01 - Pongwiffy a Witch of Dirty Habits Read Online Free PDF

green mould on them, the ones at
the top were festooned with cobwebs, and a family of cockroaches had set up
house in one of the tea cups. “Oh well,” said Pongwiffy with a frown. “Suppose
I’ll just have to clear these away.”
    She stretched out a finger, and gave the nearest tower a little push. It
teetered for a moment, then toppled slowly, crashing to the floor in a nasty
mess of broken china and mouldy leftovers. Pongwiffy collapsed into the nearest
chair, exhausted. She wasn’t used to housework.
    That was when the doorbell rang.
    “Oh—botheration! Who’s that?”
    Hastily she glanced at her reflection in a bent teapot, and rubbed a bit of
dirt into her nose. The doorbell continued to ring with an insistent,
irritating, teeth-on-edge jangling.
    “Answer it! Answer it!” begged the Toad, who had a bad headache. Unable to
bear the racket, it plunged back into the batter and tried to relax.
    “All right, all right!” snarled Pongwiffy, hobbling to the door and snatching
it open.
    First, she thought there was no one there. Then, she saw it. A small, cute,
honey-coloured Hamster with pink paws was dangling by its teeth from her bell
rope. As it swung from side to side, the cracked bell continued to jangle harshly
inside the hovel.
     

     
    “Here—hang on a minute! Get down from there!” ordered Pongwiffy
severely.
    “Vat I do?” asked the Hamster with difficulty, speaking between
clenched teeth. “’Ang on or get down?”
    “Get down !”
    The Hamster dropped down, light as a leaf, nose twitching.
    “Coo. Vat a pong. You are Pongviffy. Ya, I come to ze right place.” And the
Hamster scuttled past her into the hovel, leaving a trail of minute paw marks in
the thick dust coating the floor.
    What a cheek! Pongwiffy was speechless.
    “Is big tip in ’ere,” remarked the Hamster, staring around. “Don’t you not
never do no ’ousework?”
    “Big tip? How dare you!” said Pongwiffy, finding her voice at last. “I
don’t know who you think you are, but I want you out of my hovel, this minute.”
    “’Ugo,” said the Hamster, still looking around.
    “I beg your pardon? Me go?” Pongwiffy couldn’t believe her
ears.
    “Nein, nein! Is name. ’Ugo. Viz an H.”
    “Well, look here, Hugo-with-an-H, I don’t know what you want, but…”
    “I vant ze job.”
    “Job? What job?”
    “Vitch Familiar. I see advert in paper. I come for interview. So. Interview
me.”
    And Hugo-with-an-H climbed up the table leg and settled himself comfortably
against the bent teapot, paws folded in his lap.
    “I shall do no such thing. You’re not suitable. Goodbye.”
    “’Ow you know zat till you interview me?” asked Hugo reasonably.
    “I can tell. We Witches know these things. You’re just not the right type.
Traditionally speaking.”
    “Vat is right type?” Hugo had found a pile of crumbs, and was busily stuffing
them into his cheek pouches.
    “Well—cats, of course. Weasels, ferrets, stoats, that sort of thing. Bats.
Crows. Toads occasionally, if you can find an intelligent one.” Pongwiffy glared
spitefully at the Toad-in-the-Hole, who had its head stuck out as usual and was
listening with interest to the conversation. “The thing is,” she continued. “The main thing is, a good Familiar has to be ugly or wicked, or better still,
both. A good Familiar is never cute and fluffy. With a silly accent.”
    “Meanink me?” enquired Hugo. He spoke mildly, but there was a dangerous glint
in his eye.
    “Most certainly. Just look at yourself. You’re sweet and cuddly. To a
disgusting degree, actually. But then, you’re a Hamster. You lot are supposed to
be cute. Nice, gentle little things who live in cages and get tickled under the
chin, like this…”
    Pongwiffy stretched out a bony finger, then snatched it back hastily,
unprepared for the sudden transformation. Hugo had shot to his feet, back
arched and fur bristling. His lips were curled back in a snarl, exposing rows
of