White Magic Page #3

"White Magic" is a collection of short stories by Lucy Maud Montgomery, known for her enchanting storytelling and vivid characters. The book explores themes of love, friendship, and the passage of time, often infused with a sense of wonder and magic. Each tale reflects Montgomery's ability to capture the beauty of everyday life while weaving in elements of the mystical and the extraordinary, showcasing her deep appreciation for nature and the human spirit. Through lyrical prose and memorable characters, Montgomery invites readers into a world where magic exists in the simplest moments.

• Short story

								

never seen at such close quarters before.

Will I look like that when I am very old? she thought, beholding
Granny's wizened, marvellously wrinkled face. I wonder if anybody will
be sorry when you die.

"Staring wasn't thought good manners in my time," said Granny. Then,
as Janet blushed crimson under the rebuke, she added, "Keep red like
that instead o' white, and you won't need no love ointment."

Janet felt a little cold thrill. How did Granny know what she had come
for? Was she a real witch after all? For a moment she wished she
hadn't come. Perhaps it was not right to tamper with the powers of
darkness. Peggy Buchanan was notoriously unhappy. If Janet had known
how to get herself away, she would have gone without asking for
anything.

Then a sound came from the lean-to behind the house.

"S-s-h. I hear the devil grunting like a pig," muttered Granny,
looking very impish.

But Janet smiled a little contemptuously. She knew it was a pig and no
devil. Granny Thomas was only an old fraud. Her awe passed away and
left her cool Sparhallow.

"Can you," she said with her own directness, "make a--a person care
for another person--care--very much?"

Granny removed her pipe and chuckled.

"What you want is toad ointment," she said.

Toad ointment! Janet shuddered. That did not sound very nice. Granny
noticed the shudder.

"Nothing like it," she said, nodding her crone-like old grey head.
"There's other things, but noan so sure. Put a li'l bit--oh, such a
li'l bit--on his eyelids, and he's yourn for life. You need something
powerful--you're noan so pretty--only when you're blushing."

Janet was blushing again. So Granny thought she wanted the charm for
herself! Well, what did it matter? Randall was the only one to be
considered.

"Is it very--expensive?" she faltered. She had not much money. Money
was no plentiful thing on a P.E.I. farm in 1840.

"Oh, noa--oh, noa," Granny leered. "I don't sell it. I gives it. I
like to see young folks happy. You don't need much, as I've said--just
a li'l smootch and you'll have your man, and send old Granny a bite o'
the wedding cake and fig o' baccy for luck, and a bid to the fir-r-st
christening! Doan't forget that, dearie."

Janet was cold again with anger. She hated old Granny Thomas. She
would never come near her again.

"I'd rather pay you its worth," she said coldly.

"You couldn't, dearie. What money could be eno' for such a treasure?
But that's the Sparhallow pride. Well, go, see if the Sparhallow pride
and the Sparhallow money will buy you your lad's love."

Granny looked so angry that Janet hastened to appease her.

"Oh, please forgive me--I meant no offence. Only--it must have cost
you much trouble to make it."

Granny chuckled again. She was vastly pleased to see a Sparhallow
suing to her--a Sparhallow!

"Toads am cheap," she said. "It's all in the knowing how and the time
o' the moon. Here, take this li'l pill box--there's eno' in it--and
put a li'l bit on his eyelids when you've getten the chance--and when
he looks at you, he'll love you. Mind you, though, that he looks at no
other first--it's the first one he sees that he'll love. That's the
way it works."

"Thank you." Janet took the little box. She wished she dared to go at
once. But perhaps this would anger Granny. Granny looked at her with a
twinkle in her little, incredibly old eyes.

"Be off," she said. "You're in a hurry to go--you're as proud as any
of the proud Sparhallows. But I bear you no grudge. I likes proud
people--when they have to come to me to get help."

Janet found herself outside with a relieved heart in her bosom and her
little box in her hand. For a moment she was tempted to throw it away.
But no--Randall would be so unhappy if he found out Avery didn't love
him! She would try the ointment at least--she would try to forget
about the toads and not let herself think how it was made--something
might come of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Janet hurried home along the shore, where a silvery wave broke in a
little lovely silvery curve on the sand. She was so happy that her
cheeks burned, and Randall Burnley, who was sitting on the edge of her
flat when she reached the pond, looked at her with admiration. Janet
dropped her box into her pocket stealthily when she saw him. What with
her guilty secret, she hardly knew whether she was glad or not when
he said he was going to row her up the pond.

"I saw you go down an hour ago and I've been waiting ever since," he
said. "Where have you been?"

"Oh--I just--wanted a walk--this lovely day," said Janet miserably.
She felt that she was telling an untruth and this hurt her
horribly--especially when it was to Randall. This was what came of
truck with witches--you were led into falsehood and deception
straightaway. Again Janet was tempted to drop Granny's pill box into
the depths of Burnley Pond--and again she decided not to because she
saw Randall Burnley's deep-set, blue-grey eyes, that could look tender
or sorrowful or passionate or whimsical as he willed, and thought how
they would look when he found Avery did not love him.

So Janet drowned the voice of conscience and was brazenly happy--happy
because Randall Burnley rowed her up the pond--happy because he walked
halfway home with her over the autumnal fields--happy because he
talked of the day and the sea and the golden weather, as only Randall
could talk. But she thought she was happy because she had in her
pocket what might make Avery love him.

Randall went as far as the stile in the birch wood between the Burnley
and the Sparhallow land--and he kept her there talking for another
half-hour--and though he talked only of a book he had read and a new
puppy he was training, Janet listened with her soul in her ears. She
talked too--quite freely; she was never in the least shy or
tongue-tied or awkward in Randall's company. There she was always at
her best, with a delightful feeling of being understood. She wondered
if he noticed she had her hair done up. Her eyes shone and her brown
face was full of rosy, kissable hues. When he finally turned away
homeward, life went flat. Janet decided she was very tired after her
long walk and her trying interview. But it did not matter, since she
had her love potion. That was so much nicer a name than toad ointment.

That night Janet rubbed mutton tallow on her hands. She had never done
that before--she had thought it vain and foolish--though Avery did it
every night. But that afternoon on the pond Randall had said something
about the beautiful shape of her pretty slender hands. He had never
paid her a compliment before. Her hands were brown and a little
hard--not soft and white like Avery's. So Janet resorted to the mutton
tallow. If one had a scrap of beauty, if only in one's hands, one
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