The Well-Wishers Read Online Free

the others will never know.
    I would not do a thing like that now, of course. I know now that the people at Hopeful Hill are not loonies, but just people who need hopeful talking to. And exercise, apparently.
    So just because this old lady wanted to go there was no reason for me to be scared of her, any more than I should be scared because she looked like a witch. There are no such things as witches, and there is nobody dangerous at Hopeful Hill, either. Or so they
say.
    All the same, if the well were insulted, and furious, it could easily send a witch after me, or an escaped maniac, or both. Couldn't it?
    All this was going through my mind when the old lady suddenly dug me in the ribs with her bony finger. I jumped.
    But "Cat got your tongue, boy?" was all she said.
    Of course I could perfectly well have given her directions for Hopeful Hill and gone in and shut the door. That is what I started to do.
    But then I remembered that the magic is supposed to be made up of doing good turns, and that this was supposed to be my adventure and the others were counting on me.
    I knew they hadn't wanted me along in the first place that day. I knew Lydia didn't have to go to the dentist. And that was really why I'd made the wish on the well, because I was feeling left out. And when Laura was so nice about that, and forgave me, I couldn't let her down now. If the magic had gone wrong, I'd just have to bear whatever brunt there was.
    So I said, "I'll come with you and show you."
    "Don't let me disturb your party of pleasure," said the old lady. I guess she could see the others peeking from the parlor window.
    But I said, "I was just leaving. It's right on my way home. Just a second till I get us a light." And I reached for the pocket flashlight I always carry, for it was really twilight now.
    "Lead on, Diogenes," said the old lady. I do not know why she called me that. "I can see in the dark, myself," she added. Somehow this did not make me feel any better about her.
    But I just said, "Take my arm, ma'am," and she took it with her skinny claw. If I were good with words, like James, I would probably say that her icy grasp seared my flesh. But it didn't. It just felt like a skinny claw.
    As we started down the slope, I looked back and saw the others in a huddle in the doorway, looking out after us. And when we'd gone a little farther, I could hear them coming along stealthily behind. That made me feel better. So long as they were there, nothing could go very wrong. If anything happened, they'd know what to do about it. They always do. That's what's so wonderful about them.
    I would not want them to read some of the things I have written about them in this chapter so far. I admire them so much, things keep slipping out.
    I would not want them to read some of the things I have said about myself, either. I'll have to come back and take those parts out, later, but I can't stop now. It's going to be hard enough to tell this story, and worry about sentence errors and errors of taste and getting all the way to the end, without stopping to make changes. Stories are not a thing I am good at. Miss Wilson says I just don't have the gift. She says I should learn to stick to the point. I'll try to do that from now on.
    It turned out the old lady didn't need my arm going down the hill at all. She was spry. Most of the time she was hustling me along. Except that she kept stopping, and I guess she
could
see in the dark, because what she stopped for was to pull up more plants and pieces of vine.
    Every time she did this she would talk to herself. What she said didn't sound like English, and at first I thought she was speaking mumbo-jumbo spells and gathering evil herbs for her witch's brew. Either that, or she was really crazy and was muttering insane gibberish. But when I stopped being scared long enough to listen, I decided she was just saying the names of plants.
    This was interesting. Because you can't grow up in the country without knowing a lot of