by Enid Blyton
“What’s up?” asked Chinky, sewing away.
“We’ve got a boy in our nursery who’s been making dreadful faces,” explained Peter. “And the wind changed just as he was making a specially horrible one— and now he can’t get his face right again. So Mollie sent me to ask you if you could do anything to help.”
“A boy as silly as that doesn’t deserve help,” said Chinky, breaking off his cotton and threading his needle again. “You go and tell him so.”
“Oh no, Chinky, we really must help him,” said Peter. “His mother may think we made his face like that, and we’ll get into trouble. You don’t want us to be sent to bed for a week, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Chinky, putting on his coat. “I’ll help you because you’re my friends. There’s only one thing to be done for a person who’s been making faces when the wind changed.”
“What’s that?” asked Peter.
“You’ve got to get a bit of the wind that blew just then, and puff it into his face,” said Chinky. “Then he’ll be all right—but it’s dreadfully difficult to get a bit of the same wind.”
“How can we?” asked Peter, in dismay.
“We’d better go in the wishing-chair to the Windy Wizard,” said Chinky. “He knows all the ins and outs of every wind that blows. I’ve seen the old wishing-chair looking out of the window this afternoon, trying to get out, so I’m sure it’s grown its wings again. Go and see, and if it has, tell Mollie, and we’ll go and get help from the old wizard.”
“Oh, thank you, Chinky,” said Peter, and he ran indoors. He whispered to Mollie all that Chinky had said.
“I think the chair must have grown its wings,” Mollie said, “because there have been such queer sounds going on in the boxroom this afternoon—you know, knockings and bumping. I expect it’s the chair trying to get out.”
“I’ll go and see,” said Peter. He ran up the topmost flight of stairs and opened the boxroom door. The wishing-chair was standing by it, ready to fly out—but Peter caught hold of it just as it was slipping out of the door.
“Now just wait a minute,” he said. But the chair wouldn’t! It forced its way past Peter and the little boy jumped into it. “Go to Chinky!” he called, hoping that the chair wouldn’t meet anyone on the way.
The chair flew down the stairs and out into the garden. It went to where Chinky was standing by the hawthorn bush. It was flapping its red wings madly and Chinky jumped into it at once.
“To the Windy Wizard’s!” he shouted. “I say, Peter, isn’t it in a hurry! It must have got tired of being shut up in the boxroom!”
Mollie was looking out of the window. She had heard the chair flying downstairs. She saw it up in the air, carrying Peter and Chinky, and she wished she were in it too!
“Someone’s got to stay with Thomas, though,” she thought to herself. “He’d only run home or go and find our mother or something, if we left him quite alone. What an ugly face he has now! I do hope Peter and Chinky find something to put it right!”
The Windy Wizard
THE wishing-chair rose high into the air, carrying Peter and Chinky. It had stopped raining and was a hot sunny day and the wind the chair made rushing through the air was very pleasant. Peter wished Mollie was with them. It was much more fun to go on adventures all together.
Presently the chair came into a very windy sky. Goodness, how the wind blew! It blew the white clouds to rags. It blew Peter’s hair nearly off his head! It blew the chair’s wings so that it could hardly flap them.
“The Windy Wizard lives somewhere about here,” said Chinky, looking down. “Look! Do you see that hill over there, golden with buttercups? There’s a house there. It’s the Windy Wizard’s, I’m sure, because it’s rocking about in all directions as if the wind lived inside it!”
Down flew the wishing-chair. It came to rest outside the cottage, which was certainly rocking about in a most alarming manner. Peter and Chinky jumped off and ran to the cottage door. They knocked.
“Come in!” cried a voice. They opened the door and went in. Oooh! The wind rushed out at them and nearly blew them off their feet!
“Good-day!” said the Windy Wizard. He was a most peculiar-looking person, for he had long hair and a very long beard and a cloak that swept to the ground, but, as the wind blew his hair and beard and cloak up and down and round and about all the time, it was very difficult to see what he was really like!
“Good-day,” said Peter and Chinky, staring at the wizard. He hadn’t a very comfortable house to live in, Peter thought, because there were draughts everywhere, round his legs, down his neck, behind his knees! And all the cottage was full of a whispering, sighing sound as if a wind was talking to itself all the time.
“Have you come to buy a little wind?” asked the wizard.
“No,” said Chinky, “I’ve come about a boy who made faces when the wind changed—and he can’t get right again. So we thought perhaps you could help us. I know that if we could get a little of the wind that blew at that time, and puff it into his face, he’ll be all right —but how can we get the wind?”
“What a foolish boy!” said the Windy Wizard, his cloak blowing out and hiding him completely. “What time did this happen?”
“At half-past three this afternoon,” said Peter. “I heard the nursery clock strike.”
“It’s difficult, very difficult,” said the wizard, smoothing down his cloak. “You see, the wind blows and is gone in a trice! Now let me think for a moment —who is likely to have kept a little of that wind?”
“What about the birds that were flying in the air at that moment?” asked Chinky. “They may have some in their feathers, you know.”
“Yes, so they may,” said the wizard. He took a feather from a jar that was full of them, and flung it out of the door.
“Come, birds, and bring
The breeze from your wing!”
he chanted.
Peter and Chinky looked out of the door, hoping that dozens of birds would come—but only one appeared, and that was a blackbird.
“Only one bird was flying in the air with the wind at that moment,” said the wizard. “Come, blackbird, shake your feathers. I want the wind from them!”
The blackbird shook his glossy feathers out and the wizard held a green paper bag under them to catch the wind in them. The bag blew up a little, like a balloon.
“Not enough wind here to change your friend’s face back again!” said the wizard, looking at it. “I wonder if there were any kites using the wind at that moment!
He went to a cupboard and took the tail of a kite out of it. He threw it up into the air just outside the door.
“Come, kites, and bring
The breeze from your wing!”
he called.
Peter and Chinky watched eagerly—and to their delight saw two kites sailing down from the sky. One was a green one and one was a red. They fell at the wizard’s feet.
He shook each one to get the wind into his green bag. It blew up just a little more.
“Still not enough,” said the wizard. “I’ll get the little ships along. There will surely be enough then!”
He ran to the mantelpiece and took a tiny sailor doll from it. He threw it up into the air and it disappeared.
“Come, ships, and bring
The breeze from your wing!”
sang the old wizard, his hair and beard streaming out like smoke.
Then, sailing up a tinkling stream that ran down the hillside came six little toy sailing ships, their sails full of the wind. They sailed right up to the wizard’s front door, for the stream suddenly seemed to run there —and quickly and neatly the old wizard seized each ship, shook its sails into the green paper bag, and then popped it back on the stream. Away sailed the ships again and Peter and Chinky saw them no more.
The paper bag was quite fat and full now.
“That’s about enough, I think,” said the wizard. “Now I’ll put the wind into a pair of bellows for you!”
He took a small pair of bellows from his fireside and put the tip of them into the green paper bag. He opened the bellows and they sucked in all the air from the bag. The wizard handed them to Peter and Chinky.
“Now don’t puff with these bellows until you reach your friend,” he said. “Then use them hard and puff all the air into his face! It will come right again in a twink!”
“Thank you so much for your help,” said Chinky gratefully. He and Peter ran to the wishing-chair again and climbed into it, holding the bellows carefully. The chair rose up into the air as Chinky cried, “Home, chair, home!”
In a few minutes it was flying in at the boxroom window, for Mollie had run up and opened it, ready for the chair when it came back again. Peter and Chinky shut the window after them, ran down to the nursery and burst in at the door.
Thomas was still there, his face screwed up and his cheeks blown out!
“I’m so glad you’re back!” said Mollie. “It’s horrid being here with Thomas. His face is so nasty to look at, it makes me feel I’m in a dream! Have you got something to make it right?”
“Yes,” said Chinky, showing her the bellows. “The Windy Wizard has filled these bellows full of the wind that blew when Thomas made that face. If we puff it at him, his face will be all right again!”
“Go on then, puff!” said Mollie. So Chinky lifted up the bellows and puffed them right into Thomas’s face—phoooooof! Thomas gasped and spluttered. He shut his eyes and coughed—and when he opened them, his face had gone right again! His nose and forehead were no longer screwed up, and his cheeks were quite flat, not a bit blown up!
“You’re right again now, Thomas,” said Chinky. “But let it be a lesson to you not to be silly any more.”
“I’ll never pull faces again,” said Thomas, who had really had a dreadful fright. “But who are you? Are you a fairy?”
“Never mind who I am, and don’t say a word about me or what has happened this afternoon!” said Chinky, and Thomas promised. He ran home feeling puzzled, but very happy to think that he had got his face its right shape again.
“Well, that was an exciting sort of adventure, Mollie!” said Peter, and he told her all about it. “The Windy Wizard was so nice. I say—what about giving him back his bellows?”
“I’ll manage that,” said Chinky, taking them. “I must go now or someone will come into the nursery and see me! Goodbye till next time!”
Mr. Twisty
ONE day, when the two children and Chinky were in their playroom at the bottom of the garden, reading quietly, a knock sounded at the door.
They looked up. A small man stood there, with his straw hat in his hand and a sly look on his face. He grinned at them.
“Have you anything old to sell?” he asked. “I buy any old rubbish—any old clothes, furniture, carpets —anything you like. I’ll give you a good price for it too.”
“No, thank you,” said Mollie. “We couldn’t sell anything unless our mother said so.”
“What about that old chair there?” said the man, pointing to the wishing-chair. “It can’t be wanted or you wouldn’t have it in your playroom. I like the look of that. I’ll give you a good price for that.”
“Certainly not!” said Peter. “Please go away, or I’ll call the gardener.”
The little man put on his straw hat, grinned at them all, and went. Chinky looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like the look of him,” he said to the children. “He may make trouble for us. I think I’ll hop out into the garden today. I don’t like people seeing me here.”
So he hopped out and went to play with the fairy folk there—and a good thing he did too—for in about ten minutes Mother came down the garden followed by the little man in the straw hat.
“Are you there, Peter and Mollie?” she said. “Oh, this man, Mr. Twisty, says he will buy anything old— and he saw an old chair here he would like to buy. I couldn’t remember it—which is it?”
Poor Mollie and Peter! They had kept their wishing-chair such a secret—and now the secret was out! They really didn’t know what to say.
Mother saw the chair and looked puzzled. “I don’t remember that chair at all,” she said.
“I’ll give you two pounds for it,” said Mr. Twisty. “Tisn’t worth it—but I’ll take it for that.”
“That seems a lot of money for a playroom chair,” said Mother. “Well, fetch it tonight, and you can have it.”
“Oh, Mother, Mother!” shrieked the two children, in despair. “you don’t understand. It’s our own, very own chair. We love it. It’s a very precious sort of chair.”
“Whatever do you mean?” said Mother, in surprise. “It doesn’t look at all precious to me.”
Well, Mollie and Peter knew quite well that they couldn’t say it was a wishing-chair and grew wings.
It would be taken away from them at once, then, and put into a museum or something. Whatever were they to do?
“Two pounds for that dirty old chair,” said Mr. Twisty, looking slyly at Mother.
“Very well,” said Mother.
“I’ll send for it tonight,” said Mr. Twisty, and he bowed and went off up the garden path.
“Don’t look so upset, silly-billies!” said Mother. “I’ll buy you a nice comfy wicker-chair instead.”
Mollie and Peter said nothing. Mollie burst into tears as soon as Mother had gone. “It’s too bad!” she sobbed. “It’s our own wishing-chair—and that horrible Mr. Twisty is buying it for two pounds.”
Chinky came in, and they told him what had happened. He grinned at them, and put his arm round Mollie. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I’ve got a good plan.”
“What?” asked Mollie.
“I can get Mr. Knobbles, the pixie carpenter who lives out in the field over there, to make me a chair almost exactly like the wishing-chair!” said Chinky. “We’ll let Mr. Twisty have that one—not ours! He won’t know the difference. He doesn’t know ours is a wishing-chair—he just thinks it’s an old and valuable chair. Well, he can buy one just like it—without the magic in it!”
“Ooh!” said Mollie and Peter, pleased. “Can you really get one made in time?”
“I think so,” said Chinky. “Come along with me and see.”
So they squeezed under the hedge at the bottom of the garden and crossed the field beyond to where a big oak tree stood. Chinky pulled a root aside, that stuck out above the ground—and under it was a trap-door!
“You simply never know where the little folk live!” said Mollie excitedly. Chinky rapped on the door. It flew up and a bald-headed pixie with enormous ears popped his head out. Chinky explained what he wanted and the pixie invited them into his workshop underground. It was a dear little place, scattered with small tables, chairs, and stools that the carpenter had been making.
“Do you think you could make us the chair in time?” asked Mollie eagerly.
“Well, if I could get a quick-spell, I could,” said the pixie. “A quick-spell makes you work three times as fast as usual, you know. But they are so expensive.”
“Oh,” said Mollie and Peter, in dismay. “Well, we’ve hardly any money.”
“Wait!” said Chinky, grinning at them in his wicked way. “Remember that Mr. Twisty is paying two pounds for the chair! Can you make the chair and buy the quick-spell for two pounds, Mr. Knobbles?”
Mr. Knobbles worked out a sum on a bit of paper and said he just could. He came back to the playroom with the children and saw their own chair. He nodded his head and said he could easily make one just the same. The children were so pleased. They hugged Chinky and said he was the cleverest person they had ever known. He always knew just how to get them out of any difficulty.
“Now, we’d better hide our own chair,” said Chinky. “Where shall we put it?”
“In the gardener’s shed!” said Mollie. “Gardener will be gone at five. We’ll put it there, then.”
So they did, and covered it up with sacks. Just as they came back from the shed, they met Mr. Kno
bbles carrying on his back a new chair, just exactly like their old one! It was simply marvellous!
“The quick-spell worked quickly!” he said. “Here’s the chair. You can bring me the money any time.”
The children thanked him and put the chair in their playroom. Then they waited for Mr. Twisty.
He turned up for it at half-past six, his straw hat in his hand, and the usual wide smile on his sly face. “Ah, there’s the chair!” he said. “Here’s the money! Thank you very much!”
He took the chair on his back, paid over the money and went, whistling a tune.
“Well, he’s got a marvellous pixie-chair for his money,” said Chinky, “but he hasn’t got a wishing-chair! He can sell that chair for twenty pounds, I should think—for Mr. Knobbles has made it beautifully—hasn’t used a single nail—stuck everything with magic glue!”
“And we’ve got our own dear chair still!” cried the two children, and sat down in it for joy.
Just then Mother popped her head in—and saw the chair! Chinky only just had time to hide himself behind the sofa!
“Why!” she said, “the chair isn’t sold after all! I’m quite glad, because it really is a pretty chair. I can’t imagine how I came to let you have it in your playroom. I think I will have it in the house. Bring it up with you tonight, Peter.”
Mother went away again. Chinky popped out from his hiding-place and looked at the others in dismay.
“I say!” he said. “That’s bad news. You’ll have to do as you’re told, Peter. Take the chair up to the house with you when you go tonight—and we’ll try and think of some way out of this new fix. Oh dear! Why can’t we have our own chair!”
So Peter took it up to the house with him—and Mother put it into the study. Suppose it grew wings there! Whatever would happen?
