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76 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 1974
Timothy put his hand into Miss Melinda's quite easily, although he had only just met her. She was the right sort of person. Timothy's mother had said that he was sure to enjoy staying with Miss Melinda but he had been doubtful. Now he felt more sure.Skipping ahead a page or two,
Miss Melinda smiled down at him as if she liked him. "We get on a bus first," she said.
On the bus something a little peculiar happened. Miss Melinda had Timothy's suitcase on her lap, and her hands lay on it quite empty, with no purse. When the conductor came along the bus saying, "Ennimofase please?" she handed him several pennies.
"One and a half to the New Moon, please."
Timothy did not see where she had got the pennies from. The bus ride was not long; they soon climbed down, and walked.
"Is it far, Miss Melinda?" Timothy hoped his suitcase was not too heavy for her. It had Scotty, the special dog he slept with, and his paint box, as well as clothes.
"No, not very far. You must call me Melinda. I don't feel old enough for 'Miss' yet."
One is not supposed to ask women how old they are, but of course there is not harm in wondering. Timothy looked at her thoughtfully. It was true that she was the young sort of grown-up.
"All right, Melinda," he said.
They turned along a quiet little street with tall hedges on both sides and tall gates in the hedges. They went in a blue gate and up a flagged path to a blue front door. Melinda put out her hand and pushed the door open, and it squeaked gently.
"Don't you keep your door shut?"
"No."
"Wouldn't robbers be able to get in?"
"The door only opens for me. Or for you. Put your hand on it now while mine's there. Now you have only to say 'Please' and this or any door of mine will open for you."
"Will they really? All of them?" In the hall there were three blue doors, two on the right and one straight ahead. None of them had handles.
"All of them."
One of the doors downstairs was open too, and he went in. It was the kitchen. Melinda was there, sitting with her feet on the fender, watching a kettle pour boiling water into the yellow teapot. Timothy watched too, with his eyes rather wide. Melinda paid no attention to his wonder; her hair was curling up a little on her shoulders as if there were a breeze blowing it.It's not the most exciting start, but you see how the details of Timothy's visit and the arrangement and relationship between Melinda and his mother is completely skipped - kids don't care about the whys. There's a line in the next book, I believe, that suggests that Timothy's mother knew Melinda when his mother was a child as well. But again, why dwell on that when there's ACTION to be had!
"How does the kettle do that by itself?"
"Oh, just magic, " she answered. Timothy watched as the teapot balanced through the air to a tray that was laid out for tea. The tray lifted itself up and sailed over Timothy's head and out through the door. Another of the blue doors in the hall opened for it.
Melinda stood up; her hair was definitely blowing about now as if there were a wind, but Timothy could not feel any wind at all. He took the hand she held out to him and went with her, very interested indeed, after the tray.
The carpet was thick, like grass, and the wallpaper had leaves all over it. However, it was the table he looked at, where the cups and saucers and plates that had been on the tray were placing themselves on the yellow cloth.
Melinda picked up a chair for herself and put it before the table, so Timothy did the same, going to the place that had been laid opposite her, and they sat down. Melinda poured out the tea.
"How does the magic work?" asked Timothy.
"It's because I am lazy. I make magic do things I don't feel like doing. It took a long time to learn the magic, of course, but it was worth it; although magic is work, in its way, too, it's a different kind of work, and a change is as good as a holiday, you know."
"Are you a fairy?"
"No, a white witch. Have another strawberry, you've only got two on that bread."