The Well-Wishers Read Online Free Page A

plants, but you don't always know their names. We got into conversation about this and she pointed out the different ones. Prince's pine I knew, but I didn't know pokeweed or pipsissewa. But this old lady knew just about every plant in that woods.
    By the time we got down the hill to the road I was pretty sure she wasn't a witch. Just a poor slightly touched old lady, probably, who had wandered astray. But it did seem too bad that such an active, cheerful old lady should be touched, even slightly.
    So I said, "Would you like to talk about your problem?" Just wanting to be friendly, and make small talk.
    "My problem?" She sounded surprised.
    "Yes. What it is that you're hopeless about. Or have they got you feeling hopeful again by now?"
    She began to laugh. But not in a bloodcurdling way at all. And then she told me that she wasn't at Hopeful Hill as a patient. She was one of the doctors, a psychologist she called it. (I had to stop writing this story and go ask James how to spell that word.)
    Her job was being a psychologist, but her hobby was nature; so one of the things she did to make people hopeful again was teach them all about plants. And about birds, too.
    And then we really began to get along. Because birds have always interested me a lot, for some reason. Only I don't have much chance to talk about them, because most kids seem to think caring about birds is queer. At that last boarding school I went to, that I hated, they called me Birdland, and broke all my Audubon Society records. After that I learned to keep birds to myself. I have never once mentioned them to James and Kip and the others, for fear of what they might think.
    But this old lady did not seem to think being interested in birds was queer at all. She hadn't seen a winter wren yet that fall, but I had. And she couldn't imitate the black-throated green warbler worth a darn. I can. But she showed me where there was a pileated woodpecker's nest, just a few yards off my own road.
    By the time we came to the private drive that leads to Hopeful Hill, I was really sorry to be saying good-bye. And I almost think maybe she was, too, because she kept her hand on my arm.
    "I wonder," she said. "You were asking about my problem. It happens that I do have one. Her name is Sylvia. It occurs to me that you might be able to help me with her."
    And she went on to tell me about a little girl patient of hers who was a tragic case.
    "You see," she said, "Sylvia lost both her parents, suddenly, in an accident. And it was a terrible shock."
    "I know," I said. Because something like that happened to me once, a long time ago.
    "The thing is," said the old lady, "Sylvia is sort of frozen in her mind. She won't talk to me or anybody."
    "Doesn't she have
any
family left?" I said. Because I only lost a father.
    "She has an aunt." The old lady looked cross and witchlike again. "If you can call her that. But
she's
no help." And she went on to say that this aunt had a career, and no time to spend on Sylvia, just money. That was why she had sent her to Hopeful Hill.
    "But she doesn't seem to be getting any hope-, fuller?" I said.
    "No," said the old lady, "she doesn't. That is my problem. I have been wondering if perhaps she wouldn't talk to another child."
    It took me a second to realize what she meant. "Me?" I said then, surprised.
    "Why not?"
    "I'm no great shakes at talking. I've got some friends who could do lots better. Wouldn't you rather ask one of them?"
    I had almost forgotten about James and Laura and the others. But now I could hear them coming closer behind us, rustling and whispering, and that was what reminded me. And I think the old lady heard them, too, because her voice went gruff and snappy.
    "If I had wanted one of your clever friends," she said, "I would have said so. I'm asking you."
    And then I knew this was what the magic had been leading up to, all along, and that my big chance for a good turn was coming, and it was up to me not to fail.
    "All right," I said.