Granny Weatherwax was looking past her.
“Who're these people?” she said.
The three girls looked embarrassed.
“See, they came round my house and said-” Nanny Ogg began.
“Don't tell me. Let me guess,” said Granny. She strode out, and inspected the trio.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “My word. My word. Three girls who want to be witches, am I right?” Her voice went falsetto. “'Oh, please, Mrs. Ogg, we has seen the error of our ways, we want to learn proper witchcraft.” Yes?"
“Yes. Something like that,” said Nanny. “But-”
“This is witchcraft,” said Granny Weatherwax. “It's not. . . it's not a game of conkers. Oh, deary, deary me.”
She walked along the very short row of trembling girls.
“What's your name, girl?”
“Magenta Frottidge, ma'am.”
“I bet that's not what your mum calls you?”
Magenta looked at her feet.
“She calls me Violet, ma'am.”
“Well, it's a better colour than magenta,” said Granny. “Want to be a bit mysterious, eh? Want to make folks feel you got a grip on the occult? Can you do magic? Your friend taught you anything, did she? Knock my hat off.”
“What, ma'am?”
Granny Weatherwax stood back, and turned around.
“Knock it off. I ain't trying to stop you. Go on.”
Magenta-shading-to-Violet shaded to pink.
“Er . . . I never got the hang of the psycho-thingy . . .”
“Oh, dear. Well, just let's see what the rest can do . . . Who're you, girl?”
“Amanita, ma'am.”
“Such a pretty name. Let's see what you can do.”
Amanita looked around nervously.
“I, er, don't think I can while you're watching me-” she began.
“That's a shame. What about you, on the end?”
“Agnes Nitt,” said Agnes, who was much faster on the uptake than the other two and saw that there was no point in pushing Perdita.
“Go on, then. Try.”
Agnes concentrated.
“Oh, deary, deary me,” said Granny. “And my hat's still on. Show them, Gytha.”