by Enid Blyton
Two Bad Children
MOLLIE and Peter were very upset. Mother had got their wishing-chair in the study—and if it grew its wings there the grown-ups might see them—and then their secret, their great secret, would be known. Whatever could be done about it?
Chinky had no ideas at all. He simply didn’t know how to get the chair back into the playroom. If they just took it back, Mother would notice and would have it brought to the house again.
Peter and Mollie thought very hard how to get the chair for their own again—and at last Mollie had an idea. She and Peter ran down to the playroom to tell Chinky.
“This is my idea,” said Mollie. “It’s a very naughty one and we shall get into trouble—but I don’t see how we can help it. After all, it is our chair!”
“Go on, tell us your plan,” said Peter.
“It’s this,” said Mollie. “Let’s spill things over the chair—and tear the seat or something—and scratch the legs! Then, when Mother sees how dirty and scratched and torn it is, she won’t think it is good enough for the study—and perhaps we can have it back again!”
“I say! That’s a really good idea!” said Peter and Chinky together.
“But we shall get into trouble!” said Peter. “You know how Mother hates us to mess things—that’s why we have this playroom at the bottom of the garden— so that we can do as we like and not spoil things in the dining-room or drawing-room or study up at the house.”
“Well, even if we do get into trouble it will be worth it if we can get back our chair,” said Mollie. “I don’t mind being punished if we can only go for some more adventures.”
“All right,” said Peter. “I don’t either. What shall we do first?”
“We’ll spill some ink across the seat,” said Mollie.
“Come on, then,” said Peter. So they shouted goodbye to Chinky, who wished them good luck, and ran up to the house. They went into the study. The wishing-chair stood there, looking very good and proper. Mother had put a fine new cushion into it. Mollie took it out. She didn’t want to spoil anything that belonged to Mother.
Peter got the ink-bottle, and the two children emptied ink across the seat of the chair. Then they went to tell Mother.
She was cross!” How very, very careless of you!” she scolded. “You shall not go out to tea today, Peter and Mollie. I am very much annoyed with you. It’s a good thing the ink didn’t get on to my new cushion.”
Mollie and Peter said nothing. They did not go out to tea that day, and they were sad about it—but they kept thinking that perhaps they might get their wishing-chair back—so they did not get too unhappy.
The next day Peter sat in the wishing-chair and kicked his boots against the legs as hard as he could, so that they were scratched and dented. Mother heard him kicking and put her head into the study to see what was going on there.
“Peter!” she cried, “why aren’t you out in the garden on this fine day—and do stop kicking your feet against that chair! Oh, you bad boy, see what you have done!”
She ran over to the chair and looked at the legs. They were scratched!
“This is very naughty, Peter,” said Mother. “Yesterday you and Mollie spilt ink on this chair — and now you have kicked it like this. You will go to bed for the rest of the day!”
Poor Peter! He went very red, but he marched upstairs without a word. It was horrid to have to be so careless with a chair, especially one he loved so much — but still, somehow or other he had, to get it back to the playroom! Suppose it grew its wings when Mother was sitting in it and flew away with her. Whatever would she do? She would be so frightened!
Mollie was sorry that Peter had been sent to bed. She crept into his room and gave him a piece of chocolate to eat.
“I’m going to slit the seat now,” she whispered. “I expect I’ll be sent to bed too — but surely after chair isn’t good enough for the study and we’ll have it back again!”
So Mollie went downstairs, and took her work-basket into the study. She got out her scissors and began to cut out some dolls’ clothes—and then, oh dear, she ran her scissors into the seat of the chair and made a big cut there!
Mother came in after a while—and she saw the slit at once. She stared in horror.
“Mollie! Did you do that?”
“I’m afraid I did, Mother,” said Mollie.
“Then you are as bad as Peter,” said Mother crossly. “Go to bed too. This chair is simply dreadful now— inky, torn, and scratched! It will have to go back to the playroom. I can’t have it in the study. You are two bad children, and I am ashamed of you both.”
It was dreadful to have Mother so cross. Mollie cried when she got into bed—but she was comforted when she thought that the wishing-chair was really going back to the playroom. She and Peter had to stay in bed all day, and they were very tired of it. But when the next day came, they carried the chair back to their playroom and called Chinky.
“We’ve got the chair, Chinky!” they cried. “Hurrah! But we did get into trouble. We both went to bed for the day, and Mother was dreadfully cross. We shall have to be extra nice to her now to make up —because we didn’t really mean to vex her. Only we had to get the chair back somehow!”
“Good for you!” said Chinky, pleased. He looked at the chair and grinned.
“My word!” he said. “You did do some damage to it, didn’t you! What a mess it’s in! Mollie, you’d better get your needle and cotton and mend the seat—and Peter and I had better polish up the legs a bit and try and hide the scratches!”
So that morning the children and Chinky worked hard at the chair and by dinner-time it really looked very much better. Mollie put back into it the cushion they always had there, and then clapped her hands for joy.
“Dear old wishing-chair!” she said. “It’s nice to have you again! Mr. Twisty nearly got you—and Mother nearly had you too—but now we’ve got you back again at last!”
“And I’m longing for another adventure!” said Peter. “I wish it would grow its wings again!”
“It soon will!” said Chinky. “I expect it wants another adventure as much as we do!”
The Horrid Quarrel
ONE morning Mollie, Peter, and Chinky were playing in the playroom at the bottom of the garden. It had been raining all morning, which was horrid in the summer-time. The children and the pixie were very tired of staying indoors.
They had played ludo and snap and draughts and snakes and ladders and dominoes. Now there didn’t seem any other game to play, and they were getting cross and bored.
“Cheer up, Peter!” said Mollie, looking at Peter’s cross face. “You look like a monkey that’s lost its tail.”
“And you look like a giraffe with a sore throat,” said Peter rudely.
“Don’t be horrid!” said Mollie.
“Well, don’t you, then,” said Peter.
“I’m not,” said Mollie.
“You are,” said Peter.
“Now be quiet, you two,” said Chinky. “I don’t like to hear you quarrelling. You only get silly.”
“Don’t interfere,” said Peter crossly. “You talk too much, Chinky.”
“Yes, remember we’ve been given two ears but only one mouth—so you should talk only half as much as you hear,” said Mollie.
“Same to you,” said Chinky. “All girls talk too much.”
“They don’t!” said Mollie. “How horrid of you to say that, Chinky.”
“You’re horrid this morning, too,” said Chinky. “You’re both horrid.”
“Well, if you think that, just go away and play somewhere else,” said Mollie at once. “We don’t want you!”
“All right then, I will!” said Chinky, offended—and to the children’s dismay he got up and walked out of the playroom!
“There! Now see what you’ve done!” said Peter, getting up. “Sent Chinky away! Suppose he doesn’t come back!”
He ran to the door and called. “Chinky! Hie, Chinky! Come back a minute!”
But there was no answer. Chinky had gone. There was no sign of him anywhere.
“I do think you are horrid and silly,” said Peter to Mollie. “Fancy sending Chinky away like that!”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Mollie, almost in tears. “He was being horrid, so I was too. We were all being horrid.”
“I wasn’t,” said Peter. “Yes, you were,” said Mollie. “No, I wasn’t,” said Peter.
“Yes, you were,” said Mollie. “I shall smack you in a minute.”
“Now, now!” said a voice, and Mother looked in at the door. “You are silly to quarrel like that! Uncle Jack is here and wants to know if you would like to go with him to the farm. They have some puppies there, and he wants to choose one for himself. Would you like to go and help him?”
“Oh yes!” cried Peter and Mollie. “We’ll put on our macs and rubber boots and go with him!”
So off they ran, forgetting all about their quarrel— and all about Chinky too! They went to the farm with Uncle Jack and chose a lovely black puppy with him.
Then back home they went, chattering and laughing, forgetting all about how horrid they had been, and enjoying their lovely walk.
It was dinner-time when they got home. They had dinner and ran down to the playroom afterwards, meaning to ask Chinky to play with them in the field outside the garden.
But Chinky wasn’t in the playroom. Peter and Mollie looked at one another and went red.
“Do you suppose he has really gone?” said Mollie, feeling upset.
“I don’t know,” said Peter. “I’ll whistle for him outside and see if he comes trotting out of the bushes!”
So Peter went to the door and whistled the little pixie tune that Chinky had taught him. But no Chinky came trotting up. It was really horrid.
“Suppose he never, never comes again!” said Mollie, crying. “Oh, I do, do wish I’d never said that to him—telling him to go away. I didn’t really mean it.”
“I shan’t like going adventures in the wishing-chair unless Chinky is with us,” said Peter. “It isn’t any fun without him.”
“Peter, do you suppose he will never come and see us again?” asked Mollie.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Peter. “Pixies are funny, you know—not quite like ordinary people.”
The two children would have been very unhappy indeed if something hadn’t suddenly happened to take their minds away from their disappointment. The wishing-chair suddenly grew its wings again!
“Look!” said Mollie excitedly. “The chair is ready to fly off again. Shall we go, Peter?”
“I don’t feel as if I want to, now Chinky’s not here.” said Peter gloomily.
“But, Peter, I’ve such a good idea!” said Mollie, running to him. “Listen! Let’s get in the wishing-chair and tell it to go to Chinky’s home, wherever it is. I expect he’s gone back there, don’t you? Then we can say we’re sorry and ask him to come back again.”
“That’s a fine idea,” said Peter, at once. “Come on, Mollie. Get in! We’ll go at once.”
So the two children squeezed into the wishing-chair. It had grown its four red wings round its legs and was lazily flapping them to and fro, longing to be off into the air once more.
“Go to Chinky’s home,” commanded Peter. The chair rose up into the air, flew out of the door and rose high above the trees. It was fun to fly again. The two children looked down on the gardens and fields, and wished Chinky were with them, sitting in his usual place on the top of the chair!
“I wonder where Chinky’s home is,” said Peter. “He has never told us.”
“We shall soon see,” said Mollie.
The chair flew on and on, just below the clouds. Soon it came to the towers and spires of Fairyland. Then it suddenly flew downwards to a little village of quaint crooked houses, all of them small, and all of them with bright flowery gardens. The chair flew down into one of the gardens and rested there. The children jumped off at once.
They went to the little red door of the house and knocked.
“Won’t Chinky be surprised to see us!” said Mollie.
The door opened. An old pixie woman, with a very sweet face and bright eyes, looked out at them.
“Oh!” said Mollie, in disappointment. “We thought this was Chinky’s home.”
“So it is when he is at home!” said the pixie woman. “I’m his mother. Come in, please.”
They went into a neat and spotless little kitchen. Chinky’s mother set ginger buns and lemonade in front of them.
“Thank you,” said Peter. “Do you know where Chinky is?”
“He came and asked me to make up his bed for tonight,” said the pixie woman. “He said he had quarrelled with you, and wanted to come and live at home again.”
The children went red. “I didn’t mean what I said,” said Mollie, in a little voice.
“I expect Chinky was to blame too,” said his mother. “He went out to buy himself a new handkerchief—and though I’ve been waiting and waiting for him he hasn’t come back—so I wondered if he had gone back to you again.”
“No, he didn’t come back,” said Peter. “I wonder what’s happened to him. We’ll stay a little while, if you don’t mind, and see if he comes back.”
Chinky didn’t come back—but in a short while a round, fat pixie came running up the path and into the kitchen, puffing and panting.
“Oh, Mrs. Twinkle!” he cried, when he saw Chinky’s mother. “A dreadful thing has happened to Chinky!”
“What!” cried every one in alarm.
“He had bought himself a nice new red handkerchief and was walking down the lane home again when a big yellow bird swooped down from the air, caught hold of Chinky by the belt, and flew off with him!” cried the pixie.
“Oh my, oh my!” wept Mrs. Twinkle. “I know that bird. It belongs to the enchanter Clip-clap. He always sends that bird of his out when he wants to capture someone to help him. Poor Chinky!”
“Don’t cry!” said Peter, putting his arms round the old woman. “We’ll go and look for Chinky. The magic chair we have will take us. We will try to bring him back safely. It’s a very good thing we came to look for him! Come on, Mollie—get into the wishing-chair and we’ll tell it to go to wherever Chinky is!”
In they both got. Peter told the chair to go to Chinky, and it rose into the air.
“Another adventure!” said Mollie. “I do hope it turns out all right!”
The Enchanter Clip-Clap
THE wishing-chair rose high up and flew steadily towards the west. It had a long way to go so it flew faster than usual, and all its four wings flapped swiftly.
“I wonder where the enchanter lives,” said Mollie. “I hope he won’t capture us too!”
“Well, all this would never have happened if we hadn’t quarrelled with Chinky,” said Peter. “He wouldn’t have gone back home then—and wouldn’t have gone out to buy a new handkerchief—and wouldn’t have been captured by the yellow bird that swooped down on him and took him away!”
“I shall never quarrel again,” said Mollie. It made her very sad when she remembered the unkind things she had said that morning.
The chair flew over a wood. Mollie leaned over the arm of the chair and looked down.
“Look, Peter,” she said. “What is that funny thing sticking out of the wood?”
Peter looked. “It’s a very, very high stone tower,” he said. “Isn’t it strange? It’s just a tower by itself. It doesn’t seem to be part of a castle or anything. I say! The chair is flying down to it! Do you suppose that is where the enchanter lives?”
“It must be,” said Mollie. The children looked eagerly downwards to see what sort of tower this was. It certainly was very queer! It had a pointed roof but no chimneys at all. The chair circled all round it as it flew downwards, trying to find a window. But there was not a single window to be seen!
“This really is a very magic sort of tower!” said Mollie. “Not a window anywhere! Well, the
re must be a door at the bottom to get in by.”
The chair flew to the ground and stayed there. The children jumped off. They went to the tower and looked for a door. There was not one to be seen!
The tower was quite round, and very tall indeed, higher than the highest tree—but it had no doors and no windows, so it seemed quite impossible to get into it. Mollie and Peter walked round and round it a great many times, but no matter how they looked, they could see no way to get in.
“Do you suppose Chinky is in there,” said Mollie at last.
“Sure to be,” said Peter gloomily. “We told the chair to take us to where Chinky was, you know.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” asked Mollie. “Shall we call for Chinky loudly?”
“No,” said Peter at once. “If you do that the enchanter will know we are here and may capture us too. Don’t do anything like that, Mollie.”
“Well, how else are we to tell Chinky we are here?” said Mollie. “We must do something, Peter. It’s no good standing here looking for doors and windows that aren’t there.”
“Sh!” said Peter suddenly, and he pulled Mollie behind a tree. He had heard a noise.
Mollie caught hold of the wishing-chair and pulled that behind the tree too—and only just in time!
There came a loud noise, like the clip-clapping of thunder. A great door appeared in the round tower, half as high as the tower itself. It opened—and out came the enchanter Clip-clap! He was very tall and thin, and he had a long beard that reached the ground. He wore it in a plait and it looked very queer.
“See you finish that spell properly!” he called to someone in the tower. Then there came another loud dapping noise, just like a roll and crash of thunder, and the door in the tower closed—and vanished! The enchanter strode away through the wood, his head almost as high as the trees!
“Goodness!” said Mollie. “We only just got behind this tree in time. It’s impossible to get into that tower, Peter. We should never know how to make that door appear.”
