Johnny Twofeathers had his own issues with the difficult teacher, and when he walked by he gave ElsBeth a sympathetic look.
ElsBeth almost always knew what Johnny was thinking — he didn’t have to say anything. With just a nod in her direction, ElsBeth felt better.
Then Amy Clark slipped by. Her thick, yellow-blond banana curls mostly hid her sweet face. But with an embarrassed glance she gave ElsBeth a small smile of encouragement.
Nelson Hamm watched Amy longingly, just two steps behind the slight girl in pink, and he sighed, his ears turning red. “It could have been worse,” he mumbled to ElsBeth as he passed.
Robert Hillman-Jones swaggered up last, kicked ElsBeth’s desk, and squeaked, mimicking ElsBeth’s latest run-in with Ms. Finch. “Oh, quotient, quotient. What is a quotient?”
He laughed hard and burst out of the classroom and into the freedom of the schoolyard. His every step proclaimed he was going to have some fun.
ElsBeth frowned. Things were not going at all well. But she squared her slim shoulders and went into the hall.
She sang a little tune she made up as she went, to lighten her mood, and made her way back to the study hall. Time to begin her long, lonely afternoon of assignments for the Finch.
Chapter 2
A Befuddled Witch at Six Druid Lane
When ElsBeth got home that evening, her grandmother was unusually quiet. Normally the plump older witch would bound out of the garden, give ElsBeth a big hug, and ask all about her day at school.
Instead, Hannah Goodspell barely noticed her granddaughter.
ElsBeth turned to Sylvanas, the magical cat. “What’s up with Grandmother?”
Sylvanas didn’t answer. He just looked back with his nose in the air, as if to say, “It is far beneath ME to pry.” Which was a little ironic, as Sylvanas was probably the nosiest creature in the whole town, even perhaps all of the Cape and Islands. He really was an impossible busybody.
ElsBeth, however, soon forgot her own concerns and the annoying Sylvanas when her grandmother cast the same spell three times in a row and nothing happened.
ElsBeth realized something was really wrong. Hannah was one of the most respected witches in Massachusetts, and Massachusetts' witches were the most respected witches in all the New World. If Hannah was this disturbed it must be serious.
Was it more than just the business with the fairies? They certainly could stir up more trouble than a truckload of two-year-olds — devious, devilish two-year-olds at that.
ElsBeth decided she had to ask Bartholomew if he knew anything. Sylvanas clearly wasn’t going to be a help.
She found Bartholomew in the back of the garden. The extraordinarily big, bright green frog, formerly a handsome but incredibly vain Native American prince, could almost always be found relaxing in the garden.
And he could almost always be counted on to listen to ElsBeth’s difficulties. ElsBeth didn’t really have many difficulties. But when she had them, she could count on Bartholomew for sound advice.
She sat down in the minty medicinal herb section by the lemony plants. Bartholomew was at eye level, comfortably settled on his ornately carved garden stool.
He turned his glimmery golden eyes to the young witch. “Don’t worry, ElsBeth,” he croaked.
“Your grandmother is just a little anxious. Er … there have been some new goings-on with the fairies. You just can’t predict what they will get into next.”
ElsBeth thought there really must be more to it than this. There had been problems with the fairies since Halloween, when the little creatures had stirred things up at the pirate’s cave.
But trouble with them was nothing new, just one of those things a witch had to deal with on a daily basis.
ElsBeth tried to question Bartholomew further, but the frog just wouldn’t say more. He simply sat serenely, humming a pleasant Beatles tune while dusk settled quietly over the garden.
ElsBeth couldn’t help thinking there was more to her grandmother’s odd behavior than Bartholomew was letting on. She could sense there was something else just beneath the surface. But she couldn’t for the life of her tell what was happening.
She made up her mind. She really would have to talk with Sylvanas. And get him to answer. Right after dessert!
That morning, Grandmother had said they might have maple custard at supper. And with the thought of this tempting treat, all else, for now, was instantly forgotten.
ElsBeth jumped up, gave Bartholomew a quick hug, and went in to help with the meal.
As she stepped onto the porch, the heavenly scent of fairy cupcakes seeped into her senses. Double-double chocolate chip fairy-cream cupcakes were her all time favorite! Even better than maple custard! The little witch skipped inside.
Chapter 3
Mathematics Has Its Uses
That evening, after a delightful though unusually quiet dinner, Professor Badinoff, ElsBeth’s familiar, spent a whole hour going over the basics of multiplication and division.
For those who don’t know, a witch’s “familiar” is her unique, magical animal friend who helps and protects her, no matter what. And ElsBeth’s familiar was a bat, Professor Badinoff.
The impressive bat was an extraordinary teacher. He had a way of explaining things, especially mathematics, that ElsBeth could understand with no difficulty.
Why couldn’t Ms. Finch be more like Professor Badinoff? Then she started to giggle, picturing Ms. Finch with pointy bat ears and sharp teeth.
ElsBeth slid to the floor and rolled around, shaking with belly laughs. That would be something!
Professor Badinoff cleared his throat. He was an important and renowned intellect, after all, and didn’t often have students rolling on the floor during math lessons. This wasn’t the expected or proper behavior.
“Yes, well, as I was saying …” the professor continued.
Badinoff pointed to the extensive collection of rubber, tree frogs ElsBeth kept in her room. “ElsBeth, count out one hundred frogs, please.”
ElsBeth busily added up the required number of amphibians and placed them around on the hooked rug by her bed.
The professor flew to the slate chalkboard he used for mathematics lessons. He wrote neatly, in fancy script, “100 divided by 5=?”
He then directed ElsBeth to separate the one hundred frogs into five equal piles. ElsBeth divided the tree frogs by color, because she liked the look of it that way, and put the green, brown, purple, orange and red frogs in their own neat rows.
“Now, ElsBeth, count how many frogs are in each group, please,” the professor instructed in his serious teaching voice.
ElsBeth carefully added up the number of frogs in each group, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth with the effort to keep track. “Twenty! There are exactly twenty in each.”
“Precisely,” said Badinoff. And flapping his wing over the slate, he erased the question mark and wrote “20” in its place. “The quotient is twenty.”
ElsBeth frowned. “What’s a quotient?”
Badinoff