Читать книгу The Wishing-Chair Again - Enid blyton - Страница 7

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Mollie and Peter certainly could do no more that day, because their mother was already wondering where they were and why they hadn’t been in to tea. They heard her calling them as they read Chinky’s note saying he had gone to look for them.

“It’s a pity Chinky didn’t wait for us,” said Peter. “We could have sent him to Mr. Spells to keep guard on the chair. Come on, Mollie—we’ll have to go in. We’ve hardly seen Mother all day!”

Their mother didn’t know anything about the Wishing-Chair at all, of course, because the children kept it a strict secret.

“If we tell anyone, the grown-ups will come and take our precious chair, and put it into a museum or something,” said Peter. “I couldn’t bear to think of the Wishing-Chair growing its wings in a museum and not being able to get out of a glass case.”

So they hadn’t said a word to anyone. Now they ran indoors, and offered to help their mother shell peas. They sat and wondered where Chinky was. They felt very sleepy, and Mollie suddenly gave an enormous yawn.

“You look very tired, Mollie,” said Mother, looking at her pale face. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“Well—I didn’t sleep a lot,” said Mollie truthfully, remembering her long flight in the Wishing-Chair and the strange bus ride afterwards.

“I think you had both better get off early to bed,” said Mother. “I’ll bring your suppers up to you in bed for a treat—raspberries and cream, and bread and butter—would you like that?”

In the ordinary way the children would have said no thank you to any idea of going to bed early—but they really were so sleepy that they both yawned together and said yes, that sounded nice, thank you, Mother!

So upstairs they went and fell asleep immediately after the raspberries and cream. Mother was really very surprised when she peeped in to see them.

“Poor children—I expect all the excitement of coming home from school has tired them out,” she said. “I’ll make them up sandwiches to-morrow and send them out on a picnic.”

They woke up early the next morning and their first thought was about the Wishing-Chair.

“Let’s go down and see Chinky,” said Mollie. “We’ve got time before breakfast.”

So they dressed quickly and ran down to their playroom. But no Chinky was there—and no note either. He hadn’t been back, then. Wherever could he be?

“Oh dear, first the Wishing-Chair goes, and now Chinky,” said Mollie. “What’s happened to him? I think we’d better go and ask that elf if he’s seen him, Peter.”

“We shan’t have time before breakfast,” said Peter. “We’ll come down as soon as we’ve done any jobs Mother wants us to do.”

They were both delighted when Mother suggested that they should take their lunch with them and go out for a day’s picnicking. Why—that would be just right! They could go and hunt out the elf—and find Chinky—and perhaps go to Mr. Spells with him. Splendid!

So they eagerly took the packets of sandwiches, cake and chocolate that Mother made up for them, and Peter put them into a little satchel to carry. Off they went. They peeped into their playroom just to make sure that Chinky still hadn’t come back.

No, he hadn’t. “Better leave a note for him, then,” said Peter.

“What have you said?” asked Mollie, glancing over her shoulder.

“I’ve said: ‘Why didn’t you wait for us, silly? Now we’ve got to go and look for you whilst you’re still looking for us!’ ”

Mollie laughed. “Oh dear—this really is getting ridiculous. Come on—let’s go to the tree-house and see if the elf is in.”

So off they went, down the garden, through the hedge, and across the field to where the dark patch of grass was—the “fairy-ring.” They sat down in the middle of it and Mollie felt about for the button to press. She found something that felt rather like a little knob of earth and pressed it. Yes—it was the right button!

Down they went, not nearly as fast as the day before, because Mollie didn’t press the button so hard. Then along the passage, past the queer bright little doors, and up the spiral stairway. They knocked on the door.

“It’s us—Mollie and Peter. Can we come in?”

The door flew open and there stood the elf. He looked very pleased. “Well, this is really friendly of you. Come in.”

“We’ve come to ask you something,” said Mollie. “Have you seen Chinky?”

“Oh, yes—he came to me yesterday, after I’d said good-bye to you, and I told him all you’d told me—and off he went to find Polly Polish and get the latest news,” said the elf.

“Well, he hasn’t come back yet,” said Mollie. “Where do you suppose he is?”

“Gone to see his mother, perhaps?” suggested the elf. “I really don’t know. It’s not much good looking for him, really, you know—he might be anywhere.”

“Yes—that’s true,” said Peter. “Well, what shall we do, Mollie? Try and find Mr. Spells of Wizard Cottage by ourselves?”

“Oh, I know where he lives,” said the elf. “He’s quite a nice fellow. I’ll tell you the way. You want to take the bus through the Tall Hill, and then take the boat to the Mill. Not far off on the top of a hill you’ll see a large cottage in the shape of a castle—only you can’t call it a castle because it’s not big enough. Mr. Spells lives there.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Peter, and off they went to catch the bus. It was one like they had caught the other night, but it had a different driver, and was not nearly so crowded. In fact there would have been plenty of room inside for Peter and Mollie if they hadn’t noticed that one of the passengers happened to be Mr. Sleep-Alone, Chinky’s strange and bad-tempered cousin.

“We’d better travel with the driver on the outside seat again,” said Peter. “Sleep-Alone might recognize us and lose his temper again.”

The bus travelled fast down the lane, going round corners in a hair-raising style. “Do you like going round corners on two wheels?” asked Peter, clutching at Mollie to prevent her from falling off.

“Well, it saves wear and tear on the others,” said the driver, and honked madly at a family of rabbits gossiping in the lane.

The bus suddenly ran straight at a very steep hill and disappeared into a black hole, which proved to be a long and bumpy tunnel. It came out again and stopped dead beside a little blue river, its front wheels almost touching the water.

“I always do that to give the passengers a fright,” said the driver. “Must give them something for their money’s worth!”

The children were really very glad to get out. They looked for a boat and saw plenty cruising about on the water, all by themselves. “Look at that!” said Peter. “They must go by magic or something.”

One little yellow boat sailed over to them and rocked gently beside them. They got into it. The boat didn’t move.

“Tell it where to go, silly!” called the bus-driver, who was watching them with great interest.

“To the Mill,” said Peter, and immediately the boat shot off down-stream, doing little zigzags now and again in a very light-hearted manner. It wasn’t long before they came to an old Mill. Its big water-wheel was working and made a loud noise. Behind it was a hill, and on the top was what looked like a small castle.

“That’s where Mr. Spells lives,” said Peter. “Come on—out we get, and up the hill we go.”

So up the hill they went and came at last to the curious castle-like house.

But when they got near they heard loud shouts and thumps and yells, and they stopped in alarm.

“Whatever’s going on?” said Mollie. “Is somebody quarrelling?”

The children tiptoed to the house and peeped in at one of the windows, the one where the noise seemed to be coming from. They saw a peculiar sight!

Chinky and a nasty-looking little goblin seemed to be playing musical chairs! The children saw the six chairs there that they had seen the day before in Mr. Polish’s shop, and first Chinky would dart at one and look at it carefully and try to pull it away, and then the goblin would. Then Mr. Spells, who looked a very grand kind of enchanter, would pull the chairs away from each and then smack both the goblin and Chinky with his stick.

Roars and bellows came from the goblin and howls from Chinky. Oh, dear. Whatever was happening?

“Chinky must have found out that the chairs had gone to Mr. Spells, and gone to get our own chair,” said Peter. “And the goblin must have gone to get it at the same time. Can you see the blue handkerchief we tied on our own chair, Mollie?”

“No. It’s gone. Somebody took it off,” said Mollie. “I believe I can see it sticking out of Chinky’s pocket—I expect he guessed we marked the chair that way and took the hanky off in case the goblin or Mr. Spells guessed there was something unusual about that particular chair.”

“Sir!” cried Chinky suddenly, turning to Mr. Spells, “I tell you once more that I am only here to fetch back one of these chairs, a wishing-chair, which belongs to me and my friends. This goblin stole it from us—and now he’s come to get it back again from you. He’ll sell it again, and steal it—he’s a bad fellow.”

Smack! The goblin thumped Chinky hard and he yelled. Mr. Spells roared like a lion. “I don’t believe either of you. You’re a couple of rogues. These chairs are MY CHAIRS, all of them, and I don’t believe any of them is a wishing chair. Wishing-chairs have wings, and not one of these has.”

“But I tell you ...” began Chinky, and then stopped as the enchanter struck him lightly with his wand, and then struck the goblin, too.

Chinky sank down into a deep sleep and so did the goblin. “Now I shall have a little peace at last,” said Mr. Spells. “And I’ll find out which chair is a wishing-chair—if these fellows are speaking the truth!”

He went out of the room, and the children heard him stirring something somewhere. He was probably making a “Find-out” spell!

“Come on—let’s get into the room and drag Chinky out whilst he’s gone,” said Peter. “We simply must rescue him!”

So they crept in through the window and bent over Chinky. And just at that very moment they felt a strong draught blowing round them!

They looked at each of the chairs—yes, one of them had grown wings, and was flapping them, making quite a wind! Hurray—now they could fly off in the Wishing-Chair, and cram Chinky in with them, fast asleep.

“Quick, oh, quick—Mr. Spells is coming back!” said Peter. “Help me with Chinky—quick, Mollie, QUICK!”