Mr. Figgletoes' Toy Emporium

Parker thought of his few possessions. There was only one thing of any value that he owned, and most of its value was sentimental. But that was all he had to offer. “I have a bike. You can have my bike.”

Miss Twizzle laughed so hard she nearly fell over. “A bike!” Gasp! Chortle! “What good is a bike to me? I can get around any way I want. Just watch this!”

Parker blinked his eyes as Miss Twizzle disappeared in a twinkling of purple stars. He jerked his head from side to side, looking for her. He turned in a complete circle. She had vanished!

“Up here, silly boy,” the witch said from high up in the cobweb-covered rafters. “Bet your bike can’t do that!”

Parker looked up, blinking his eyes rapidly. Miss Twizzle was sitting on a beam, fiddling with one of the bouquets of dried weeds hanging upside down from the rafter. Pressing it against her face, she sniffed. “M-m-m-m. These smell like they’re ready.” She untied the string that encircled the beam and tossed the dried plants down to Parker. “Catch,” she said, “and don’t drop them.” Parker caught them. The bitter scent it emitted caused him to wrinkle his nose and sneeze. He held the dried weeds as far away from his body as he could.