WENDELL had counted on having a good deal of sport with the Cloak of Darkness and the Cap of Thought, wearing them around the house and outdoors, and even in school, but he was a bit afraid to risk any accident to them before the eventful Saturday. So he locked them securely in his chiffonier until that morning.

It was usually very hard to get him to wake up Saturday mornings, but this Saturday was an exception. He was up with the lark,—if there had been any,—ate his breakfast before the rest of the family came down, and was soon on his way over the now familiar route, to the Brookline house. He had timed it nicely. The Giant was just leaving as he got there; and Wendell, only too well aware that his scent was now well-known to the Giant, scuttled down a side street until the monster was out of sight.

Into the familiar kitchen once more, and all through the house, went Wendell. The mother and daughter were doing the upstairs work and Wendell sat around with them for some time, following a confusion of most uninteresting household details that ran through their minds.

At length he was repaid.

“I guess I’ll get my warm quilt out for the winter,” thought the girl. “It’s getting cold these nights. Now, where did Mummer put that attic key? If I ask her, she probably won’t tell me, just to be mean. I’ll hunt around, instead.”

Presently, the Witch went downstairs, and her daughter took that opportunity to look through her mother’s bureau drawers; and after some search, she found it.

“I’d better wait,” she thought, “till Mummer goes marketing. Then I’ll put the key back again and say nothing about it.”

But she had no sooner gone downstairs, herself, than Wendell took the key and unlocked the attic door. He took the precaution of locking it again on the inside, so that there could be no intrusion while he was searching for the Book. He chuckled to think how chagrined the Ugly Stepsister would be when she went to look for the key and thought her mother had changed its hiding-place.

The attic was a large unfinished room with peaked roof. It was only in the middle that one could stand upright. There was some old furniture and there were several trunks. Wendell tried the trunks first. One was locked, with the key still in the lock, and opened easily. And there, inside, among a store of pillow cases and towels, lay what was undoubtedly the Magic Book. It was as easy as that!

The Book was about as large as Webster’s Unabridged. It was bound in very dark, smooth leather, all worn and frayed at the corners, and fastened with a heavy iron clasp. It did look heavy, just as the Pixie had said, but Wendell seized it firmly, and attempted to lift it with an energy that almost pulled his arms from their sockets. For the Book didn’t lift a fraction of an inch. It might have been soldered to the trunk.

“My! It is weighty! He was right!” gasped the boy.

He tried again, and again; but the book must have weighed tons. There was no lifting it.

Wendell considered the matter. There must be something he could do,—but what? Of course, he could go home and tell the Pixie and get changed into something strong,—a yoke of oxen, or an elephant. But this was Saturday. The Pixie had done Monday’s fractions Friday night, and probably wouldn’t be around again till Monday night. Well, well, what a disappointment!

He sat down on the edge of the trunk and examined the volume. There was no title on the cover. He undid the clasp and opened the Book at random. Yes, this was undoubtedly it. The quaint old lettering showed it, the long strange words. He spelled out what seemed a perfectly meaningless sentence.

Whish-sh-sht! A prolonged rushing noise like a sky-rocket, and there stood before him a strange and uncouth figure. It was a man somewhat above average height, wearing a costume that Wendell thought was oriental, though he had never seen anything like it before.

“Who are you?” faltered Wendell.

“I am the Slave of the Charm,” replied the stranger. “I have answered your summons. What are your commands?”

“I don’t quite understand,” gasped Wendell. “Please explain.”

“You said the magic words that summon me,” repeated the apparition. “I am here to do your bidding.”

“Oh, I see,” said Wendell. “Good work! Please take this Book home for me.”

“I obey,” returned the stranger. He lifted the Book on his shoulder, turned down the stairs and vanished straight through the locked door.

Wendell scrambled after him, first drawing around him the Cloak of Darkness, which he had thrown off. Not being a magic apparition, himself, he was forced to unlock the door to get through, and this delayed him a moment. So he caught just a glimpse of the genie, vanishing through the front door without opening it. But the witch and her daughter had seen him go and seen the Book on his shoulder; and the daughter’s mind was whirling like a merry-go-round, as Wendell easily perceived.

However, it was quite otherwise with her mother. The former witch sat on the lowest step of the stairs, with such a happy and peaceful look that Wendell hardly knew her. “Free at last!” she was exulting

“I AM THE SLAVE OF THE CHARM,” REPLIED THE STRANGER