Читать книгу Mister Meddle's Muddles - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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Mister Meddle once went to stay with his Aunt Jemima, who was very strict with him. She thought it did him good, and no doubt it did—but Meddle didn’t like it at all.

His Aunt Jemima did a lot of good works. She went to read to sick people, and she took pies and soups to the poor. She knitted socks for the soldiers, and did everything she could to help other people.

When Meddle came to stay with her, she made him help her. “You can surely do a bit of knitting,” she said. “It’s easy enough.”

But poor Meddle somehow managed to get the wool all tangled round him and lost his needles. “Are you trying to knit yourself as well as the wool?” asked his aunt crossly, as she untangled him.

“Perhaps it would be better if I took your pies and soups out?” said Meddle, thinking that it would be much easier to carry a basket than to knit a sock.

“Well, you can’t make quite such a muddle with a pie as you can with wool, I suppose,” said Aunt Jemima. “I am making a meat-pie to-morrow for poor old Mrs. Cook, who is in bed with a bad leg and can’t do anything for herself. You shall come with me to see her, and carry the basket for me.”

“All right, Aunt Jemima,” said Meddle, with a sigh. “I’ll come.”

So the next day Aunt Jemima made a lovely round pie, with crust on it and a pretty pattern round the edge. She took it out of the oven, and showed it to Meddle.

“I wish we could have it for dinner,” said Meddle longingly.

“Don’t be greedy!” said his aunt. “Now just put it into that basket with a lid, Meddle. It’s in the cupboard over there.”

Meddle found the basket. It was oblong, and had a lid that shut down, so that whatever was inside was safe from cats or dogs. “Put the pie in, Meddle!” called his aunt. “And don’t forget to shut the lid down. I’m going up to put on my hat. You can wait for me in the garden.”

Meddle put the pie into the basket—but he forgot to shut down the lid. He went into the garden and put the basket down for a moment whilst he unpegged his scarf from the line. He felt to see if it was dry. It was, so he knotted it round his neck.

Now, whilst he was fiddling about with his scarf, a big blackbird flew down to the basket. It put its head on one side and looked at the pie. It looked good! The blackbird stood on the pie and pecked at the crust. Beaks and tails, it was delicious!

Meddle heard his aunt coming. He remembered that she told him to be sure to shut down the lid of the basket, and he hurriedly kicked it shut with his foot. He didn’t see the blackbird inside! The surprised bird found itself shut in. It went on pecking at the pie, planning to fly out as soon as the lid was opened.

“Meddle! Aren’t you ready?” cried Aunt Jemima. “Come along now. You always seem to keep me waiting.”

Meddle picked up the basket and ran down the path to join his aunt. “Come along, come along!” she said. “We shall miss the bus.”

“Oh, are we going to catch the bus?” said Meddle, pleased. He always liked a ride in the bus or the train. “Oh, good!”

He trotted along beside his aunt, swinging his basket, looking out for the bus. The blackbird inside didn’t at all like being swung about like that. It gave a loud cheep. Meddle was most surprised.

He looked down at the basket. But the blackbird said no more for a while. Meddle and his aunt came to the bus-stop. The bus was not in sight so they both sat down on the seat.

Meddle put the basket on his knee, for he was afraid he might forget it if he put it down on the seat. The blackbird began pecking again at the crust. Peck, peck, peck!

Meddle had sharp ears. He listened to the peck-peck-peck in surprise. “Your pie does make a funny noise,” he said to his aunt. She stared at him in surprise.

“Meddle, I do hope you’re not in one of your silly moods this morning,” she said to him sharply. “You know quite well that pies don’t make a noise.”

“Cheep-cheep!” said the blackbird. Meddle looked at the basket in astonishment. His aunt was a bit deaf, so she hadn’t heard anything.

“Your pie is saying cheep-cheep,” he told his aunt.

“That’s nothing to what you’ll be saying in a minute when I smack you hard,” said his aunt crossly. “Telling me that pies say cheep-cheep! Hold your tongue, Meddle!”

The blackbird thought it would sing a little song. So it swelled out its black throat, opened its yellow beak and trilled out a dear little tune:

“Tirra, tirra, ju-dy, ju-dee, dooit!”

“Aunt Jemima, I do wish you’d carry this pie yourself,” said Meddle, beginning to feel alarmed. “It’s beginning to sing now!”

“Meddle! If you don’t stop telling me ridiculous things, I’ll box your big ears!” said his aunt, in a real temper. “Pies that sing—what next?”

Luckily for Meddle, the bus came along at that moment and they got in. Meddle badly wanted to put the basket down on a seat, for he was beginning to be afraid of it now, but the bus was full, so he had to take the basket on his knee once more.

The blackbird was rather frightened by the noise of the bus, so it didn’t cheep or sing for a while. But when the bus stopped, it gave a loud whistle. It was so loud that Aunt Jemima heard it. She turned to Meddle at once.

“Stop whistling! A bus is not the place to whistle in.”

“I didn’t whistle,” said poor Meddle.

“Well, who did then?” said his aunt.

“The pie did,” said Meddle. His aunt glared at him. “Meddle! Will you stop trying to be funny? First you tell me the pie cheeps—then you say it sings—and now you say it whistles! You’ll be telling me it can fly next!”

Well, the blackbird took it into its head to flutter its wings and try to fly out of the basket at that moment. Meddle heard the fluttering wings in horror. Why, the pie was really doing what his aunt had said—it was flying round and round the basket. Meddle began to tremble like a jelly, and his aunt felt him shivering against her.

“Meddle, do keep still! You are making me feel all funny, shaking like that! Whatever is the matter with you this morning?”

“It’s the pie,” said poor Meddle. “It’s flying round the basket now.”

Aunt Jemima thought Meddle must be going mad. She was very glad when the bus stopped and they got out. Mrs. Cook’s house was quite near by. Meddle carried the basket there and thankfully put it on the table. Old Mrs. Cook was in bed and she stared greedily at the basket. She felt sure that something good was in there!

“Good morning, Mrs. Cook! I hope you are better!” said Aunt Jemima. “I’ve brought you a pie. I can’t think what’s the matter with Meddle this morning, because he keeps saying that my pie cheeps, and sings, and whistles—and flies!”

The blackbird whistled loudly again. Aunt Jemima thought it was Meddle, and she smacked him. “Now don’t you dare to tell me that was the pie again!” she scolded. “Open the basket and put the pie on a plate.”

But Meddle simply didn’t dare to open the basket and touch that pie. He stood there, staring at his aunt, and she thought that really he must be going to be ill. So she opened the lid herself, in a rage.

And out flew the big blackbird and circled round her head! Aunt Jemima gave a scream. Mrs. Cook squealed for all she was worth—and Meddle tried to run for the door and fell headlong over a stool.

He got up and looked sternly at his aunt. “You bad woman! You cooked a blackbird in your pie! You bad woman! I suppose you remembered the twenty-four blackbirds that were baked in a pie—and you caught one and put it in! No wonder that pie sang and whistled and flew! Aunt Jemima, I’m surprised at you!”

And for once in a way his aunt hadn’t a single word to say. She just couldn’t make it out at all.

Meddle looked into the basket and then took out the pie. The bird had pecked an enormous hole in the crust. “Look there!” said Meddle, pointing to the hole. “That’s the hole the bird pecked so that it could get out of the pie. I think you are a most unkind person, Aunt Jemima!”

He stalked out of the house and went home—and whenever his aunt scolded him after that, Meddle would stare hard at her and say, “Blackbirds! I haven’t forgotten that, Aunt Jemima!”

And his Aunt Jemima wouldn’t say a word more!