Adventures of the Wishing-Chair (14 page)

“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!”

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. Knobbles 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?

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.