The Wishing-Chair Again Page 4

  “He's in a terribly magic sleep,” said Mollie in despair. “Now—lift him, Peter—that's right—and put him safely on the seat of the chair. Oh dear, he's rolling off again. Do, do be quick!”

  They could hear Mr. Spells muttering in the next room, stirring something in a pot. In a few moments he would have made his find-out spell to see which was the Wishing-Chair, and would come back into the room. They must get away first!

  The chair's wings were now fully grown, and it was doing little hops on the ground as if it were impatient to be off. The children sat down in it, holding Chinky tightly. Tricky the goblin was still lying on the floor, fast asleep. Good!

  “Fly home, chair, fly home!” commanded Peter. Just in time, too, because as he spoke the children could hear the wizard's steps coming towards them from the next room. He appeared at the door, carrying something in a shining bottle.

  The chair had now risen in the air, flapping its wings, and was trying to get out of the window. It was an awkward shape for the chair to get through, and it turned itself sideways so that the children and Chinky almost fell out! They clung to the arms in fright, trying to stop Chinky from rolling off.

  “Hey!” cried the wizard in the greatest astonishment. “What are you doing? Why, the chair's grown wings! Who are you, children—and what are you doing with my chair? Come back.”

  But by this time the chair was out of the window and was the right way up again, much to the children's relief. It flew up into the air.

  “Good! We've escaped—and we've got both the chair and Chinky,” said Peter, pleased. “Even if he is asleep, we've got him. We'll have to ask the elf if he knows how to wake him up.”

  But Peter spoke too soon. Mr. Spells was too clever to let the chair escape quite so easily. He came running out into the little garden in front of his castle-like cottage, carrying something over his arm.

  “What's he going to do?” said Mollie. “What's he got, Peter?”

  They soon knew! It was a very, very long rope, with a loop at the end to lasso them with! Mr. Spells swung the loops of rope round for a second or two, then flung the rope up into the air. The loops unwound and the last loop of all almost touched them. But not quite! The chair gave a jump of fright and rose a little higher.

  “Oh, do go quickly, chair! “ begged Mollie. “The wizard is gathering up the rope to throw it again. Look out—here it comes! Oh, Peter, it's going to catch us —it's longer than ever!”

  The rope sped up to them like a long, thin snake. The last loop of all fell neatly round the chair, but, before it could tighten, Peter caught hold of it and threw it off. He really did it very cleverly indeed.

  “Oh, Peter—you are marvellous!” cried Mollie.

  “I really thought we were caught that time. Surely we are out of reach now—the wizard looks very small and far away.”

  Once more the rope came flying towards the Wishing-Chair, and it tried to dodge it, almost upsetting the children altogether. The rope darted after the chair, fell firmly round it—and before Peter could throw it off it had tightened itself round the chair and the children too! Peter struggled hard to get a knife to cut the rope—but his arms were pinned tightly to his sides and he couldn't put his hands into his pockets.

  Mollie tried to help him, but it was no use. Mr. Spells was hauling on the rope and the chair was going gradually down and down and down.

  “Oh dear—we're caught! “ said Mollie in despair.

  “Just when we had so nearly escaped, too! Peter, do think of something.”

  But Peter couldn't. Chinky might have been able to think of some spell to get rid of the rope, but he was still fast asleep. Mollie had to use both hands to hold him on the chair in case he fell off.

  Down went the chair, pulling against the rope and making things as difficult as possible for the wizard, who was in a fine old temper when at last he had the chair on the ground.

  “What do you mean by this?” he said sternly. “What kind of behaviour is this—coming to my house, stealing one of the chairs I bought—the Wishing-Chair, too, the best of the lot? I didn't even know one of the chairs was a magic chair when I bought the set.”

  Mollie was almost crying. Peter looked sulky as he tried to free his arms from the tight rope.

  “You'll keep that rope round you for the rest of the day,” said Mr. Spells. “Just to teach you that you can't steal from a wizard.”

  “Let me free,” said Peter. “I'm not a thief, and I haven't stolen this chair—unless you call taking something that really belongs to us stealing. I don't!”

  “What do you mean?” said Mr. Spells. “I'm tired of hearing people say this chair is theirs. Tricky said it—Chinky said it—and now you say it! It can't belong to all of you—and, anyway, I bought it with my money.”

  “Mr. Spells, this Wishing-Chair is ours,” said Peter patiently. “It lives in our playroom, and Chinky the pixie shares it with us and looks after it. Tricky stole it and sold it to Mr. Polish, who had five other chairs like it.”

  “And then Tricky told you about the six old chairs and you went and bought them,” said Mollie. “And Tricky came tonight to get back the Wishing-Chair because it's valuable and he can sell it to somebody else!”

  “And then Chinky came to try and tell you about it before Tricky stole it,” went on Peter. “And I suppose they came at the same time and quarrelled about it.”

  “Well, well! “ said Mr. Spells, who had been listening in surprise. “This is a queer story, I must say. It's true that I came in from the garden to find the goblin and the pixie behaving most peculiarly. They kept sitting down first on one chair and then on another —trying to find out which was the Wishing-Chair, I suppose—and shouting at one another all the time.”

  “I'd tied my blue hanky on the right arm of the Wishing-Chair,” said Mollie.

  “Yes—I saw it there and wondered why,” said Mr Spells. “I can see it in Chinky's pocket now—he must have recognized it as yours and taken it off. Well, I suppose you came in just at the moment when I was angry with them both, and put them into a magic sleep.”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “Then you went out and we thought we'd escape if we could, taking Chinky with us. The chair suddenly grew its wings, you see.”

  “Mr. Spells, can we have back our chair, please, now that you've heard our story?” begged Mollie. “I know you've paid some money to Mr. Polish for it—but couldn't you get it back from Tricky the goblin? After all, he's the rogue in all this, isn't he—not us or Chinky?”

  “You're quite right,” said Mr. Spells. “And I think it was very brave of you to come to rescue Chinky. I'm sorry I put him into a magic sleep now—but I'll wake him up again. And now I'll take the rope off and set you free!”

  He took the rope off Peter and then lifted Chinky from the Wishing-Chair and laid him down on the floor. He drew a white ring of chalk round him and then a ring of blue inside the white circle. Then he called loudly.

  “Cinders! Where are you? Dear me, that cat is never about where he's wanted!”

  There was a loud miaow outside the window. In jumped a big black cat with green eyes that shone like traffic signals! He ran to Mr. Spells.

  “Cinders, I'm going to do a wake-up spell,” said the wizard. “Go and sit in the magic ring and sing with me whilst I chant the spell.”

  Cinders leapt lightly over the chalk rings and sat down close to the sleeping Chinky. Mr. Spells began to walk round and round, just outside the ring, chanting a curious song. It sounded like :—

  “Birriloola-kummi-pool,

  Rimminy, romminy, rye,

  Tibbynooka-falli-lool,

  Open your sleepy eye!”

  All the time the wizard chanted this queer song the cat kept up a loud miaowing as if he were joining in too. If it hadn't all sounded so very magic, Peter would have begun to laugh.

  Anyway, the spell was a very good one, because at the end of the chant, Chinky opened first one eye and then the other. He sat up, looking extremely su
rprised.

  “I say,” he began, “what's happened? Where am I? Oh, hallo, Peter and Mollie! I've been looking for you everywhere!”

  “And we've been looking for you!” said Mollie.

  “You've been in a magic sleep. Get up and come home with us. The Wishing-Chair has grown its wings again.” Then Chinky saw Mr. Spells standing nearby, tall and commanding, and he went rather pale. “But, I say— what does Mr. Spells think about all this?” he said, nervously.

  “I have heard the children's story and it is quite plain that the chair really does belong to you,” he said. “I'll get the money back from Tricky.”

  “Well, he's very tricky, so be careful of him,” said Chinky, sitting down in the Wishing-Chair with the children.

  “He'll get a shock when he wakes up,” said Mr. Spells, and he suddenly touched the sleeping goblin with the toe of his foot. “Dimini, dimini, dimini, diminish!” he cried suddenly, and lo and behold the goblin shrank swiftly to a very tiny creature indeed, diminishing rapidly before the astonished eyes of the watching children.

  Mr. Spells picked up the tiny goblin, took a matchbox off the mantelpiece, popped him into it, shut the box and put it back on the mantelpiece.

  “He won't cause me any trouble when he wakes up!” he said. “No, not a bit! Well, goodbye. I'm glad this has all ended well—but I do wish that chair was mine.”

  The children waved goodbye and the chair rose into the air.

  “Shall we go home?” said Peter. “No,” said Mollie, suddenly remembering the satchel of sandwiches and cake that Peter still carried. “We'll take Chinky off for the day, picnicking! We deserve a nice peaceful day after such a thrilling adventure.”

  “Right!” said Peter, and Chinky nodded happily. “Wishing-Chair, take us to the nicest picnic spot you know! “ And off they flew at once, to have a very happy day together.

  Off on Another Adventure!

  FOR a whole week the children, watched and waited for the Wishing-Chair to grow its wings again. It didn't sprout them at all! The wings had vanished as soon as it had arrived safely back in the playroom, after a lovely picnic out on the hills—and not a single one had grown again.

  “I hope its magic isn't getting less,” said Mollie, one day, as they sat in the playroom, playing ludo together. It was their very favourite game, and they always laughed at Chinky because he made such a fuss when he didn't get ‘home’ before they did.

  As they sat playing together they felt a welcome draught. “Oh, lovely! A breeze at last!” said Mollie thankfully. “I do really think this is just about the hottest day we've had these holidays!”

  “The wind must have got up a bit at last,” said Peter. “Blow, wind, blow—you are making us lovely and cool.”

  “Funny that the leaves on the trees aren't moving, isn't it? “ said Chinky, shaking the dice in the thrower. “I hope I throw a six—I do so badly want one.”

  Mollie looked out of the open door at the trees in the garden. They were perfectly still! “But there isn't a breeze,” she said, and then a sudden thought struck her. She looked round at the Wishing-Chair, which was standing just behind them.

  “Look!” she cried. “How silly we are! It isn't the wind—it's the Wishing-Chair that has grown its wings again. They are flapping like anything!”

  So they were. The children and Chinky sprang up in delight. “Good! We could just do with a lovely cool ride up in the air today,” said Peter. “Wishing-Chair, we are very pleased with you!”

  The Wishing-Chair flapped its wings very strongly again and gave a creak. Then Chinky noticed something.

  “I say, look—it's only grown three wings instead of four. What's happened? It's never done that before.”

  They all stared at the chair. One of its front legs hadn't grown a wing. It looked rather queer without it.

  Chinky looked at the chair rather doubtfully. “Do you think it can fly with only three wings?” he said. “This is rather a peculiar thing to happen, really. I wonder if we ought to fly off in the chair if it's only got three wings instead of four.”

  “I don't see why not,” said Mollie. “After all, an aeroplane can fly with three engines, if the fourth one stops.”

  The chair gave a little hop up in the air as if to say it could fly perfectly well. “Oh, come along! “ said Chinky. “We'll try. I'm sure it will be all right. But I wish I knew what to do to get the fourth wing to grow. Something has gone wrong, it's plain.”

  They got into the chair, Chinky as usual sitting on the back, holding on to their shoulders. The chair flew to the door.

  “Where shall we go?” said Chinky.

  “Well—we never did get to the Land of Goodness Knows Where after all,” said Mollie. “Shall we try to get there again? We know it's a good way away, so it should be a nice long flight, very cool and windy high up in the air.”

  “We may as well,” said Chinky. “Fly to the Land of Goodness Knows Where, Chair. We saw it on the map—it's due east from here, straight towards where the sun rises—you go over the Tiptop Mountains, past the Crazy Valley and then down by the Zigzag Coast.”

  “It sounds exciting,” said Mollie. “Oh, isn't it lovely to be cool again? It's so very hot today.”

  They were now high up in the air, and a lovely breeze blew past them as they flew. Little clouds, like puffs of cotton wool, floated below them. Mollie leaned out to get hold of one as they passed.

  “This is fun,” she said. “I think we're very, very lucky to have a Wishing-Chair of our own, that will take us anywhere we wish to go. Chinky, is there a land of ice-creams? If so, I'd like to go there sometime!”

  “I don't know. I've never heard of one,” said Chinky. “There's a Land of Goodies though, I know that. It once came to the top of the Faraway Tree, and I went there. It was lovely—biscuits growing on trees, and chocolates sprouting on bushes.”

  “Oh—did you see Moon-Face and Silky and the old Saucepan Man?” asked Mollie, in excitement. “I've read the books about the Faraway Tree, and I've always wished I could climb it.”

  “Yes, I saw them all,” said Chinky. “Silky is sweet, you'd love her. But Moon-Face was cross because somebody had taken all his slippery-slip cushions—you know, the cushions he keeps in his room at the top of the tree for people to sit on when they slide down from the top to the bottom.”

  “I wouldn't mind going to the Land of Goodies at all,” said Peter. “It sounds really fine. I almost wish we'd told the chair to go there instead of the Land of Goodness Knows Where.”

  “Well, don't change its mind for it,” said Chinky. “It doesn't like that. Look, there are the Tip-Top Mountains.”

  They all leaned out to look. They were very extraordinary mountains, running up into high, jagged peaks as if somebody had drawn them higgledy-piggledy with a pencil, up and down, up and down.

  “A goat would have a good time jumping about in those mountains, but nobody else,” said Peter.

  On they went, through a batch of tiny little clouds but Mollie didn't try to catch any of these because, just in time, she saw that baby elves were fast asleep on them, one to each cloud.

  “They make good cradles for a hot day like this,” explained Chinky.

  After a while, Mollie noticed that Chinky was leaning rather hard on her shoulder, and that Peter seemed to be leaning against her, too. She pushed them back.

  “Don't lean so heavily on me,” she said. “You make me hot.”

  “We don't mean to,” said Peter. “But I seem to be leaning that way all the time! I do try not to.”

  “Why are we, I wonder?” said Chinky. Then he gave a cry. “Why, the chair's all on one side. No wonder Peter and I keep going over on to you, Mollie. Look—it's tipped sideways!”

  “What's the matter with it?” said Mollie. She tried to shake the chair upright by swinging herself about in it, but it always over-balanced to the left side as soon as she had stopped swinging it to and fro.

  They all looked in alarm at one another as t
he chair began to tip more and more to one side. It was very difficult to sit in it when it tipped like that.

  “It's because it's only got three wings!” said Chinky, suddenly. “Of course—that's it! The one wing on this side is tired out, and so the chair is flying with only two wings really, and it's tipping over. It will soon be on its side in the air!”

  “Gracious! Then for goodness sake let's go down to the ground at once,” said Mollie, in alarm. “We shall fall out if we don't.”

  “Go down to the ground, Chair,” commanded Peter, feeling the chair going over to one side even more. He looked over the side. The one wing there had already stopped flapping. The chair was using only two wings—they would soon be tired out, too!

  The chair flew heavily down to the ground and landed with rather a bump. Its wings stopped flapping and hung limp. It creaked dolefully. It was quite exhausted, that was plain!

  “We shouldn't have flown off on it when it only had three wings,” said Chinky. “It was wrong of us. After all, Peter and Mollie, you have grown bigger since last holidays, and must be heavier. The chair can't possibly take us all unless it has four wings to fly with.”

  They stood and looked at the poor, tired Wishing-Chair. “What are we going to do about it?” said Peter.

  “Well—we must try to find out where we are first,” said Chinky, looking round. “And then we must ask if there is a witch or wizard or magician anywhere about that can give us something to make the chair grow another wing. Then we'd better take it straight home for a rest.”

  “Look,” said Mollie, pointing to a nearby sign-post. “It says, 'To the Village of Slipperies.' Do you know that village, Chinky?”

  “No. But I've heard of it,” said Chinky. “The people there aren't very nice—slippery as eels—can't trust them or believe a word they say. I don't think we'll go that way.”

  He went to look at the other arm of the sign-post and came back looking very pleased.