The Wishing-Chair Again Page 2

  Sleep-Alone roared after them. “Now I'm thoroughly awake and I shan't go to sleep tonight. You wait until I see you again, Chinky, I'll fly you off in my aeroplane to the Land of Rubbish and drop you in the biggest dustbin there!”

  “He's not a very nice cousin to have, is he?” said Mollie, when they had left Sleep-Alone well behind. “I hope we don't see him again.”

  “Who is this Goodness, I wonder?” said Peter.

  “Never heard of her,” said Chinky. “But the chair really seems to know where it's going this time, so I suppose it knows Goodness all right!”

  The Wishing-Chair was flying very steadily to the east now. It had left the water behind and was now over some land that lay shining in the moonlight. The children could see towers and pinnacles, but they were too high up to see anything clearly.

  The chair suddenly flew downwards. It came to a small cottage. All three of its chimneys were smoking. The smoke was green, and the children knew that was a sign that a witch lived there.

  “I say—that's witch-smoke,” said Peter, nervously. He had met witches before on his adventures, and he knew quite a bit about them.

  “I hope the chair has come to the right place,” said Mollie, as it landed gently on the path just outside the door of the little cottage.

  They jumped off the chair, dragged it under a tree and went to knock at the door. A little old woman opened it. She looked so ordinary that the children felt sure she wasn't a witch.

  “Please, is this where Goodness lives?” asked Chinky, politely.

  “Not exactly. But I keep a Book of Goodness,” said the old woman. “Have you come to seek advice from it?”

  “Well—we rather wanted to know where the Land of Goodness Knows Where is,” said Chinky. “And we were told that only Goodness knew where it was!”

  “Ah, well—you will have to consult my Goodness Book then,” said the old woman. “Wait till I get on my things.”

  She left them in a tiny kitchen and disappeared. When she came back, what a difference in her! She had on a tall, pointed hat, the kind witches and wizards wear, and a great cloak that kept blowing out round her as if she kept a wind under its folds. She no longer looked an ordinary little old woman—she was a proper witch, but her eyes were kind and smiling.

  She took down from a shelf a very big book indeed. It seemed to be full of names and very tiny writing. “What are your names?” she asked. “I must look you up in my Goodness Book before you can be told what you want to know.”

  They told her, and she ran her finger down column after column. “Ah—Peter—helped a boy with his homework for a whole week last term—remembered his mother's birthday—owned up when he did something wrong—my word, there's a whole list of goodness here. And Mollie, too—gave up her half-holiday to stay in with a friend who was ill—told the truth when she knew she would get into trouble for doing so—quite a long list of goodness for her, too.”

  “Now me,” said Chinky. “I've been living with my mother. I do try to be good to her.” The old woman ran her finger down the list again and nodded her head. “Yes—-did his mother's shopping and never grumbled—took her breakfast in bed each day—never forgot to feed the dog—yes, you're all right, Chinky.”

  “What happens next?” said Peter. The witch took her Book of Goodness to a curious hole in the middle of the kitchen floor. It suddenly glowed as if it were full of shining water. The witch held the book over it, and out of it slid little gleaming streaks of colour. “That's your Goodness going into the magic pool,” she said. “Now, ask what you want to know.”

  Chinky asked, in rather a trembling voice, “We want to know where the Land of Goodness Knows Where is.”

  And dear me, a very extraordinary thing happened! On the top of the shining water appeared a shimmering map. In the middle of it was marked “Land of Goodness Knows Where.” The children and Chinky leaned over it eagerly, trying to see how to get there.

  “Look—we fly due east to the rising sun,” began Chinky, then he stopped. They had all heard a very peculiar noise outside. A loud creaking noise.

  “The chair's calling to us!” cried Chinky and he rushed to the door. “Oh, look—it's flying away—and somebody else is in it. Somebody's stolen the Wishing-Chair! Whatever shall we do?”

  Where Can the Wishing-Chair Be?

  WHO'S taken our chair?” cried Peter, in despair. “We can't get back home now. Come back, Chair!”

  But the chair was under somebody else's commands now, and it took no notice. It rose higher and higher and was soon no more than a speck in the moonlight. The three stared at one another, very upset indeed.

  “Our very first adventure—and the chair's gone,” said Mollie, in a shaky voice. “It's too bad. Right at the very beginning of the holidays, too.”

  “Who was that taking our chair—do you know?” Chinky asked the witch, who was busy smoothing the surface of the water in the hole in the floor with what looked like a fine brush. The map that had shone there was now gone, and the water was empty of reflection or picture. The children wondered what would appear there next.

  The witch shook her head. “No—I don't know,” she said. “I didn't hear anyone out there because I was so busy in here with you. All kinds of people come to ask me questions, you know, just as you did, and watch to see what appears in my magic pool. Some of the people are very queer. I expect it was one of them—and he saw your chair, knew what it was and flew off in it at once. It would be very valuable to him.”

  “I do think it's bad luck,” said Mollie, tears coming into her eyes. “Our very first night. And how are we to get back home again?”

  “You can catch the Dawn Bus if you like,” said the witch. “It will be along here in a few minutes' time. As soon as the sky turns silver in the east it comes rumbling along.”

  “Well — I suppose that's what we'd better do,” said Chinky. “And I'll jolly well find out who's taken our chair, and I'll pummel him till he cries for mercy.”

  “You be careful or you'll appear in the Book of Badness instead of the Book of Goodness,” said the witch, warningly. “Now, listen, I can hear the bus.”

  Wondering whatever kind of people caught the Dawn Bus, Mollie and the others went out to catch it. It came rumbling along, looking more like a toy bus than a real one. It was crammed with little folk of all kinds! Brownies with long beards leaned against one another, fast asleep. Two tiny fairies slept with their arms round each other. A wizard nodded off to sleep, his pointed hat getting more and more crooked each moment — and three goblins yawned so widely that their mischievous little faces seemed all mouth!

  “The bus is full,” said Mollie, in dismay.

  “Sit in front with the driver, then,” said the witch. “Go on, or you'll miss it!”

  So Mollie, Peter and Chinky squashed themselves in front with the driver. He was a brownie, and wore his beard tied round his waist and made into a bow behind. It looked very odd.

  “Plenty of room,” he said, and moved up so far that he couldn't reach the wheel to drive the bus. “You drive it,” he said to Chinky, and very pleased indeed, Chinky took the wheel.

  But, goodness gracious me, Chinky was no good at all at driving buses! He nearly hit a tree, swerved violently and went into an enormous puddle that splashed everyone from head to foot, and then went straight into a ditch and out of it at top speed.

  By this time all the passengers were wide awake and shouting in alarm. “Stop him! He's mad! Fetch a policeman!”

  The bus-driver was upset to hear all the shouting. He moved back to his wheel so quickly that Chinky was flung out into the road. He got up and ran after the bus, shouting.

  But the bus-driver wouldn't stop. He drove on at top speed, though Mollie and Peter begged him to go back for Chinky.

  “I don't know how to back this bus,” said the brownie driver, solemnly. “I keep meaning to learn but I never seem to have time. Most annoying. Still, I hardly ever want to back.”

  “Well,
stop if you don't know how to back,” cried Peter, but the brownie looked really horrified.

  “What—stop before I come to a stopping-place? You must be mad. No, no—full speed ahead is my motto. I've got to get all these tired passengers back home as soon as possible.”

  “Why are they so tired?” said Mollie, seeing the wizard beginning to nod again, making his hat slide down right over his long nose.

  “Well, they've all been to a moonlight dance,” said the driver. “Very nice dance, too. I went to it. Last time I went to one I was so tired when I drove my bus home that I fell asleep when I was driving it. Found myself in the Land of Dreamland in no time, and used up every drop of my petrol.”

  This all sounded rather extraordinary. Mollie and Peter looked at him nervously, hoping that he wouldn't fall asleep this time. They felt very sleepy themselves, and Mollie could hardly keep her eyes open. She worried about Chinky. Would he find his way back to the playroom all right? And, oh dear, what were they going to do about the Wishing-Chair?

  Just as she was thinking that she fell sound asleep. Peter was already asleep. The driver looked at them, gave a grunt, and fell asleep himself.

  So, of course, the bus went straight on to Dreamland again, and when Peter and Mollie awoke, they were not in the bus at all but in their own beds! Mollie tried to remember all that had happened. Was it real or was it a dream? She thought she had better go and ask Peter.

  She went to his room. He was sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. “I know what you've come to ask me,” he said. “The same question I was coming to ask you. Did we dream it or didn't we? And how did we get back here?”

  “That bus must have gone to the Land of Dreamland again,” said Mollie. “But how we got here I don't know. I'm still in my day-clothes—look!”

  “So am I,” said Peter, astonished. “Well, that shows it was real then. Oh, dear—do you suppose Chinky is back yet?”

  “Shall we go and see now?” said Mollie. “We've got time before breakfast.”

  But they hadn't, because the breakfast bell rang just then. They cleaned their teeth, did their hair, washed and tidied their crumpled clothes—then down they went.

  Afterwards they made their beds, asked their mother if she wanted them to do anything and then ran down to the playroom at the bottom of the garden.

  Chinky was there! He was lying on the sofa fast asleep, his mouth wide open.

  “Oh dear, I do think it's terribly tempting to put things into open mouths!” said Mollie. “Chinky, wake up!”

  He didn't stir. Mollie shook him.

  “Don't wake me, Mother,” murmured Chinky, trying to turn over. “Let me sleep.”

  “Chinky—you're not at home, you're here,” said Peter, shaking him again.

  “Mother, don't—I'll do the shopping later,” muttered poor Chinky, rolled over on his other side—and fell right off the sofa!

  That woke him up with a jerk. He gave a shout of alarm, opened his eyes and sat up.

  “I say, did you tip me off the sofa?” he said. “You needn't have done that.”

  “We didn't. You rolled off yourself,” said Mollie with a laugh. “How did you get back last night, Chinky?”

  “I walked all the way—so no wonder I'm tired this morning,” said Chinky, his eyes beginning to close again. “I did think you might have stopped the bus and picked me up.”

  “The driver wouldn't stop,” explained Peter. “He was awfully silly, really. We were very upset at leaving you behind.”

  “The thing is, Chinky—how are we going to find out where the Wishing-Chair has gone?” said Peter, seriously. “It's only the beginning of the holidays, you know, and if we don't get it back the holidays will be very dull indeed.”

  “I'm too sleepy to think,” said Chinky, and fell asleep again. Mollie shook him impatiently.

  “Chinky, do wake up. We really are very worried about the Wishing-Chair.”

  But there was no waking Chinky this time! He was so sound asleep that he didn't even stir when Mollie tickled him under the arms. Usually that made him scream and squirm.

  The two children were disappointed. They stayed in the playroom till dinner-time, but Chinky didn't wake up. They went indoors to have their dinner and then came down to see if Chinky was awake yet. He wasn't!

  Just then there came a soft tapping at the door and a little voice said “Chinky! Are you there?”

  Peter opened the door. Outside stood a small elf, looking rather alarmed. He held a leaflet in his hand. “Oh, I'm very sorry,” he said. “I didn't know you were here. I wanted Chinky.”

  “He's so fast asleep we can't wake him,” said Peter. “Can we give him a message?”

  “Yes. Tell him I saw this notice of his,” said the little elf, and showed it to the children. It was a little card, printed in Chinky's writing.

  ‘Lost or stolen.Genuine Wishing-Chair.

  Please give any information about it to

  CHINKY.

  (I shall be in the playroom.)'

  “Anything else?” asked Peter.

  “Well—you might tell him I think I know where the chair is,” said the little elf, shyly.

  “Do you?” cried both children. “Well, tell us, then—it's our chair!”

  “There's to be a sale of furniture at a brownie's shop not far away,” said the elf, “and there are six old chairs to be sold. Now, I know he only had five—so where did the sixth come from? Look, here's a picture of them.”

  The children looked at the picture. Peter gave a cry. “Why, they're exactly like our chair. Are they all wishing-chairs, then?”

  “Oh, no. Your chair is very unusual. I expect what happened is that the thief who flew off on your chair wondered how to hide it. He remembered somebody who had five chairs just like it and offered it to him to make the set complete.”

  “I don't see why he should do that,” said Mollie, puzzled.

  “Wait,” said the elf. “Nobody would suspect that one of the six chairs was a wishing-chair—and I've no doubt that the thief will send someone to bid a price for all six, and when he gets them he will suddenly say that he has discovered one of them is a wishing-chair, and sell it to a wizard for a sack of gold!”

  “I think that's a horrid trick,” said Mollie, in disgust. “Well, it looks as if we'll have to go along to this furniture shop and have a look at the chairs, to see if we can find out which one is ours. Oh, dear, I do wish Chinky would wake up.”

  “You'd better go as soon as you can,” said the elf. “The thief won't lose much time in buying it back, with the other chairs thrown in!”

  So they tried to wake Chinky again—but he just wouldn't wake up! “We'll have to go by ourselves,” said Peter at last. “Elf, will you show us the way? You will? Right, then off we go! Leave your message on the table for Chinky to see, then he'll guess where we've gone!”

  Hunting for the Chair!

  THE elf took them a very surprising way. He guided them to the bottom of the garden and through a gap in the hedge. Then he took them to the end of the field and showed them a dark ring of grass.

  “We call that a fairy ring,” said Mollie. “Sometimes it has little toadstools all the way round it.”

  “Yes,” said the elf. “Well, I'll show you a use for fairy rings. Sit down on the dark grass, please.”

  Mollie and Peter sat down. They had to squeeze very close together indeed, because the ring of grass was not large. The elf felt about in it as if he was looking for something. He found it—and pressed hard!

  And down shot the ring of grass as if it were a lift! The children, taken by surprise, gasped and held on to one another. They stopped with such a bump that they were shaken off the circle of grass and rolled away from it, over and over.

  “So sorry,” said the elf. “I'm afraid I pressed the button rather hard! Are you hurt!”

  “No—not really,” said Mollie. As she spoke she saw the circle of grass shoot up again and fit itself neatly back into the field.


  “Well—we do learn surprising things,” she said. “What next, elf?”

  “Along this passage,” said the elf, and trotted in front of them. It was quite light underground, though neither of the children could see where the lighting came from. They passed little, brightly-painted doors on their way, and Peter longed to rat-tat at the knockers and see who answered.

  They came to some steps and went up them, round and round in a spiral stairway. Wherever were they coming to? At the top was a door. The elf opened it—and there they were, in a small round room, very cosy indeed.

  “What a queer, round room,” said Peter, surprised.

  “Oh—I know why it's round. It's inside the trunk of a tree! I've been in a tree-house before!”

  “Guessed right first time! “said the elf. “This is where I live. I'd ask you to stop and have a cup of tea with me, but I think we'd better get on and see those chairs before anything happens to them.”

  “Yes. So do I,” said Peter. “Where's the door out of the tree?”

  It was fitted in so cunningly that it was impossible to see it unless you knew where it was. The elf went to it at once, of course, and opened it. They all stepped out into a wood. The elf shut the door. The children looked back at it. No—they couldn't possibly, possibly tell where it was now— it was so much part of the tree!

  “Come along,” said the elf and they followed him through the wood. They came to a lane and then to a very neat village, all the houses set in tiny rows, with a little square green in the middle, and four white ducks looking very clean on a round pond in the centre of the green.

  “How very proper!” said Peter. “Not a grass out of place.”

  “This is Pin Village,” said the elf. “You've heard the saying, 'As neat as a pin,' I suppose? Well, this is Pin—always very neat and tidy and the people of the village, the Pins, never have a button missing or a hair blowing loose.”