“If she’s a girl, we can’t call her Blue Boy,” Jean said. “And Blue Girl sounds awful.”

Amy was running her fingers through the blue bristles. “What about Wispy? Would you like to be called Wispy, pretty broom?”

The broom stood still, as if she were thinking. Then she swayed back and forth. Amy gave the bristles a little hug.

The broom did a tap dance on the floor with the end of her broomstick. She flew, bristles up, once around the room. Then she glided down in front of Jean and Amy and floated, with her stick level, about two feet above the floor.

“You mean you want to take us for a ride now, Wispy?” Amy asked.

The broom tipped back and forth as if to nod. The whole broom leaned forward, not just the bristles. It wasn’t exactly like a nod, but Amy and Jean knew what it meant.

“Can you carry both of us?” Jean wanted to know.

The broom nodded again.

Amy sat down on the broom, facing the bristles. She held on to the broomstick with both hands. Jean sat behind her and put her arms around Amy’s waist.

“Okay, Wispy,” Amy said. The broom rose in the air. She flew out of the kitchen into the dining room. Then she circled round and round the living room. She flew up the stairs, down the upstairs hall, and in and out of all the bedrooms.

The broom went up and down and round and round the house. At last she flew into Amy’s room and landed on the bed. Amy and Jean got off.

The little broom still lay on the bed.

“I think she’s tired, Amy,” Jean said.

Amy pulled the covers over the broomstick. She tucked the pillow under the blue bristles. Then she closed the venetian blinds. The two girls tiptoed out of the room and closed the door.