Wispy took off at an angle and flew over the house across the street. Jean looked in an upstairs window. She saw her mother. Mrs. Remsen was smoothing the wrinkles out of the spread on Jean’s bed.

A minute later the girls and the broom were high in the air. A little gust of wind struck them. Wispy changed direction. A seagull flew past. Wispy started to chase it across the sky.

Amy and Jean held tight to the broomstick. Jean leaned forward and put her mouth to Amy’s ear. “Look! There’s the bridge to Staten Island!”

Amy saw water and ships far below them. They were flying over the harbor.

The seagull swooped down toward the ships. The broom followed.

Suddenly the gull caught sight of something floating in the water. He pounced on it.

Splash!

Wispy was so close behind the gull that her bristles hit the water.

At once the broom reared up. She tried to fly skyward again. Instead she kept sinking lower.

Amy held on to the broomstick and leaned back to help the broom point at the sky. “Up, Wispy, up!”

The choppy waves of the harbor washed under them. Jean’s feet dragged in the water. Amy held the string bag as high as she could to keep it from getting wet.

The little broom struggled. She strained forward and rose from the water. Then she started to drop down again. All her bristles sagged.

Wispy made a great effort. She coasted over the front of a boat and landed on the deck between two iron poles.

Amy and Jean stood up. Amy picked up the broom. She handed the string bag to Jean.

The two girls looked around. An iron gate stretched across the front of the boat. A man, a woman, and a little boy were standing by the gate. The man was staring at Jean and Amy. He took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. The woman put her hand to her forehead as if she had a headache. And the little boy was trying to hide behind his mother.

Amy looked into the boat. “Jean, there are cars in there.”

“It’s the ferry,” Jean said.

The girls went up a stairway to the deck above. People were sitting on benches in a big cabin. Jean and Amy climbed another flight of stairs. On the top deck there was another cabin. Long benches faced the water on the outside deck. The girls found a seat on one of them.

A cool sea breeze blew across the deck. Amy and Jean put on their sweaters. They watched a tugboat pushing a big ocean liner up the channel. Two sailboats skimmed past the ferry. The sun glinted on the water.

“Isn’t this great?” Amy said.

When the boat docked at Staten Island, the iron gates were opened, and the cars drove off the ferry. A ramp was lowered for people to walk ashore. Jean and Amy decided to stay on board.

“The ferry sails back to Manhattan from here,” Amy said. “If Wispy can’t fly, we can get a subway that will take us home.”

“We don’t have any money for carfare,” Jean reminded her.

“Hand me the string bag, Jean,” Amy said. “We might as well have lunch.”

Jean gave her the bag. Amy opened it and handed Jean a peach. “This ought to make you feel better.”

Amy looked at the blue broom. “Your bristles are soggy, Wispy.” She remembered the way the broom had acted the day it rained and when her mother had talked about a shower. “Is that why you can’t fly?”

The broom nodded.

“My feet are soggy,” Jean said. “It doesn’t keep me from walking.”

The girls sat on the bench and ate their lunch. The wind tangled their hair.

The ferry sailed past the Statue of Liberty. It was headed for the tall buildings of Manhattan.

When they had drunk the last drop of cherry soda Jean and Amy went into the cabin to put their trash into a basket. Amy saw a sign saying Women’s Room Downstairs. “Come on, Jean. I have an idea.”