Enid Blyton (11 page)

Well, you can guess how the two old things liked one another! The old lady had always loved horses—and the pony was delighted to find someone who knew how to talk to him, and click to him, and offer him a carrot. He nuzzled his brown head into her shoulder, and it was all Pink-Whistle could do to make them part.

One day the old lady was very excited. She had had a letter from her friend—and in it was some money!

"Look!" she said to Pink-Whistle. "Money! But I don't want money at my age. So I am going to give it all to you, dear Mr. Pink-Whistle, every bit—and you must buy a present for yourself from a grateful old lady. I don't know what I should have done without you."

"I don't want your money," said Pink-Whistle, smiling. "You keep it and buy yourself a new shawl and a new arm-chair."

The old lady's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want anything for myself," she said. "I did so want you to have the money, Mr. Pink-Whistle. There is nothing I can do for you, nothing at all, in return for the happiness you have given to me—and I did think, I really did think this would be a little return for all your kindness."

Pink-Whistle didn't know what to do. He felt as if he couldn't take money from the old lady—and yet she would be terribly unhappy if he didn't. After all, it is lovely to pay back kindness—and there was no other way she could do it.

And then a grand idea came into Pink-Whistle's head, and he grinned his wide grin. He held out his hand. "I'll take the money," he said, "but on one condition, old friend—that I can do exactly as I like with it!"

"Of course you can," said the old lady gladly, and gave him the money. Pink-Whistle trotted off quickly, full of his idea.

He went to the farmer who lived in his farmhouse beside the pony's field. He asked him how much the old pony was.

There was enough money to buy him. "May I keep him in the field when he is not in use?" asked Pink-Whistle. The farmer said yes. Pink-Whistle trotted back to the old lady's house. He pulled out her bath-chair, and went off with it. She didn't see him, because she was asleep.

The little man took the chair to a leather-worker and asked him to fit it up so that it could be drawn along by a pony. "That's easy," said the man. "You'll want reins, of course—and little shafts put here— and this bit altered there. I can do it in two days."

"Ill help you, Dad," said the man's small boy, a smiling, merry-eyed lad. "'Isn’t often we do a job like this, is it? I'd like to see a pony drawing this bath-chair. Is there a pony for it, Mister?"

"Yes," said Pink-Whistle, and told the boy all about it. Then a good idea came to him. "I suppose you wouldn't like to fetch the pony from the field every day to the old lady's house, and harness him to the bath-chair for her, would you?" he said. "You're not very big and you could ride on the pony's back to and from the field."

"Oooooh, yes," said the small boy, his eyes shining with delight. "I love horses, I'd just love that. Dad, may I do that?"

Pink-Whistle left the workshop, feeling very pleased. He had spent the old lady's money well! He had done something that would make the old pony very happy, for now he would have a friend, a nice light job of work—and a-little boy to talk to him and even ride on his back a little each day. And the small boy would have some fun and feel quite important riding the pony, and harnessing him to the bath-chair each day.

"Well, it's wonderful what can be done if you really think hard enough," said Pink-Whistle, trotting down the road very happily. "I do wonder what the old lady will say!"

Well, you should have seen her face the first day that the little boy came into the garden riding the old pony! Pink-Whistle arrived too, with the altered bath-chair. The little boy jumped down, and fitted straps and reins as his father had shown him. They both smiled and waved at the astonished old lady.

Then Pink-Whistle went into the house and helped the old lady to hobble slowly along to the bath-chair. She couldn't walk properly, she could only hobble a few steps. She got into the chair and Pink-Whistle tucked her up. He gave her the reins.

"THAT'S A FINE SIGHT TO SEE," SAID PINK-WHISTLE, AS THE OLD LADY DROVE DOWN THE ROAD

"Now, you said you know how to drive a horse," he said. "You needn't be afraid that the pony will go fast, because he won't. He's too old. He's so pleased to come and do a job of work like this for you. He's yours. I bought him with your money. Now—off you go!"

And off they went, the old lady driving the pony, and steering the bath-chair at the same time in a very clever way—but as the pony only walked slowly, there wasn't any danger of the old lady having an accident at all.

"Well, that's a fine sight to see, isn't it?" said Pink-Whistle, pleased, as he stared down the road after the two old friends, his hand on the small boy's shoulder. "Now, you look out for them to come back— and take out the pony and ride him back to the field. Look after the old lady, too, and help her into the house."

Good old Pink-Whistle! The old lady is as happy as she can be, driving out with her pony every day—and the old pony isn't afraid or lonely any more, because she is his friend. And he has the little boy, too, to talk to him and ride him carefully, and bring him a lump of sugar for a treat.

But the happiest of them all is Pink-Whistle, of course. "There's nothing like putting bad things right," he says. "It's the finest thing anyone can do."

I think so, too, don't you? 

MR. PINK-WHISTLE GOES TO

SCHOOL

MR. PINK-WHISTLE
was walking down the road wondering if the fishmonger had any kippers for himself and Sooty, his cat, when four girls and two boys came running along.

"Quick!" said one. "Get round the corner before Harry and George see us!"

They shot round the corner—and then came the sound of pattering footsteps behind Mr. Pink-Whistle once more, and along came two big boys, almost knocking him over.

Mr. Pink-Whistle went spinning into the gutter and just saved himself from sitting down hard by clutching at a lamp-post.

The two boys didn't say they were sorry, they didn't even stop! They rushed round the corner after the smaller children.

"Good gracious!" said Mr. Pink-Whistle, letting go the lamp-post. "What unpleasant boys! Who are they, I wonder?"

He went round the corner. He saw Harry and George pouncing on the smaller children and taking their hats and caps away. They sent them sailing up into the trees and over the hedges!

"You are hateful," said a small girl, beginning to cry. "You're always playing horrid tricks, and making us take the blame!"

"You hid my French book yesterday and I got into trouble for it," said Joan.

"You spilt my ink-pot all over the floor, and I had to stay in," said Peter. "I know you did it! It's just the kind of thing you always do."

"Yes—and then you leave us to bear the blame," said Doris. "And if we tell tales on you, you smack our faces and tramp on our toes!"

Harry pounced on Doris and pulled her hair so hard that she squealed.

HARRY PULLED DORIS'S HAIR SO HARD THAT SHE SQUEALED.

"Let go!" she said.

Mr. Pink-Whistle made himself invisible. He crept up to Harry, caught hold of his hair and tugged hard.

"Oh!" said Harry, and swung round. George was just near by. "Did you pull my hair? What do you think you're doing?"

"I didn't touch you," said George. "Don't be silly!"

Then the two boys glared at one another and put up their fists to fight. The other children saw their chance and ran off at once. Let them fight! They wouldn't bother the others then!

Mr. Pink-Whistle didn't like the two boys at all. He took a look at them. Their faces were hard. It wouldn't be any good talking to them, or pleading with them to be better. They would laugh.

"No—the only thing is to do the same things to them that they do to others," decided Mr. Pink-Whistle. "I shall go to school with these children this afternoon. Ha—there'll be a bit of fun then! But not for George or Harry!"

He waited for the children that afternoon and then walked along beside them, unseen. He saw how they all ran away from George and Harry, and how frightened of the two big boys they were.

"A couple of bullies!" said Mr. Pink-Whistle. "Well, well—bullies are always cowards, so we'll just see what Harry and George do when unpleasant things begin to happen to them. They shall take the blame for things I do this afternoon, in return for making others take the blame for things that they so often have done."

He went into the schoolroom with Harry and George and the rest of their class. He noticed where the two big boys sat and went over to them. Nobody could see him. He was quite invisible, of course.

When George was bending down to pick up a dropped pencil Mr. Pink-Whistle opened his desk lid and let it drop with a terrific BANG!

Everyone jumped. The teacher frowned. "George! There's no need to make that noise,"

"I didn't," said George, indignantly. "I was bending down. Some¬one else must have banged my desk-lid."

"Was it you, Harry?" asked the teacher. Harry always sat next to George.

"No, it wasn't," said Harry, rudely.

Well, Mr. Pink-Whistle managed to bang George's desk-lid twice more, and the teacher began to blame Harry, because George was so very indignant that she felt sure it couldn't be his fault.

The two boys glared at one another. Then Mr. Pink-Whistle tipped a pile of books off Harry's desk when he wasn't looking!

"HARRY!" said the teacher.

"I didn't do it," said Harry, angrily. "Make George pick up my books. He must have done that."

"I didn't," said George. "Yah!"

"Boys, boys!" said the teacher. "George, come up here and write on the board for me. Write down the home-work notes for to-morrow."

George went up sulkily. He took up the chalk and began to write on the board. Mr. Pink-Whistle was just behind him, invisible.

He took George's hand and began to guide the piece of chalk. And do you know what he wrote? He wrote this:

"Harry is a silly donkey. Harry is a dunce. Harry is . . ."

George was horrified. Whatever was the chalk doing? It seemed to be writing by itself, and he couldn't stop it. And look what it was writing too! Whatever would his teacher say? Where was the duster? He must rub out the rude writing at once!

Aha! Mr. Pink-Whistle had taken the duster, of course. He had thrown it up to the top of a picture, George couldn't see it anywhere.

The children saw what George had written, and they began to nudge one another and giggle. The teacher turned to see what George was doing behind her—and dear me, she saw what he had written on the blackboard!

"GEORGE!" she said angrily. "How dare you do that? What in the world are you thinking of? Rub it out at once."

"I didn't mean to," said poor George. "It felt as if the chalk was writing by itself."

"Oh, don't be so silly," said the teacher. "My goodness me—look where the duster has been thrown to! Did you throw it there, George? You'd better lose ten marks straight away for your silly behaviour this afternoon!"

Harry laughed like anything. He was angry with George for writing rude things about him on the board. Mr. Pink-Whistle waited till George was back in his seat and then he pulled Harry's hair quite hard.

Harry jumped and glared round at George. Mr. Pink-Whistle tugged at George's hair then. George jumped and glared round at Harry.

"Stop that!" they said to each other, and the teacher banged on her desk for quiet.

Well, Mr. Pink-Whistle quite enjoyed himself that afternoon and so did all the class, except Harry and George. Harry's ruler shot off his desk, George's pencil-box upset all over the floor. Harry's shoelaces became mysteriously undone three times. George's socks kept slipping down to his ankles, and his jersey buttons came undone at his neck. It was all very extraordinary.

They all went out to play for ten minutes. Mr. Pink-Whistle went with them. He kicked Harry's ball into the next-door garden. He tripped George up twice and sent him rolling over and over. The two boys got very angry indeed, because they both felt certain it was the other one playing tricks.