“Whew!” Amy flopped down on a kitchen chair. She looked at Jean with admiration. “How did you know the bird wanted to get into the house?”

Jean was busy putting the picnic trash into the waste basket and the banana peel into the garbage can. She took the oilcloth from Amy and wiped it on both sides with a wet paper towel. Then she folded it and gave it to Amy to put away.

“Well?” Amy said. “What about the bluejay?”

“Don’t you remember that the bird was trying to get in once before?” Jean said. “That was when Wispy pulled me into the house.”

Amy frowned. “I wonder why Wispy did that.”

“She must be afraid of the bluejay,” Jean said. “There’s something spooky about that bird.”

Amy put the milk container into the refrigerator. “You’re as bad as my mother about bluejays, Jean. This is the tamest bird I ever saw. Maybe she got away from a circus. And maybe she isn’t used to living outdoors. That could be why she wants to come into the house.” Amy peeked out of the kitchen window. The bluejay was sitting on a branch of the peach tree. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a bird like that for a pet?”

Bang! Amy looked up at the ceiling. Her bedroom was right over the kitchen.

“Your pet broom must have fallen out of bed,” Jean said.

The two girls ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. When they opened the door of Amy’s room, they saw the broom flying round and round. She was crashing into the furniture and banging against the walls.

“Take it easy, Wispy,” Amy said. “We didn’t mean to lock you in.”

The broom slowed to a stop and floated just above the heads of the two girls.

“Since you want so much to get out, Wispy,” Amy said, “what about taking us to the park?”

“It’s raining,” Jean reminded her.

“We could take an umbrella,” Amy said. “I like the park in the rain. It’s not crowded.”

The broom flew to the window. She poked her blue bristles between the slats of the venetian blind. Amy pulled up the blind. The rain was rattling against the windowpane.

All at once something crashed against the glass.

“It’s the bluejay!” Jean said. “She’s still trying to get into the house.”

The bird was hovering just outside the window. She looked straight at the little broom.

Wispy backed away from the window. She wagged back and forth.

“You mean you don’t want to take us to the park?” Jean sat down on the bed.

The broom nodded.

Jean looked at Amy. “Your broom doesn’t like to sweep. Now she doesn’t want to fly. What is she good for?”

The blue bristles drooped.

“Sh-sh.” Amy lowered the blind. She patted the little broom. Suddenly she had an idea. “I’ll bet I know what she’d like to do. Wispy, how about a game of Hide and Seek?”

The broom seemed to be thinking. For a minute she didn’t move. Then she gave a little jump in the air. All the bristles perked up.

“Do you know the rules?” Jean asked.

The broom wagged, “No.”

Jean explained the rules of the game. “No cheating, Wispy!” she said. “Amy, how will we know if Wispy is peeking when we hide?”

Amy thought for a minute. “We’ll use the living room sofa as home base,” she said. “Wispy has to keep her bristles under a sofa pillow while she’s counting. And she has to tap out her counts with the end of her stick.”

“What about ‘Ready or not, here I come’?” Jean asked.

“Wispy can bang that out in rhythm, like this.” Amy tapped with her foot to show what she meant.

“And if she finds one of us and gets to the sofa first, the one who’s caught has to admit it,” Jean said. “You can be It first, Amy.”

They played Hide and Seek all over the house. Wispy was skinnier than Amy or Jean. It was easier for her to hide. But the girls knew all the best hiding places.

The broom seemed to think that Amy and Jean were small enough to hide in a drawer. She poked her bristles into any drawer that was open even a little bit. And she kept looking in the closets.

One time Amy found the broom behind the ironing board in the corner of the kitchen. Wispy caught Amy hiding under her mother’s bathrobe. It was hanging on the back of a chair. Twice Jean hid in a place where neither Wispy nor Amy could find her.

Amy had just counted to eighty-seven when the front door opened. Her father came into the house. “Is your mother home yet, Amy?” he wanted to know.

Amy lifted her head from the corner of the sofa. “What time is it, Daddy?”

“A quarter to six,” Mr. Perkins told her, looking at his watch.

Jean crawled out from behind the sofa. “I’d better rush,” she said. “I’m late for supper already. See you tomorrow, Amy.”