The clothesline rose up through the hollow tree, dragging Nick and Marjorie with it.

When they came out of the hole in the trunk, Marjorie looked around to see who had pulled them up. But there was no one there. She clicked off her flashlight and put it into her pocket. Then she untied the rope from the tree branch.

“Too bad you had to give the spoon back, Marge,” Nick said. “Now we don’t have anything to wind the rope on. How are we going to keep it from getting tangled?”

The clothesline stretched out and floated in the air.

Marjorie stared at it. “Some of the magic in the spoon must have rubbed off on it,” she whispered.

Nick touched the rope with one finger. “It’s damp from the magic brew in my clothes. Do you suppose that could have done the trick?”

“Maybe.” Marjorie gently stroked the clothesline. “Stella said with magic you never can be sure of anything.”

“At least we know it’s magic,” Nick said. “I wonder what it can do.”

“Ropey,” Marjorie asked, “could you take us home?”

The clothesline gave a happy little wiggle and rubbed against Marjorie’s arm.

Marjorie and Nick held onto the rope with their hands and twisted their legs around it. The clothesline sailed up out of the old beech tree. It flew high over Prospect Park and across the roofs of Brooklyn.

In almost no time Nick and Marjorie landed on their own front stoop.

Marjorie gave the clothesline a little pat. “Thank you, Ropey.” She looped it over her arm.

“We’ll have to be careful, Marge,” Nick said. “The clothesline probably can’t fly after the sun goes down.”

“Mother doesn’t like us to be out after dark anyway.” Marjorie opened the door with her house key. “Now let’s see what we can have for lunch.”