You’re no child of mine! You’ll have to start changing your ways pretty soon or you won’t grow up into a decent witch! She glared at Minx with her little red eyes, clapping her tall, pointed hat on her scraggly hair. You disobedient girl! shrieked the old witch. I don’t like riding around in the dark and cold. This evening Madam Snickasnee was preparing as usual for her nightly jaunt on her broomstick to see what trouble she could stir up.ĭon’t you want to come along with me, tonight? she asked, in her harsh crow-voice. Her name was Minikin-Minx for short she was nine years old, and she wished with all her heart that she were not a witch’s child. She had a daughter, however, who hated the house, and looked with longing at the gay, neat houses of the town. It stood on the very edge of the town, a small, melancholy house with steps so old that one was in danger of falling through them but Madam Snickasnee was too busy working her black magic and riding around on her broomstick to do anything about it-even if she had wanted to. The ugliest, most rickety house in town belonged to the old witch, Madam Snickasnee.
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