“Old Gandersocks is such a braggart.  What happened tonight served him right.”  Bindytoes tossed another bit of driftwood on the fire as assents echoed among the wizards gathered at the midnight conclave.

“So right!” Retorted Spindleyarms. “Half his spells fizzle before they get started!”

Longienose laughed. “And no one pays him. He has to beg for work.”
I’ll never understand why Hilda-Brun wanted him for a husband,” Sillygoose, the witch, joined in.

“But she’s a fine old girl; I’m glad we helped her catch him.” Spindleyarms added.  “He thought we really believed that story of how he enchanted the broom.”

That’s what all the wizards and witches said to each other as they sat around the bonfire at the Ogdian Witch’s and Wizard’s Fair.  But let us leave them there and go to the beginning of our story one day earlier.

Just before the fair, Gandersocks, did an incantation for a farmer to make rain fall on his drought-stricken fields.  Lucky old Gander; the rain did fall and  the farmer was so delighted he didn’t notice it was a natural rain falling on his neighbor’s fields as well.  He paid a magnificent sum to the bumbling wizard who went straight to the farthest mountain in Ogda to the home of the Elfin people.

“Ainok, great Elfin king,” The wizard said when he climbed to their high mountain home.  “Sell me a potion, a spell, something to make me the most magnificent wizard at this year’s fair.  I’ll pay you a thousand gold coins.”

“Socks, old boy, your money means nothing here.  We elves live to laugh and you have paid us well over the years.  Last year you bragged that you got that scar on your shin while locked in mortal magic-wand combat with Galdath, the greatest of evil warlocks.  We know you got that scar when you fell over a chair running from a mouse in your own home.”

“Drat!  You’ve been watching me in your crystal ball again, haven’t you Ainok?”

Never mind that, Gander.  Because we think you are so amusing,   I’ll give to you the greatest gift we have.  This flying broom was left to us by the ancient witch, Thredan, when she retired a hundred years ago.

(Mortals think that all witches can make brooms fly and wizards can make them dance, but only the very best have flying brooms, and only once in a hundred years does someone come along who is that good.)

“Now show us, Gandersocks, what is stronger in you; cowardice or vanity?”

The old braggart shook as he straddled the broom which was already showing signs of life as it woke from a century of sleep.  Soon he was whizzing in circles above the Elfin village.  His long beard blowing in all directions, his hair streaming behind him and his blue, star-spangled robe billowing up to reveal blue star-spangled boxer shorts.

Just as the broom turned toward the fair grounds, Socks fell off.  It rocketed upwards into the clouds with its poor passenger following behind, tightly gripping a handful of straws.

Far above them, the elves heard the vanishing wizard scream, “THANKyouuuuuuu.” Then the merry little people burst into laughter and considered themselves well repaid for their gift.

Hours later the broom zoomed from the sky down to the center of the fair grounds with Gandersocks  hanging on for dear life as it whizzed back and forth overhead.  Gandersocks had the presence of mind to let go at the lowest point of a swoop.  He fell heavily into the thick dust of the fairway but was soon up on his feet shouting at the disappearing broom,

“Away, Away!
I command thee, gallant steed.
Fly to the sky.
Til I order thee back.”

A long silence followed.

“Uh, Gandersocks?” Longienose suppressed a laugh.

“Yes.”

“Usually magic incantations rhyme.”

“It makes no difference.  The broom followed my command and left.  My purse is full of coins and I seem to have lost my hat and wand.  Is there a vendor at the fair who sells top quality wizard accessories?”  Gandersocks was shaking out his robe and beard all the time he was talking.

Later, at the Bonfire, Gandersock’s dramatic entrance and full purse were the main – no, only – topic of conversation.  Some said that the old man had finally developed into a first-class, although still clumsy wizard.  After all, he was riding, or trailing, a flying broom.  Others argued that they had simply seen another display of Gandersock’s trickery.  There was no way that fool could conjure up such a spell.

“Well, he did cast such a spell.  I saw him do it!”  This remark came from Hilda-Brun, the oldest witch at the fair.  Her words shocked everyone including Gandersocks who was hiding behind a stage set up so that witches and wizards could show off their latest tricks.

“I saw him do it and I can show you how.”

“Yes, do!”  Longienose cried

“Would you please?” Sillygoose clapped her hands

“That would be capital entertainment.” Spindleyarms added

They all jumped to obey when Hilda-Brun ordered a kettle set over the flames and buckets of water brought.  Eye of newtand tongue of frog were common ingredients and cheap, so vendors willingly donated all that she demanded.  Fairy dust was a little dearer but someone found a pouchful and gave it to her.

“Ah, there you are, dear,”  Old Hilda-Brun said to Gandersocks as he stepped from behind the stage to get a better view of just how he had made the broom fly.  “I was just going to show everyone your secret.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s a rather difficult and intricate operation.  Of course, I don’t mind if you try to duplicate what you saw, but I’m afraid such a spell is too complicated for you.”

“Then let’s make a bet.”  The old crone said.  “If you say that I have done the spell wrong, I’ll give you another purse filled with gold to match the one you already have.  If you say I have done it right, then you will marry me immediately!”

The old wizard smiled pleasantly.  Hilda-Brun was a classic witch.  That is to say, unbelievably ugly.  She had an eye that almost bulged out of its socket while the other one remained blindly closed.  A sharp hooked nose sprouted a hairy wart and pointed down to an identical blemish on her long chin.  Between them, blood-red lips were held apart by a single tooth protruding from her lower jaw.  Her thin, bent frame was held together by greenish skin and a threadbare robe.

But Gandersocks smiled anyway.  It was up to him to announce whether she was right or wrong.  He would say whether he won the purse or she won him.  Of course, he would bet with her.  Then he would carefully watch, everything she did.  The final ingredient was usually the secret one.  When he saw it he would say.  ‘Ah, I’m sorry, Hilda.  Perhaps you didn’t see quite right, that’s not at all what I did.’

“Of course, Hilda-Brun.  Begin your brew.  I will tell you  if you are right or wrong.”

“First of all, you set your kettle over the bonfire just where the coals burned hottest and the flames licked highest, did you not, dear?”

“Quite right.  I’m always particular about that.” said the old liar.

“Then you added six buckets of cold water, isn’t that so, darling?”

“As cold as I could get.  Yes.”

Six young men poured water into the  cauldron for the old lady.

“Now, I believe you stirred it ’round with a long pole.”

“Yes.  Just that way.”

“Then I believe I heard you chant:
‘Bubble, bubble. Boil my pot.
Bubble ’til you’re glowing steamy.’
It’s amazing to me how your incantations work so well when they never rhyme.”

“Of course, that’s my style.  And that’s exactly what I said.”

“Look, the pot is beginning to steam now.  Soon, it will bubble and boil.  I’m growing faint already from the heat.  I don’t know how you ever stood it.”

“A good wizard is able to endure a lot.  Yes, you’re right in everything so far.”

“Now that it’s boiling, throw in seven handfuls of eye of newt.  Not six, not eight but seven.”

“That’s standard for a brew like this.  Everyone knows that.”

“And three frog’s tongues.”

“Yes.  As always.”

“Now, stir and stir and watch it roil and boil.  I’m growing ever weaker from the heat.  I don’t think I can stand much more.”

“Most can’t.  But it must be done just this way.”  Gandersocks answered from the back of the  crowd.”

“Now, just a sprinkle of fairy dust to make it sparkle.  Ah, almost finished, Thank goodness.”

“Yes, almost finished.  All that is left is the secret ingredient.”  The old wizard leaned forward as eager as everyone else to find out what it was.”

“But no!”  The old witch drew back.  “I can’t. Only the strongest of our kind can do such a thing.”  The old woman pointed a bony, green finger toward Gandersocks.  “I saw yon brave wizard stir the pot for a minute and a half with his bare finger?”

As one the stunned audience turned in awe to face Gandersocks.”

“Is it true?” Spindleyarms questioned.

“Can anyone do such a thing?” Sillygoose added

“Surely not.” exclaimed Longienose.

“Yet we saw him fly in today.” Bindytoes said.

“Does he not bear the scar on his shin from his fight with   Galdath.  No one else is brave enough to fight him.”

“Hurrah for Gandersocks;  The bravest, strongest wizard who ever flew a broom!”

Gandersocks looked at the admiring faces turned to him.  What if he said, “Oh no! I didn’t use my finger, I stirred the pot with a broom stick.”  How lame! No one would say “Hurrah for Gandersocks” then.  They  would try stirring with a broom stick themselves and be angry with him when it didn’t work.  If they thought he used his finger, they would both admire him and never find out he was lying because  no one would be able to hold their finger in boiling water for a minute and a half.

The old braggart looked at his warty soon-to-be betrothed; those eyes, that nose, that tooth, that skin.  His lips trembled for a moment before he forced a smile.  “You are quite right my dear.  Of course, I won’t repeat that feat right now, since I already have a flying broom, but that’s exactly the way I did it!:

Afterword:

The  wedding, which took place immediately, was a splendid affair.  Sillygoose acted as the flower girl.  Spindleyarms, the best man, held Gandersocks tightly to keep him from running off, while Longienose recited the words that bound  Hilda-brun to the man she loved.

Even the broom came back to see the ceremony and carry the happy couple away to Daytona Beachfor their honeymoon.  The last the witches and wizards saw of them, Hilda-brun was sitting on the handle, shrieking with joy as the broom rocketed up into the clouds, while Socks was hanging onto the straw just shrieking.

After that, the witches and wizards gathered around the bonfire where Hilda concocted the brew that captured her wizard.  That’s where you found them at the beginning of this tale.  And this is the end of it.