In the Women’s Room Amy took a paper towel and started to rub the blue bristles. The woman who had the job of keeping the room clean came over to see what she was doing.

“That’s not what those towels are put here for,” the woman said.

“I know,” Amy told her. “But if I don’t dry these bristles, the broom can’t fly. And we won’t be able to go home.”

For a moment the woman just looked at the two girls. Then she smiled. “In that case I suppose I’ll have to let you have some towels.” She pulled four paper towels from the dispenser and gave them to Amy. “Run along now, girls. I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Jean and Amy sat down in the big cabin to dry the bristles. They rubbed and rubbed. The paper towels were soaked through. But the bristles were still damp.

“We’d better not risk letting Wispy fly over water,” Jean said.

The ferry had reached the shore. It nosed its way between two rows of wooden pilings. Now everybody had to get off the boat.

Amy and Jean walked through the iron gate into the terminal building. They went down the stairs and out into the street.

“Now, Wispy,” Amy said, “do your best.”

She let go of the broom. Wispy fell over onto her side and floated above the pavement. Amy and Jean sat down on her.

The broom began to fly forward. She hardly rose into the air at all. The girls’ feet dragged on the sidewalk. The people who noticed them seemed to think they were riding on a strange sort of bicycle.

They followed the signs to the Brooklyn Bridge and flew over the walkway. The cables of the bridge crisscrossed on each side of them like a giant spiderweb.

When they reached the Brooklyn side of the East River, Wispy began to fly higher. Amy felt the bristles. “They’re almost dry now,” she told Jean.

“I wonder what time it is,” Jean said. “My feet are soaking wet. I’d like to change my shoes.”

Suddenly the little broom gave a bounce. She zoomed straight up in the air and took a short cut toward Amy’s house. In almost no time they landed on the front stoop.

Amy stood up and picked up the broom. The front door opened. Mrs. Perkins looked out. “What are you doing with the new broom?” she asked.

“We were riding on it, Mother,” Amy said.

Mrs. Perkins laughed. She took the empty string bag. “I see you fell in the lake again, Jean. The broom must have come in handy to pull you out.”

“We couldn’t have gotten home without it,” Amy said.