The Wishing-Chair Again

  “I say—do you think my engine would grow wings, too?” said Peter suddenly. He had a wonderful clockwork engine, a perfect model that he was very proud of.

  “Oh, yes—let's try and see,” said Mollie. So they got the engine and Peter smeared a little of the ointment on to it. It sprouted out small wings at once!

  It flew from Peter's hand and joined the doll. The children laughed till their sides ached to see the two toys behaving like this. They really did look extraordinary.

  And then Mollie and Peter went quite mad with the ointment. They smeared it on to a top and that flew round the room, spinning as it went! They smeared the skittles and they all shot round and round, some of them bumping into one another in the air.

  They made some of the little toy soldiers fly, and they even gave the bricks in their brick box wings to fly with. All these things flapped their way round the room, and Mollie and Peter screamed with laughter as they tried to dodge the flying toys.

  Mollie went to the toy cupboard to see if any toy was there that could be made to fly as well. She picked up Chinky's new wand and put it on one side—but, dear me, her fingers were smeared with the Growing Ointment and the wand at once grew tiny, graceful green and yellow wings, too! It flew out of the cupboard and joined the flying toys.

  “Oh dear—there goes the wand,” said Mollie. “I do hope Chinky won't mind. I just touched it by accident with the ointment smeared on my fingers, and it grew wings.”

  “Look—I've made the teapot fly,” said Peter, and roared with laughter to see it flapping its way round the room. “Look at the skittles colliding again.”

  The wind suddenly blew the door wide open. Then a dreadful thing happened. Rosebud the doll, the railway engine, the skittles, the bricks, the top, the teapot, the wand, in fact everything that had grown wings shot straight out of the open door, flew down to the bottom of the garden and vanished!

  “Ooooh!” said Mollie in fright.

  “They've gone,” said Peter, and rushed to the open door. But he could see nothing. No Rosebud was there, no engine, nothing. They had all vanished into the blue.

  “Oh dear—shall we get them back?” said Mollie. “Why did I ever begin to smear the Growing Ointment on anything? It was a very silly idea. Now I've lost Rosebud.”

  “And what about my lovely model engine?” said Peter. “And I say—Chinky's magic wand has gone, too!”

  They stared at one another in dismay. Chinky's new wand, that he had saved up for and was so proud of! It had grown wings and now it had flown out of the door and vanished, too. This was dreadful.

  “We shall have to tell Chinky when he gets back tonight, and ask him if we can possibly get the things back,” said Mollie. “If we knew where they had gone we could go and fetch them. Do you suppose they've gone to Great-Aunt Quick-Fingers?”

  They said no more to one another, but sat solemnly side by side, hoping and hoping that the things would fly back as unexpectedly as they had flown away. But they didn't.

  Chinky came back at half-past six, looking very merry and bright, and bringing a big chocolate cake from his mother. He stopped when he saw their doleful faces.

  “What's up?” he said. “Anything happened?”

  They told him, and Chinky listened in astonishment. He leapt to his feet when they spoke about his wand.

  “WHAT! You don't mean to tell me you were silly enough to meddle with my wand—surely you didn't make my wand grow wings, too!”

  “It was an accident,” said poor Mollie. “I must have had some of the ointment on my fingers when I moved it—and so it grew wings, too. I'm so sorry, Chinky.”

  “Where have the things gone, Chinky?” asked Peter.

  “I don't know,” said Chinky. “I haven't the least idea. All I can say is—the next time the Wishing-Chair grows its wings, we'll have to tell it to go wherever the toys have gone—but goodness knows where it will take us to!”

  Off to Find the Toys

  CHINKY was gloomy and cross that evening. The children were sad, and felt ashamed that they had gone quite so mad with the Growing Ointment. They felt very guilty indeed about Chinky's wand. He had been so proud of it.

  “Will you come and tell us if the Wishing-Chair grows its wings again tonight, Chinky?” asked Mollie when it was time for them to go back to the house.

  “I might,” said Chinky gruffly. “And I might not. I might go off by myself in it.”

  “Oh, no, don't do that,” begged Mollie. “That would be horrid of you. Dear Chinky, please be nice and forgive us for losing your wand.”

  “All right,” said Chinky, cheering up a little.

  “I really do feel very upset about losing my doll Rosebud, you know,” went on poor Mollie. “I feel just as upset about her as you feel about your wand.”

  “And I'm miserable about my engine,” said Peter. “It was the finest I ever had.”

  “Well—we'll hope the Wishing-Chair grows its wings again tonight, then, and we can go and fetch everything,” said Chinky. “I'll come and tap on your windows if it grows its wings.”

  But Chinky didn't tap on their windows at all. The chair didn't grow any wings in the night. Molly sighed.

  “Just when we so badly want it to fly, it won't grow wings! Now today we've got to behave nicely and be on our best behaviour, because Mother's got visitors. Perhaps we shan't be able to go down to the playroom at all”

  At eleven o'clock, when the visitors had arrived and Mother was giving them coffee and the children were handing round plates of biscuits and buns, Chinky appeared at the window.

  He was horrified when he saw so many people there and disappeared at once. The children hadn't caught sight of him.

  But old Mrs. James had seen him and was most astonished. “What a curious-looking child there is in the garden,” she remarked to the children's mother. “Child?” said Mother, surprised. “There are no children in the garden today. My two are here, as you see.”

  “But I'm sure I saw a child peeping in at the window,” said Mrs. James, nodding her head till all the feathers on her hat waved about. “Most peculiar ears this child had, too— kind of pointed.”

  Then the two children pricked their own ears up at once! They knew who the peculiar child was—it was Chinky. And he could only have come for one reason—the Wishing-Chair had grown its wings! They looked at one another in despair. Now what were they to do?

  There was only one thing. They must do something to make Mother send them out of the room.

  So Mollie suddenly spilt the plate of biscuits all over the floor, and Peter spilt a cup of coffee.

  Mother looked vexed. “Oh, dear—how clumsy of you!” she said. “Go and ask Jane if she will please bring a cloth, Mollie. And I think you and Peter had better go now. I don't want anything else spilt.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” said Peter, and he really was sorry. But somehow he had got to get down to the playroom to see what Chinky wanted. Mollie felt the same.

  They shot out of the room. Mollie called to Jane to take a cloth to wipe up the coffee, and then both children raced down to the playroom.

  “I hope Chinky hasn't gone off in the chair by himself,” panted Peter. “If he saw us with all those visitors he might think we couldn't possibly come—and then he'd fly off alone.”

  The got to the playroom door just as Chinky was flying out in the Wishing-Chair. They bumped into one another, and Peter caught hold of one of the chair's legs.

  “Just in time!” he cried. “Help us up, Chinky!”

  Chinky pulled them up with him. Then the chair flapped its green and yellow wings and flew strongly up into the air.

  “I was afraid you wouldn't be able to come,” said Chinky. “I was just setting off by myself. The chair had only grown its wings a few minutes before I peeped in at the window.”

  “What fine, big, strong wings it's got now,” said Peter. “They make quite a draught round my legs. It will be able to fly faster now.”

  “Where are we goi
ng?” asked Mollie.

  “I don't know,” said Chinky. “I just said to the Chair, 'Go and find my wand, and Rosebud, and the rest of the toys,' and it seemed to know the place I meant, because it rose up at once. I've no idea where we shall land. I only hope it's somewhere nice.

  It would be awful to go to the Village of Slipperies, or to the Land of Rubbish, or somewhere like that.”

  “Oh dear—I hope it's somewhere nice, too,” said Mollie. “The chair is flying very high, isn't it?”

  “Do you think it may be going to Toyland?” asked Peter. “I wouldn't mind that at all. After all, most of the things were toys. I think it's very likely they may have gone there.”

  “It certainly seems to be taking the way to Toyland as far as I remember,” said Chinky, peering down. “I know we pass over the Village of Golliwogs before we reach Toyland, and we're very near that now.”

  The children looked down to see if they could see any golliwog in the village they were flying over—but they were too high up to see the people in the streets. They looked as small as ants.

  “Yes—there's Toyland, far over there,” said Chinky, pointing. “That must be where we're going.”

  But it wasn't. The chair suddenly began to fly down and down at a great rate, and it was plain that it was going to land.

  “Well! This isn't Toyland!” said Chinky in surprise. “Good gracious! I do believe it's the school run by Mister Grim, for Bad Brownies. Surely the toys haven't gone there!”

  The chair landed in the grounds of a big house, just near a wall. Chinky and the children got off. They pushed the chair under a bush to hide it. Then they looked cautiously round.

  From the big building in the distance came a chanting noise. The children and Chinky listened.

  “I mustn't scream or whistle or shout

  Because Mister Grim is always about,

  I mustn't stamp or slam any door

  Or jump or slide on the schoolroom floor.

  “I mustn't be greedy, untidy or lazy

  Because Mister Grim would be driven quite crazy,

  I mustn't be slow, and I MUST be quick,

  Because Mister Grim has a very BIG STICK!”

  “Ooooh!” said Mollie. “I don't like the sound of that. That must be the poor Bad Brownies learning verses for Mister Grim.”

  “Yes,” said Chinky. “I do wish we hadn't come here. I've half a mind to get in the Wishing-Chair and go off again. I've always been told that Mister Grim is a very hard master. We don't want to be caught by him.”

  “Caught!” said Peter. “But we're two children and a pixie—we're not brownies—and this is a school for brownies.”

  “I know,” said Chinky. “I just don't like the feel of this place, that's all. If you think it's all right, we'll stay and see if we can possibly find where our toys are.”

  “I think we'd better,” said Peter. “Well—what's the first thing to do?”

  “Listen—is that the brownies coming out to play?” said Mollie as a perfect babel of noise reached them. Then came the sound of feet running and in a trice about fifty small brownies surrounded them. They all looked merry, mischievous little fellows, too young to have grown their brownie beards yet.

  “Who are you? Are you new pupils for this awful school?” asked a small brownie, pushing himself forward. “My name's Winks. What's yours?”

  All the little brownies crowded round, listening eagerly. Chinky pushed them back.

  “Don't crowd so. No, we haven't come to your school. We came because we're looking for things we've lost, and we think they may be somewhere here. My name's Chinky. These are real children, Peter and Mollie.”

  “Well, be careful Mister Grim doesn't see you,” said Winks. “He's in a very bad temper these days— worse than he's ever been.”

  “Why?” asked Peter.

  “Because we found the cupboard where he kept his canes and we broke the whole lot!” chuckled the Brownie. “Every one of them.”

  “Can't he slap you or smack you, though?” said Peter.

  “Oh, yes—but we dodge,” said Winks. “Can't dodge a cane very well, though. I say—do be careful he doesn't catch you.”

  “What are you looking for?” asked another brownie. “I'm Hoho, you can trust me.”

  “Well,” said Chinky, “we came here to look for a lot of flying toys—and my new wand. It had wings, too.”

  “Flying toys!” said Winks. “And a flying wand. Well! Have we seen anything like that, boys?”

  “Yes!” shouted Hoho at once. “Don't you remember? Yesterday evening we saw something very peculiar—we thought they were curious birds flying about in the air. They must have been your toys.”

  “What happened to them?” asked Peter.

  “Well, old Grim was out in the garden smoking his evening pipe,” said Hoho. “And he suddenly looked up and saw them, too. He was very excited, and called out some words we couldn't hear. . . .”

  “And what we thought were the peculiar birds came right down to him,” said Winks. “But they must have been your toys on the way to Toyland! He caught sight of them and made them come to him!”

  “Well, whatever can he do with them?” said Hoho. “We are never allowed any toys at all. I suppose he will sell them to his friend the Magician Sly-Boots.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mollie. “Well, we must try and get them before he does. Will you show us where you think Mister Grim might have hidden our toys?”

  “Yes, we'll show you!” shouted the brownies. “But do be careful you aren't caught!”

  They took Chinky and the children to the big building, all walking on tiptoe and shushing each other.

  Hoho led them inside. He pointed to a winding stair. “Go up there,” he whispered. “You'll come to a little landing. On the left side is a door. That's the storeroom, where I expect Mister Grim has put the toys.”

  “Creep in—and see if you can find them,” whispered Winks.

  “Come on,” said Chinky to the others. “It's now or never! If we find our things we'll take them and rush down and out into the garden, and be off in the Wishing-Chair before Mister Grim even knows we're here!”

  “Sh!” said Mollie, and they all began to go up the stairs on tiptoe. “Shhhhhhh!”

  Mister Grim's School for Bad Brownies

  UP the stairs went the three, treading very quietly indeed, hoping that not one of the stairs would creak or crack.

  The brownies crowded round the door at the bottom of the stairs, holding their breath and watching. Up and up and up—and there was the landing at last! Now for the door on the left.

  They saw the door. They tiptoed to it and Peter turned the handle. Would it be locked? No, it wasn't!

  They peeped inside. Yes, it was the storeroom, and stacks of books, pencils, rulers, ink-bottles, old desks, and all kinds of things were there.

  “Can't see our toys,” whispered Chinky. “Or my wand. Let's look in all the drawers and all the cupboards.”

  So they began opening the drawers and hunting in them, and pulling open the cupboard doors and peering in at the shelves. But they could find nothing more exciting than books and pens and rubbers.

  And then Chinky gave a soft cry. “Look here,” he said. “Here they are!”

  The others ran quickly over to him. He had opened a big chest—and there, lying quietly in the top of it, their wings vanished, lay all the toys they had lost— yes, Rosebud was there, and Peter's engine, and the top and the soldiers—everything.

  But wait—no, not quite everything. “I can't see my wand anywhere,” said Chinky, hunting desperately. “Oh, where is it? Look quickly, you two.”

  They hunted all through the chest, but there didn't seem to be any wand there. They looked in despair at one another. They simply must find Chinky's wand. “I'm glad we've found the toys,” whispered Chinky, “but it's dreadful that I can't find my wand. It's got a lot of magic in it, you know. I wouldn't want Mister Grim to use that.”

  Then the childr
en heard a noise that froze them to the floor. Footsteps—footsteps coming slowly and heavily up the stairs. Not light, quick, brownie steps, but slow, ponderous ones. Would the footsteps come to the storeroom?

  In panic the children and Chinky squeezed themselves into a cupboard, not having time to put away the toys they had pulled out of the chest. The door opened— and somebody walked in!

  The children hardly dared to breathe and Chinky almost choked. Then a voice spoke.

  “SOMEONE has been here. SOMEONE has tried to steal toys. And that SOMEONE is here still. Come out!”

  The children didn't move. They were much too scared to do a thing. And then poor Chinky choked! He had some dust in his throat and he simply couldn't hold his coughing in any longer. He gave a choke and then coughed loudly.

  Footsteps marched to the cupboard and the door was flung wide open.

  There stood Mister Grim—exactly like his name! He was a big, burly brownie, with a tremendous beard falling to the floor. He had pointed ears and shaggy eyebrows that almost hid his eyes.

  “HO!” he said in a booming voice. “So the SOMEONE is not one person, but three. Come out!”

  Peter, Mollie and Chinky came out, poor Chinky still coughing. Mister Grim took them each firmly by the back of the neck and sat them down on the window-seat.

  “And now will you kindly tell me why you came to steal my toys?” he said. “How did you know they were there, and who told you about them?”

  “They're not your toys, sir,” Peter said at last in rather a trembling voice. “They're ours. We let them grow wings yesterday by using Growing Ointment on them —and they flew away. We came to fetch them.”

  “A very likely story indeed,” said Mister Grim scornfully. “And how did you come here?”

  “Up the stairs,” said Mollie.

  Mister Grim frowned a fierce frown. “Don't be foolish, girl,” he said. “I mean, how did you arrive here—by bus or train—and how did you get into the grounds?”

  Chinky gave the others a sharp nudge. Mollie had just been going to say that they had come in their Wishing-Chair, but she shut her mouth again tightly. Of course she mustn't give that away! Why, Mister Grim would search the grounds and find it!