He couldn't resist asking, "Do you?"
"How dare you?" she demanded. "How dare you criticize when you know nothing about us? Do you find my children annoying? Well, did you ever stop to consider whether there might be a reason for their misbehaving? Would you excuse them for being noisy and out of sorts if I told you they've been cooped up in the house for the past two weeks with illness? How about if I
told, you their father may not recover, and their little sister just died?"
"I'm so sorry," the wizard said, for though he had a tendency to get impatient quickly, he didn't wish ill on anyone. "I had no idea."
The witch snorted and turned back to the blacksmith, who had finished repairing the latch.
The wizard felt terrible for finding the family irksome when they'd been through so much hardship. Under the circumstances, he was willing to forgive them, even the little girl, who was sticking her tongue out at him.
The smaller boy was still sniveling, but now the wizard realized it was because he had a cold. He realized this when the boy, who had his finger stuck up his nose, withdrew that finger to wipe it on his brother's sleeve. The older boy didn't notice because he was surreptitiously tying his sister's braids together.
The witch paid the blacksmith, then said, "Come, children, now we're off to speak to the miller."
The wizard wanted her to know he regretted
looking down on her and her children, so he stood where he was and repeated, "I am truly sorry."
The witch was cross for his being in the way. "Why? What have you done now?"
"Nothing," he stammered. "I meant I'm sorry for all that's happened to you."
The witch glanced around suspiciously. "What happened?" she demanded.
The wizard was becoming confused. "The children's father, who's sick. The little girl who died."
"I never said there
was
sickness and death," the witch snarled as though he'd intentionally misunderstood. "I said, 'What if...' Actually, my children are the way they are because they're spoiled brats." She shook her head and pushed past him, muttering, "Dumb twit of a wizard." She added, "You'll never find true happiness until you learn to be less judgmental and look beyond the surface of things."
If that was a simple statement, it didn't really follow what she'd just said. If it was a spell, normally the wizard would have felt the magic,
especially if it was being directed at him. But the children were jostling him as they pushed by on their way out, and he might have missed it.
Still, if it
was
a hex, it wasn't a bad one. He wasn't unhappy with his life as it was. He had his garden in the summer—when it wasn't overrun by rabbits—and fishing, and puttering about. And if he sometimes did get lonely, that was usually just about the time his students got back in the fall. Then, about the time they started really getting on his nerves, it would be summer again.
Life was satisfying, the wizard thought as he stepped up to the counter to give the blacksmith his order, if maybe somewhat predictable.
True happiness, he decided, was overrated.
The Beautiful Princess, the Wicked Stepmother, and the Ugly Stepsister
Once he got home, the wizard was happily tending his garden when a crow with a message tied to its leg came and refused to leave.
"Help," the message said. (It was written in lavender ink on pink stationery, all delicately perfumed and sealed with a miniature sealing-wax rose.) "I'm being held prisoner by my wicked stepmother, and my ugly stepsister has put a spell on both me and my betrothed. Please, please,
please,
help me."
It was signed, "Sincerely, Princess Rosalie," and whoever Princess Rosalie was, she had dotted the i's in her name by drawing tiny roses.
The wizard could be cranky, but he had a soft spot in his heart for people in trouble, and this sounded like serious trouble. "How far?" he asked the crow.
The crow, standing on the left arm of the scarecrow in the wizard's garden,
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