Spoiler! :
“Thoughts is very dangerous things,” declared Mrs Gumridge importantly, stroking her broomstick fondly. “Personally, I don’t have any more than three in a week.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lizzie. “You can’t go about all day and just not think anything. It’s absurd! You wouldn’t know what you were doing or where you were going or…” she broke off.
“Who’s the leader here?” the other witch demanded.
Lizzie sighed. “You are.”
“And does you want to learn to be a witch or not?”
“I does,” she replied, then corrected herself quickly. “I mean, I do.”
“Good then.” Mrs Gumridge grinned toothily. “You must learn not to think too much.”
“Are you sure you’re even a real witch?” Lizzie asked, carefully. She didn’t want to upset the old woman, but she was becoming doubtful. After all, Mrs Gumridge didn’t have a wand or a black cat or a cauldron and her broomstick seemed to resemble a long stick.
Mrs Gumridge glared at Lizzie and then focussed her eyes on the sky above. Suddenly, the wind began to howl and lightening stabbed erratically at the earth like a badly trained assassin. Thunder boomed in the distance and rain lashed against the dark ground.
And back up on the shadowy hill sat Mrs Gumridge, smiling. “That was a bit of luck,” she muttered, too quietly for Lizzie to hear.
Lizzie jumped up in fear and ran down the hill. This old witch is mad, she realised, and decided to leave her to her thoughts.
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