Being a witch isn’t easy Evilyn Badmanners and Goodrun Smith are two half-sisters who couldn’t be more different: what’s more, they are both witches! But Goodrun discovers that being good at magic isn’t as easy as you’d think. Though Evilyn and Goodrun are both the daughters of Witch Hayzell, they are not at all alike. When the two sisters are sent to the Academy of Black Art for their education, the witches in charge are impressed with Evilyn. Goodrun, however, fails in everything she does. During the final examinations, Goodrun fumbles in her spells and unwittingly creates havoc at the Academy…

 

Its nose is too small,” declared Aunt Drab, poking her own long and pointed nose into the new baby’s cot. “And . . . ugh! It’s smiling at me !” “Let me see! Let me see!” Aunt Stormkettle pushed her elderly sister aside. She too peered into the cot, her black, stringy hair dangling down like a bead curtain. “Oh, how disappointing!” she said when she saw the baby’s sweet face. “It doesn’t look like any of us!” “Doesn’t look like anybody!” said Aunt Thunder. “It’s almost pretty and it looks disgustingly pleasant.” “And it hasn’t got a single spot!” said Drab, who was extremely proud of her own green and warty features. “That child’s too ordinary to be our niece. It’s a usurper!” “Oh, come now dear!” said Aunt Nettle, possibly the kindest of the Aunts, as she put an arm around her sister. “Of course it isn’t a usurper. They come from the Himalayas, don’t they, or somewhere like that?” “No, they don’t! And I didn’t mean that!” “Oh, well! I was never good at geography. But such a clever word, Drab. What does it mean?” “It means that baby doesn’t belong here. That’s what it means!” “Oh, how can you say that about our dear Hayzell’s baby? She may be our great, great, great, great and ever-so-many greats, great niece but make no mistake, that child is ours! As for the smile, well, it’s very young. I expect it was a touch of wind. That happens with babies. I don’t think they can help it.” “Rotting cabbage!” said Thunder. “Witch babies don’t do it! I know a real smile when I see one, and I hate smiles! That child looks to me as though it’s going to grow up to be a goody-goody!” “Oh no!” The gaggle of ancient crones once more dipped their horrible heads into the small, black cot. “No, you don’t mean that, sister. It can’t be good.” Aunt Stormkettle poked the small bundle with a bony finger. “I’d like it to be a bad, ugly baby and think horribly evil thoughts. Say gungey-gungey, baby! Pokey-eyes-out. Sicky-sicky."

 

 

 

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