Читать книгу The Folk of the Faraway Tree - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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The next day was bright and sunny. Connie woke up feeling rather excited. She was away from home, staying in the country—she had three playmates instead of being an only child—and they had promised to take her up the Faraway Tree!

“Even if I don’t believe in it, it will be fun to see what they think it is,” she said to herself. “I hope we have a good time, and a nice tea.”

The children usually had to do some kind of work in the mornings, even though it was holidays. The girls had to help their mother, and Jo had to work in the garden. There was a good deal to do there, for there had been some rain, and the weeds had come up by the hundred.

Connie didn’t very much like having to help to make the beds, but the children’s mother was quite firm with her.

“You will do just the same as the others,” she said. “And don’t pout like that, Connie. I don’t like it. It makes you look really ugly.”

Connie was not used to being spoken to like this. Her mother had always fussed round her and spoilt her, and she had been the one and only child in the house. Now she was one of four, and things were very different.

“Cheer up!” said Bessie, seeing tears in Connie’s eyes. “Don’t be a spoilt baby! Think of our treat this afternoon!”

Connie sniffed. “Funny sort of treat!” she said, but all the same she did cheer up.

When three o’clock came Mother said the children might go. “It will take you some time to get up the Tree, I am sure, if you are going to show Connie everything,” she said. “And please don’t let her get wet with Dame Washalot’s water, will you?”

Connie looked up in astonishment. “Dame Washalot’s water!” she said. “Whatever do you mean?”

Bessie giggled. “There’s an old woman who lives up the Tree, who is always washing,” she said. “She simply adores washing, and when she has finished she tips up her wash-tub, and the soapy water comes sloshing down the tree. You have to look out for it.”

“I don’t believe a word of it!” said Connie, and she didn’t. “Doing washing up a tree! It sounds quite mad to me.”

“Let’s go now,” said Bessie, “or we shan’t be at Moon-Face’s by four o’clock.”

“I must go and change into a pretty frock,” said Connie.

“No, don’t,” said Fanny. “Go as you are. We don’t change into decent clothes when we go up the Tree.”

“What—go out to tea in ordinary clothes!” cried Connie. “I just couldn’t!” And off she went to put on a dainty white frock.

They all went to the edge of the wood. There was a ditch there. “Jump over this—and you’re in the Enchanted Wood!” said Bessie.

They all jumped, Connie too. As soon as she was across the ditch, and heard the trees whispering “wisha, wisha, wisha,” as they always did in the Enchanted Wood, Connie felt different. She felt excited and wondering and happy. She felt as if there was magic about—although she didn’t believe in magic! It was a simply lovely feeling.

They went through the wood, and came to an enormous tree, with a tremendously thick and knotted trunk. Connie gazed up into the branches. “Goodness!” she said. “I’ve never seen such a tree in my life! Is this the Enchanted Tree? How marvellous!”

“Yes,” said Jo, enjoying Connie’s surprise. “And at the top, as we told you, there is a different land every week. I don’t know what land there is now. We don’t always go. Sometimes the Lands aren’t very nice. Once there was the Land of Bad Temper. That was horrid. And a little while ago there was the Land of Smacks. We didn’t go there, you can guess! We asked our friends Silky and Moon-Face what it was like, and they said they didn’t know either, but they could hear slaps and smacks going on like pistol-shots all the time!”

“Gracious!” said Connie, alarmed. “I wouldn’t like to go to a Land like that. Although, of course,” she added quickly, “I don’t believe in such a thing.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jo, with a grin. “You don’t believe in the Faraway Tree either, do you?—and yet you are going to climb it. Come on—up we go!”

They swung themselves up on the lower branches. It was a very easy tree to climb. The branches were broad and strong, and so many little folk walked up and down the Tree all day long that little paths had been worn on the broad boughs.

“What sort of a tree is it?” said Connie. “It looks like a cherry-tree to me. Oh look!—there are some ripe cherries—just out of my reach, though. Never mind, I’ll pick some farther up.”

“Better pick them now, or you may find the tree is growing walnuts a bit higher up,” said Bessie, laughing. “It’s a magic tree, you know. It grows all kinds of different things at any time!”

Sure enough, when Connie looked for ripe cherries a little way up, she found, to her surprise, that the Tree was now growing horse-chestnut leaves and had prickly cases of conkers! She was surprised and disappointed—and very puzzled. Could it really be a magic tree, then?

Soon they met all kinds of little folk coming down the tree. There were brownies and pixies, a goblin or two, a few rabbits and one or two squirrels. It was odd to see a rabbit up a tree. Connie blinked her eyes to see if she really was looking at rabbits up a tree, but there was no doubt about it; she was. The funny thing was, they were dressed in clothes, too. That was odder than ever.

“Do people live in this Tree?” asked Connie, in astonishment, as they came to a little window let in the big trunk.

“Oh yes—lots of them,” said Jo. “But don’t go peeping into that window, now, Connie. The Angry Pixie lives inside the little house there, and he does hate people to peep.”

“All right, I won’t peep,” said Connie, who was very curious indeed to know what the little house looked like. She meant to peep, of course. She was far too inquisitive a little girl not to do a bit of prying, if she had the chance!

“My shoe-lace has come undone,” she called to the others. “You go on ahead. I’ll follow.”

“I bet she wants to peep,” whispered Jo to Bessie, with a grin. “Come on! Let her!”

They went on to a higher branch. Connie pretended to fiddle about with her shoe, and then, when she saw that the others were a little way up, she climbed quickly over to the little window.

She peeped inside. Oh, what fun! Oh, how lovely! There was a proper little room inside the tree, with a bed and a chair and a table. Sitting writing at the table was the Angry Pixie, his glasses on his nose. He had an enormous ink-pot of ink, and a very small pen, and his fingers were stained with the purple ink.

Connie’s shadow at the window made him look up. He saw the little girl there, peeping, and he flew into one of his rages. He shot to his feet, picked up the enormous ink-pot and rushed to his window. He opened it and yelled loudly:

“Peeping again! Everybody peeps in at my window, everybody! I won’t have it! I really won’t have it.”

He emptied the ink-pot all over the alarmed Connie. The ink fell in big spots on her frock, and on her cheek and hands. She was in a terrible mess.

“Oh, you wicked fellow!” cried Connie. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

“Oh! Oh! You wicked fellow!” she cried. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t peep,” cried the Angry Pixie, still in a rage. “Now I can’t finish my letter. I’ve no more ink! You bad girl! You horrid peeper!”

“Jo! Bessie! Come and help me!” sobbed Connie, crying tears of rage and grief down her ink-smudged cheeks.

The Angry Pixie suddenly looked surprised and a little ashamed. “Oh—are you a friend of Jo’s?” he asked. “Why didn’t you say so? I would have shouted at you for peeping, but I wouldn’t have thrown ink at you. Really I wouldn’t. Jo should have warned you not to peep.”

“I did,” said Jo, appearing at the window, too. “It’s her own fault. My, you do look a mess, Connie. Come on! We shall never be at Moon-Face’s by four o’clock.”

Wiping away her tears, Connie followed the others up the tree. They came to another window, and this time the three children looked in—but Connie wouldn’t. “No, thank you,” she said; “I’m not going to have things thrown at me again. I think the people who live here are horrid.”

“You needn’t be afraid of peeping in at this window,” said Jo. “The owl lives here and he always sleeps in the day-time, so he never sees people peeping in. He’s a great friend of Silky the pixie. Do look at him lying asleep on his bed. That red night-cap he’s got on was knitted for him by Silky. Doesn’t he look nice in it?”

But Connie wouldn’t look in. She was angry and sulky. She went on up the tree by herself. Jo suddenly heard a sound he knew very well, and he yelled loudly to Connie:

“Hi, Connie, Connie, look out! I can hear Dame Washalot’s water coming down the tree. Look out!”

Connie was just about to answer that she didn’t believe in Dame Washalot, or her silly water, when a perfect cascade of dirty, soapy water came splashing down the Faraway Tree! It fell all over poor Connie, and soaked her from head to foot! Some of the suds stayed in her hair, and she looked a dreadful sight.

The others had all ducked under broad boughs as soon as they heard the water coming, and they hadn’t even a drop on them. Jo began to laugh when he saw Connie. The little girl burst into tears again.

“Let me go home, let me go home!” she wept. “I hate your Faraway Tree. I hate all the people in it! Let me go home!”

A silvery voice called down the Tree. “Who is in trouble? Come up and I’ll help you!”

“It’s dear little Silky!” said Bessie. “Come on, Connie. She’ll get you dry again!”