Читать книгу Mister Meddle's Mischief - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Did you ever hear how Mister Meddle meddled with a conjurer one day? You didn’t?—well, I’ll tell you.

Now, you know, at some parties there is a conjurer who does all kinds of marvellous magic things. Well, once Meddle was invited to one of these parties, and he went, dressed up in his best suit, and feeling all excited.

There was a lovely tea—and afterwards there was to be the conjurer, doing magic tricks. Meddle didn’t say a word all through his tea, because he was wondering and wondering how the conjurer would do his magic. He guessed it must be because of his magic wand.

“Please go and play Nuts in May whilst I get the room ready for the conjurer,” said Mrs. Twinkle, who was giving the party. So every one went into the next room, and soon they were singing, “Here we come gathering Nuts in May!”

But Mister Meddle wasn’t. No—he had slipped into the tiny room where he had seen the conjurer put his coat and hat and bag, just to see if he could find anything interesting!

The bag was open! Some of the things were unpacked. The conjurer was not there. He was helping Mrs. Twinkle to arrange the chairs, so Meddle had the little room to himself.

He looked for the magic wand. It was in the bag! Meddle carefully took it out and looked at it. It was a thin silver wand, and it felt strangely heavy in his hands.

Meddle was suddenly full of excitement. He would use the wand and see if he could make it do some magic for him! So he waved it in the air and wished!

“I wish for a sack of gold!”

There was a thud beside him—and a great brown sack appeared, tied up at the neck. Meddle trembled with joy. Oooh! The wand was really magic. Look at this enormous sack!

“I must hide it outside where no one will see it!” said Meddle. So he dragged it outside and hid it behind the wall. Then he crept into the little room again and picked up the silver wand.

“What shall I wish for this time?” he wondered. He looked down at his shoes, and saw that they were very muddy from going out into the garden. That would never do! So Meddle waved the wand and wished once more.

“I wish for a beautiful pair of golden shoes on my feet!” Something flew off his feet—and his old shoes were gone! Something clapped themselves on his feet—and bless us all, there was Meddle wearing the most beautiful pair of real gold shoes, shining and glittering like the sun!

“Gracious!” said Meddle. “I am getting on! I’ll wish for something else now, before the conjurer comes back. I can hear him talking to Mrs. Twinkle.

“I wish for my larder at home to be filled with all sorts of things to eat—treacle puddings, jam rolls, chocolate cakes, ice-creams, and anything else that’s nice!” he wished. Then he heard the conjurer coming and he slipped out of the room and ran to where the others were still playing Nuts in May.

Now, when the conjurer was standing in front of everyone, later on, looking at all the guests sitting in their chairs, he picked up his magic wand to do some magic. And as soon as he picked it up and waved it, he knew someone had been meddling with it!

How did he know? Oh, quite easily! You see, when a wand is full of magic, it is very heavy—but it gets lighter as it is used. And Meddle had used it three times, so that now it was very light indeed.

The conjurer looked in astonishment at his wand. Then he glared at all the people in front of him.

“Someone,” he said, “SOMEONE has been using my wand. The goodness is gone out of it. Who has done this?”

Nobody answered. Meddle was dreadfully frightened. He hadn’t guessed that the conjurer would find out. How he wished he hadn’t meddled with the magic wand now!

“I say again,” said the conjurer, in a very angry voice, “WHO has used my wand? I will give them this one chance—and I warn them that if they do not come forward and tell me, they will be punished, and will be very sorry indeed.”

Meddle sat quite still in his chair. He wasn’t going to own up. Not he! How could the conjurer punish him if he didn’t know who it was that had used the wand?

“Very well,” said the conjurer. “I will say no more. But the one who has used my magic will be very sorry before the night has gone.”

The party went on. Mister Meddle didn’t enjoy it a bit, because he knew he should not have touched the wand, and he knew that he certainly should have owned up when the conjurer had spoken about it.

All the same, he was delighted to think he had a sack of gold, golden shoes on his feet, and a cupboard full of the most delicious food at home!

When the time came to say good-bye, Meddle slipped away first, dragging with him on his shoulder his enormous sack. He went down the darkest lanes so that he should not meet anyone.

The sack was terribly heavy. He had to keep putting it down and resting. Really, he had never known such a heavy sack in all his life! He would be very rich with all that gold!

Suddenly his feet began to hurt him. His golden shoes were heavy and tight, and they began to press on his toes and heels in a very painful manner.

“I’ll take them off and put them in my pocket,” thought Mister Meddle. “Then they won’t hurt me. I can easily walk in my stockinged feet.”

But he couldn’t get the golden shoes off! They just simply would not come off! He tried and he tried, but it was no use at all.

So there was nothing for it but to go on wearing them, though poor Meddle groaned and grunted at every step! At last he got home. He dragged the sack into his kitchen and lighted his lamp. He took a knife and cut the string that bound up the neck of the sack.

He put in his hand to get out the gold—but oh, what a dreadful, dreadful disappointment! The sack was full of nothing but big stones! The magic had gone out of it and the gold had turned to nasty, heavy stones. Poor Meddle—he had dragged stones all the way home!

He sat down to take off his shoes, which were hurting him more than ever. But no—it was impossible to take them off. Meddle began to feel frightened. The gold had turned to stones—and the shoes wouldn’t come off! He didn’t like it at all!

“Never mind—perhaps I’ll find all those delicious things in my cupboard that I wished for,” he thought. “I’m hungry now—I’ll have a few!”

He went to the cupboard and opened it, half afraid that he wouldn’t find anything there. But on the shelves were the treacle puddings, the chocolate cakes, the jam rolls, and many other things he had wished for. Good!

He took down an ice-cream and fetched a spoon. He put a spoonful into his mouth—but, good gracious me, he spat it out again at once! It burnt his tongue! Yes, it really did! Meddle stared at the ice-cream as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. How could ice burn? He must have been mistaken. He tried again. But this time the ice-cream burnt his tongue so much that he screamed and ran to get some cold water.

Then he tried the treacle pudding—but the treacle tasted like salt and was horrible. He bit a chocolate biscuit, but it tasted of cardboard and he couldn’t swallow it. He licked the jam off a tart, but it was made of pepper and made him sneeze and choke till the tears came into his eyes!

“Oh, it’s too bad, it’s too bad!” said Meddle, in despair. “All the magic has gone wrong. Why didn’t I own up when I had the chance? Here I’ve tired myself out dragging a heavy sack of stones all the way home—and my feet are almost crippled with these dreadfully tight shoes—and now I’ve burnt my tongue, and tasted all sorts of horrible things that look as nice as can be!”

He decided to go to bed—but still he couldn’t get his shoes off, and they seemed to be growing tighter and tighter and tighter. It was dreadful!

At last, in despair, Mister Meddle went out into the dark night with his lantern, to go back to Mrs. Twinkle’s and ask if the conjurer was still there. He really, really must get these shoes off his feet! He would have to confess—and say he was sorry. He really was sorry, too. It was a dreadful thing to meddle with someone else’s magic.

The conjurer was staying the night at Mrs. Twinkle’s. He didn’t seem a bit surprised to see the trembling Meddle. He stared at him without a smile.

“I was expecting you,” he said sternly. “Meddlers are always punished.”

“Please forgive me,” begged Meddle. “My sack of gold turned to stones. My larder of good things cannot be eaten—and my feet are so tired of these shoes.”

“You must wear them for three days,” said the conjurer, looking at them. “I cannot take them off, for the magic is too strong. As for the things in your larder, throw them away, for they will be of no use to anyone.”

Poor Meddle! He limped home, crying. He threw away all the lovely things in his larder, and he emptied his sack of stones at the bottom of the garden. Then he went to bed with his golden shoes on!

And for three days he had to wear them. Then they became looser and he took them off and threw them down the well. Horrible things! He wasn’t going to keep them!

“That’s taught me never to meddle again!” said Mister Meddle solemnly. “Never—never—never!”

And he didn’t meddle with anything for a whole month. But after that—well, I’m afraid he forgot again. That’s another story!