The sun had chased winter away. The ice had thawed and the snow was melted. Spring flowers were already blooming in every nook and cranny. The willows had decked themselves out with beautiful silver catkins, and buds were swelling on the birch trees and hazel bushes.
No wonder all the people that the little Witch met these days looked happy. They were glad of the spring. Thank goodness winter’s over at last, they thought. We’ve had to put up with it quite long enough.
One day the little Witch was going for a walk in the fields. At the edge of one field sat a woman. She looked so miserable that it went to the little Witch’s heart.
“What’s the matter?” she asked kindly. “That’s no way to look in this lovely weather! Spring has come, haven’t you noticed?”
“Spring?” said the woman sadly. “Well, you may be right, but what’s the good of that? Spring or winter, it’s all the same to me. The same trouble, the same sorrows. I wish I were dead and buried in the ground.”
“Come, come!” cried the little Witch. “You shouldn’t be talking of dying at your age. You’d better tell me what’s worrying you, and then we’ll see if I can help.”
“You couldn’t possibly help me,” sighed the woman. “But I’ll tell you my story, all the same. It’s my husband. He’s a tile-maker. You don’t earn a fortune making tiles, but what the tile-making brings in would be enough to keep us from starving. If only my husband didn’t waste all his money in the skittle alley! Night after night, he throws away the money he earned in the daytime playing skittles with his friends in the tavern. There’s nothing left over for me and the children. Can you blame me for wishing I were dead and buried?”
“But haven’t you ever tried to make your husband see reason?” asked the little Witch.
“I’ve tried and tried!” said the woman. “It would be easier to melt a stone. He won’t listen to me – nothing I say does any good.”
“If talking to him doesn’t help, we must get at him some other way!” said the little Witch. “Tomorrow morning bring me some hairs from your husband’s head. Quite a small tuft will do. Then we’ll see.”
The tile-maker’s wife did as the little Witch told her. Early next morning she came to the edge of the field bringing a tuft of her husband’s hair with her.
She gave it to the little Witch, saying, “I cut this tuft of hair off his head last night while he was asleep. Here you are. But I don’t see how it can help you.”
“It’s to help you, not me,” said the little Witch mysteriously. “Go home now, and just wait and see what happens. Your husband will lose all his taste for skittles. He’ll be cured before the week is out!”
The woman went home. She could see no sense in it. But the little Witch knew exactly what she was doing. She buried the tile-maker’s hair at the nearest crossroads, repeating all kinds of magic spells over it. Finally she scratched a magic sign in the sand with her fingernail, on the exact spot where the hairs were buried. Then she winked at Abraxas the raven.
“There!” she said. “The tile-maker had better be ready for a shock!”
That evening the tile-maker went to play skittles as usual. He drank his beer with the other players. Then he asked, “Shall we start?”
“Yes, let’s start!” they all cried.
“Who’s to have the first go?”
“Anyone who likes!” it was decided.
“Good,” said the tile-maker, reaching for the ball. “Then I’ll knock all nine skittles down at once. Just watch them tumble over!”
He gave a mighty swing of his arm. Then he rolled the ball.
The ball rolled thumpety-thump along the skittle alley. It crashed into the skittles with a thunderous noise, and crack! off flew the king skittle’s head! The ball rolled on and struck the wall with a loud crash, making a big hole in it.
“Hey, you – tile-maker!” cried the skittle players. “What’s the idea? Do you want to break up the skittle alley?
“That’s funny,” muttered the tile-maker. “Must have been something to do with the ball. I’ll use another next time.”
But his next turn, when it came round again, was even more disastrous, although he had chosen the smallest ball of all. It shattered two skittles to pieces, so that the chips whirred round the scorer’s ears – and it made another hole in the wall.
“Look here!” the other players threatened the tile-maker. “Either you roll the ball a bit more gently in future, or we shan’t let you play skittles with us any more.”
“I’ll be very careful,” the tile-maker promised them faithfully.
He rolled the ball for the third time.
It was the most cautious, gentle shot he had ever made in his life. He pushed the ball off with only two fingers – but crash! it rolled through the middle of the skittles and struck the corner post with such force that it broke in half.
The post heeled over and half the ceiling crashed down. Planks and pieces of beams fell like hail; laths, bits of plaster and roof tiles rattled to the ground. It was like an earthquake.
The skittle players stared at one another, pale with fright. But when they had got over the first shock, they took their beer mugs and flung them at the tile-maker. “You be off!” they shouted furiously. “Get out! We don’t want anything to do with a man who breaks the skittle alley to pieces. Play skittles anywhere you like in future – but you won’t play here!”
On the following evenings, at the other skittle alleys in the village and the surrounding villages, just the same thing happened to the tile-maker. It never took more than three shots to bring the ceiling tumbling down. Then the other players threw beer mugs at the tile-maker and wished he were on the moon. Before the week was out there was nowhere left for him to play skittles. “For goodness’ sake!” people cried wherever he appeared. “It’s the tile-maker! Quick, hide the skittles and put the balls away. Don’t let that man get his hands on them, or something dreadful will happen!”
In the end the tile-maker had no choice but to give up skittles for good. Instead of going out to the tavern every evening he always stayed at home now. He found that dull at first, to be sure, but in time he got used to it, for the little Witch’s magic spells had taken care of that too.
After this the woman and her children were in no danger of starving, and the little Witch could be happy to think how she had helped them.