The Adventures of the Wishing-Chair

by Enid Blyton

  “I don’t like this land,” said Mollie. “Things are never the same two minutes running!”

  “Nor are they in dreams!” said Chinky. “You can’t expect anything else here. I didn’t want to come, you know. I say, won’t one of you carry this duck? It’s awfully heavy.”

  He handed it to Peter, a great yellow bird—but even as Peter took it, something strange happened! The bird’s beak, legs, and tail disappeared, and all that was left was a great pile of yellow stuff that slithered about in Peter’s hands!

  “Ow!” he cried, “It’s cold! It’s ice-cream! I can’t hold it!”

  “You must, you must!” shouted Chinky, and he and Mollie did their best to hold the slippery mass together. But it was no good—it slithered to the ground and began to melt!

  “There goes our chair!” said Chinky sorrowfully. “It looks as if we were here for ever now! First it turned into a dog, then into a duck, and now into ice-cream! This is a horrid adventure!”

  They left the melting ice-cream and went on down the street. Peter took out his bag of green peas and looked at them again. They had turned into tiny balloons, ready to be blown up. He gave one to Chinky and one to Mollie. They began to blow them up—but, oh dear, dear, dear! instead of blowing up the balloons, they blew themselves up! Yes, they really did! Peter stared in dismay, but he couldn’t stop them! There they were, Mollie and Chinky, two big balloons swaying about in the air—and they even had strings tied to them! Peter was afraid they might blow away, so he took hold of the strings.

  He wandered down the street alone, very puzzled and unhappy. Nothing seemed real. The Land of Dreams was very peculiar indeed! The two enormous balloons floated along behind him, and when he turned to look at them what a shock he had!

  They were not in the least like Chinky and Mollie any more! One was green and one was blue—and even as Peter stared at them, the air began to escape from each balloon! They rapidly grew smaller—and smaller—and smaller—and soon they were just tiny lumps of coloured rubber, hanging from the string. Peter looked at them sadly.

  “All that’s left of Mollie and Chinky!” he thought unhappily. “No wishing-chair either! Only me! Oh dear, oh dear! Whatever will be the end of this strange adventure?”

  He put the balloons into his pocket, and went on. He came to a large hall, where a concert seemed to be going on. He slipped inside and sat down on a chair. He suddenly felt very tired indeed. He shut his eyes and yawned.

  The chair began to rock softly. Peter opened his eyes, and saw that it had changed into a, rocking-horse! But things no longer astonished him in the Land of Dreams. It would be surprising if peculiar things didn’t happen, not if they did!

  Soon he was fast asleep on the rocking-horse. It rose up into the air and flew out of the door. Peter slept on. He didn’t wake up until hours afterwards, and when at last he opened his eyes, what a surprise!

  He was in the playroom at home, lying on the rug by the window! He sat up at once, and remembered everything. Sorrowfully he put his hands into his pockets and pulled out the two air balloons.

  “Mollie and Chinky!” said Peter sadly.

  “Yes! Do you want us?” said Mollie’s voice, and to his astonishment and delight he saw both Mollie and Chinky sitting in the wishing-chair nearby, both yawning, just waking up from a sleep.

  “Oh!” he said, “I must have dreamt it all then! Listen, you two! I had such a funny dream! I went to the Land of Dreams and—”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” said Chinky impatiently. “We’ve all been there. It was a real adventure. I don’t want to go there again. Ooooh! It was a horrid feeling turning into a balloon! It was a good thing you put us into your pocket, Peter!”

  “Was it a real adventure then?” cried Peter, in amazement.

  “As real as adventures ever are in the Land of Dreams,” said Chinky. “Now, what about some real toffee—that won’t turn into green peas or balloons? Get some treacle from your cook, Mollie, and we’ll make some. We deserve a treat after that horrid adventure!”

  The Runaway Chair

  ONE morning, when the two children went down to their playroom to have a game with Chinky the pixie, they found him fast asleep.

  “Wake up!” cried Peter, rolling him over. But Chinky didn’t wake up! He was breathing very deeply, and had quite nice, red cheeks—but he simply would not wake up!

  “What’s the matter with him?” said Mollie, puzzled.

  “Oh, he’s just pretending,” said Peter. “I’ll get a wet sponge! He’ll soon wake then!”

  But even the sponge didn’t wake him up.

  “There must be a spell on him or something,” said Mollie, rather frightened. “What shall we do, Peter? If only we knew where to get help. But we mustn’t tell anyone about Chinky—he’d be so cross when he woke up. And we don’t know how to find any fairies, or we could ask them for help!”

  Suddenly the wishing-chair gave a creak, and Mollie looked round. “It’s growing its wings!” she cried. “Don’t let it fly away, Peter! We don’t want an adventure without Chinky!”

  Peter ran to the chair—but it dodged him and flew straight out of the door, its wings flapping swiftly. Peter stared after it in dismay.

  “Oh, Peter!” said Mollie. “Isn’t this dreadful! Here’s Chinky under a spell, or something—and now the chair’s run away! What an unlucky day!”

  “Well, it’s gone,” said Peter gloomily. “Now what are we going to do about Chinky, Mollie?”

  Just then there came the sound of a cautious tiptoe noise. Peter turned—just in time to see an ugly goblin slipping out of the door! “I put him under the sleepy spell!” shouted the goblin. “I meant to steal the chair before he woke up—but you came! Now I’m going to find the chair! If you don’t find the way to wake up that pixie before twelve o’clock tonight, he will vanish altogether! Ho, ho!”

  “Horrid thing!” said Mollie, as the goblin disappeared into the garden. “I suppose he will go after our chair and have it for himself—and here he’s left Chinky in a magic sleep and we don’t know how to wake him! If only, only, only we knew how to find a fairy who might help us!”

  “I’ll go and call for one in the garden,” said Peter.

  So he went out and called softly here and there. “Fairies! If you are there, come and help me!”

  But he had no answer at all, and he went sadly back to the playroom where Mollie sat by the sleeping pixie.

  “No good,” said Peter. “I didn’t see a single fairy. I really don’t know what we are to do!”

  “If only we had the chair we could go off in it and find a fairy somewhere to help us,” said Mollie. “But even that’s gone and left us—run away on the very day we needed its help!”

  They went back to the house for dinner and for tea, and Mother exclaimed at their long faces. They very nearly told her about Chinky, but didn’t like to, for they had solemnly promised the pixie never to mention his name to the grown-ups.

  When it was their bed-time, Chinky was still asleep!

  “Fancy! He hasn’t had anything to eat all day!” said Mollie. “Oh, Peter, do you really think he will disappear at midnight, if we can’t wake him up?”

  “We must wake him!” said Peter. So he got two drums and two trumpets, and he and Mollie made as much noise as ever they could until Jane, the housemaid, was sent down the garden to stop them. But Chinky didn’t even stir in his sleep!

  Then they poured cold water down his neck—but that only made him wet, and didn’t make him flicker so much as an eyelash! Then they found a hen’s feather, set it alight, and let it smoulder just under the pixie’s nose—but the strong smell did not even make him turn away. He slept on peacefully.

  A bell rang in the distance.

  “Oh dear! There’s our bedtime bell!” said Mollie, in dismay. “Peter, I’m coming back to the playroom tonight, somehow. There surely must be something we can do!”

  “We’ve tried everything!” said Peter, and looked very miserable. They
went off to bed, first covering up Chinky warmly. In an hour’s time they were back again, in their dressing-gowns! They had slipped out of bed, run out of the garden door, and gone to the playroom without being seen!

  Chinky was still fast asleep. Mollie looked at the clock. “Half-past eight!” she said. “Oh dear!”

  They tried to think of more ways to waken up the sleeping pixie, and Mollie squeezed a sponge over his head with icy-cold water, and then with hot water—but neither had any effect at all. The hands of the clock stole round and round—and at last it was only ten minutes to midnight. The children were quite in despair.

  Suddenly there came a curious sound of knocking at the door. It sounded more like kicking. Peter ran to it. Outside was their wishing-chair, wet through, for it was raining! It had found the door shut and had kicked at it with one of its front legs. Sitting in it was a jolly-faced gnome with a silvery beard and enormous nose, two pairs of spectacles, and a large umbrella to keep off the rain.

  “Who are you?” said Peter, in surprise.

  “Oh, don’t bother him with questions!” said Mollie anxiously. “He’s a fairy of some sort. Perhaps he has come to make Chinky better.”

  “Yes,” said the gnome, putting on a third pair of spectacles. “This chair knew where I lived, and flew one hundred and thirty-three miles to fetch me! I am only just in time.”

  “There are only seven minutes till midnight,” said Mollie. “Do be quick!”

  The little gnome doctor rolled up his sleeves, took a towel and a piece of soap from the air, and with them washed Chinky’s face very carefully. Then he brushed the sleeping pixie’s eyes with a peacock’s feather that he also took most conveniently from the air, and smeared them with a peculiar-smelling yellow ointment.

  “Do hurry!” said Mollie. “It’s almost midnight. The clock’s going to strike!”

  “It’s one minute fast,” said the doctor. He took a black ball from the air, opened it, put a blue powder inside it, struck a match, and put it to the black ball. At once there was a loud explosion and the playroom rocked and shook. Smoke covered the room. It had a very pleasant smell. When it cleared, the two children saw, to their delight, that Chinky was sitting up, looking most astonished.

  “Who made that horrible noise?” he said crossly. “Hallo, doctor! What are you doing here?”

  “Just going, so goodbye!” grinned the little gnome. “See you some day!”

  He jumped into the wishing-chair, which at once flew off with him again. Chinky ran his finger round his collar and frowned.

  “Who’s been wetting me?” he asked.

  “Oh, Chinky, don’t be cross!” begged Mollie. “We’ve been quite anxious about you. A goblin put you under a sleepy spell—and the clever wishing-chair went to fetch that gnome doctor you saw—only just in time, too!”

  “So that’s it, is it!” said Chinky. “No wonder I feel so hungry. I’ve been asleep all day, I suppose. Can you find me anything to eat?”

  “There are some buns and apples in the cupboard,” said Peter, delighted to see Chinky awake again. “We’ll have a fine feast!”

  So they did—and they didn’t go back to bed till the cock crew! No wonder they slept late the next morning. Chinky didn’t, though! He was up bright and early. He had had quite enough of sleeping!

  The Lost Cat

  ONE morning it was very wet, and Mollie, Peter, and Chinky were playing a very noisy game of snap in the playroom together. Whiskers, the cat, had come with them and had curled herself up on a cushion in the wishing-chair, where she had gone fast asleep.

  “Snap! Snap! SNAP!” yelled the children— and were so interested in their game that they didn’t hear a little flapping sound. The wishing-chair had grown its wings and was flapping them gently to and fro. Before anyone noticed the chair rose silently into the air and flew out of the open door—taking the puss-cat with it, still fast asleep!

  “Snap!” yelled Chinky, and took the last pile of cards in glee. “I’ve won!”

  “Good,” said Peter. He looked round the playroom to see what game to play next-—and then he looked rather surprised and scared.

  “I say!” he said. “Where’s the chair gone?”

  Chinky and Mollie looked round too. Mollie went pale.

  “It’s gone!” she said.

  “It was here when we began our game,” said Chinky. “It must have slipped out without us noticing. I sort of remember feeling a little draught. It must have been its wings flapping.”

  “Whiskers has gone too!” said Mollie, in alarm.

  “She was asleep on the cushion. Oh, Chinky—will she come back?”

  “Depends where she has gone to,” said Chinky. “She’s a black cat, you know—and if a witch should see her she might take her to help in her spells. Black cats are clever with spells.”

  Mollie began to cry. She was very fond of Whiskers. “Oh, why did we let Whiskers go to sleep on that chair?” she wept.

  “Well, it’s no good crying,” said Chinky, patting Mollie’s shoulder. “We must just wait and see. Perhaps old Whiskers will come back still fast asleep when the chair returns!”

  They waited for an hour or two with the door wide open but no wishing-chair came back. The two children left Chinky and went to their dinner. They hunted about the house just in case Whiskers should have got off the chair cushion and wandered home—but no one had seen her at all.

  After dinner they ran down the garden to their playroom again. Chinky was there, looking gloomy.

  “The chair hasn’t come back,” he said.

  But, just as he spoke, Peter gave a shout and pointed up into the sky. There was the chair, flapping its way back, all its red wings twinkling up and down.

  “Look! There’s the chair! Oh, I do hope Whiskers is on her cushion. Suppose she has fallen out!”

  The chair flapped its way downwards, and flew in at the open door. It came to rest in its usual place and gave a sigh and a creak. The children rushed to it.

  There was no cat there! The cushion was still in its place, with a dent in the middle where Whiskers had lain—but that was all!

  The three stared at one another in dismay.

  “Whiskers has been caught by a witch,” said Chinky. “There’s no doubt about it. Look at this!”

  He picked up a tiny silver star that lay on the seat of the chair. “This little star has fallen off a witch’s embroidered cloak.”

  “Poor Whiskers!” wept Mollie. “I do want her back. Oh, Chinky, what shall we do?”

  “Well, we’d better find out first where she’s gone,” said Chinky. “Then, the next time the chair grows its wings we’ll go and rescue her.”

  “How can we find out where she’s gone?” asked Mollie, drying her eyes.

  “I’ll have to work a spell to find that out,” said Chinky. “I’ll have to get a few pixies in to help me. Go and sit down on the couch, Mollie and Peter, and don’t speak a word until I’ve finished. The pixies won’t help me if you interfere. They are very shy just about here.”

  Mollie and Peter did as they were told. They sat down on the couch feeling rather excited. Chinky went to the open door and clapped his hands softly three times, then loudly seven times. He whistled like a blackbird, and then called a magic word that sounded like “Looma, looma, looma, loo.”

  In a minute or two four little pixies, a bit smaller than Chinky, who was himself a pixie, came running in at the door. They stopped when they saw the two children, but Chinky said they were his friends.

  “They won’t interfere,” he said. “I want to do a spell to find out where this wishing-chair has just been to. Will you help me?”

  The pixies twittered like swallows and nodded their heads. Chinky sat down in the wishing-chair, holding in his hands a mirror that he had borrowed from Mollie. The four little pixies joined hands and danced round the chair, first one way and then another, chanting a magic song that got higher and higher and quicker and quicker as they danced round in time to their si
nging.

  Chinky looked intently into the mirror, and the children watched, wondering what he would see there. Suddenly the four dancing pixies stopped their singing and fell to the floor, panting and crying, “Now look and tell what you see, Chinky!”

  Chinky stared into the mirror and then gave a shout.

  “I see her! It’s the witch Kirri-Kirri! She has got Whiskers. Here he is, cooking her dinner for her!”

  The two children sprang up from the couch and hurried to look into the mirror that Chinky held. To their great amazement, instead of seeing their own faces, they saw a picture of Whiskers, their cat, stirring a soup-pot on a big stove—and behind her was an old witch, clad in a long, black cloak embroidered with silver stars and moons!

  “See her!” said Chinky, pointing. “That’s the witch Kirri-Kirri. I know where she lives. We’ll go and rescue Whiskers this very night—even if we have to go on foot!”

  The four little pixies twittered goodbye and ran out. The picture in the mirror faded away. The children and the pixie looked at one another.

  “What a marvellous spell!” said Mollie. “Oh, I did enjoy that, Chinky! Shall we really go and fetch Whiskers tonight?”

  “Yes,” said Chinky. “Come here at midnight, ready dressed. If the chair has grown its wings, we’ll go in it—if not, we’ll take the underground train to the witch’s house.”

  “Ooh!” said Mollie. “What an adventure!”

  The Witch Kirri-Kirri

  THE children dressed themselves again after they had been to bed and slept. Mollie had a little alarm-clock and she set it for a quarter to twelve, so they awoke in good time for their adventure. Chinky was waiting for them.

  “We can’t go in the wishing-chair,” he said. “It hasn’t grown its wings again. I think it’s asleep, because it gave a tiny snore just now!”