The Wishing-Chair Again (15 page)

“And DON'T let Winks have the chair at all,” said Peter. “I like Winks, and he's good fun, but he's dreadfully naughty. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he isn't sent back to Mister Grim's school again someday.”

“I know. I caught him practising magic with my wand last night,” said Chinky. “He was trying to change the teapot into a rabbit. Silly thing to do.”

“Yes, very,” said Mollie. “You can't pour tea out of a rabbit. Now you be sure to keep an eye on Winks, Chinky.”

“And don't sleep with the door or window open at night, in case the chair grows its wings when you're asleep and flies off by itself,” said Peter.

“Oh dear—it's so hot now,” said poor Chinky. “It's dreadful to have to sleep with the doors and windows shut. I've been tying the chair to my leg, so that if it does try to fly off, it will tug at my leg and wake me. Isn't that all right? I thought it was a very good idea.”

“Yes, it is,” said Peter. “Well, so long as you remember to tie your leg and the chair's leg together at night, you can sleep with the door and windows open.”

“But watch that nobody slips in to steal the chair,” said Mollie.

Chinky began to look very worried. “I'm beginning to feel you'd better not go away,” he said. “Anyway, don't I always look after the chair at night for you? Nothing has ever happened to it yet!”

The others laughed. “We're being fussy, aren't we!” they said. “Goodbye, Chinky, dear. A week will soon go, so don't be too lonely. I expect Winks will be popping in and out to see you.”

“I shall hide my wand then,” said Chinky. “He really is a dreadful little meddler.”

The children had a lovely week at the seaside and came back browner than ever. As soon as Mother would let them they rushed down to the playroom to see Chinky.

He wasn't there, so they looked for a note. There wasn't one. “Well, he's probably just gone out for a few minutes to see a friend,” said Peter. “We'll hang up the seaweed we've brought, and tidy up the room.”

So they spent a happy ten minutes nailing up the long fronds of seaweed they had brought back, and tidying up their playroom, which seemed to have got very untidy whilst they had been away.

“It's funny Chinky hasn't kept it tidier than this,” said Mollie, pulling the rugs straight, and putting a chair upright.

Then she suddenly gave a cry. “
Peter!
Where's the Wishing-Chair? It isn't here!”

Peter looked round, startled. “Well! Fancy us not noticing that as soon as we came in! Where is it?”

“I suppose Chinky's gone off in it,” said Mollie. “He might have left a note! I suppose he's at his mother's.”

“He'll soon be back then.” said Peter, going to the door and looking out. “He knew this was the day we were coming home.”

But Chinky didn't come, and by the time tea-time came the children felt rather worried. Surely Chinky would have been back to tea on the day they came home? He always liked to spend every minute with them that he could, especially now that they had to go to boarding-school and leave him for months at a time.

They had brought their tea down to the playroom. They were sitting having it, rather solemnly, when a small mischievous face looked round the door. It was Winks.

“Hallo!” he said, but he didn't smile, or prance into the room as he usually did. He looked very grave and walked in quietly.

“Where's Chinky?” asked Mollie at once.

“And where's the Wishing-Chair?” said Peter.

“An awful thing happened two nights ago,” said Winks. “Really awful. I hardly like to tell.

This was most alarming. The children stared at Winks in dismay. “For goodness' sake tell us,” said Mollie.

“Well,” said Winks, “I was staying here with Chinky that night. I was to sleep on that rug on the floor with a cushion, and Chinky was to sleep on the sofa as usual. When we were tired we got ready for bed.”

“Go on,” said Peter, impatiently. “I want to know what's happened to Chinky.”

“I went to sleep,” said Winks, “and I suppose Chinky did, too. I suddenly woke up to hear a terrible noise going on—Chinky shouting and yelling, and furniture being upset and goodness knows what.”

“ What was it?” said Mollie, scared.

“I put on the light,” said Winks, “and what do you think had happened? Why, you know Chinky always ties a rope from the chair to his foot, don't you—well, the chair grew its wings that night and we didn't wake —so it tried to fly out of the door all by itself, and—”

“The rope pulled on Chinky's foot and woke him!” said Peter.

“Yes, the chair pulled him right off the sofa,” said Winks. “He must have landed with an awful bump on the floor, and I suppose he thought someone had pulled him off and there was an enemy attacking him—so he was fighting the furniture and the rugs and shouting and yelling—and all the time the chair was tugging at his foot, trying to fly off!”

“Gracious!” said Mollie. “What happened in the end?”

“Well, when I put the light on I saw the chair struggling to get out of the door, and it was dragging Chinky along,” said Winks. “I ran to stop the chair, but it rose into the air, dragged poor Chinky out into the garden, and flew up into the sky!”

“What about Chinky?” asked Mollie in a trembling voice.

“Oh, Mollie—poor, poor Chinky had to go, too, hanging upside-down by one foot,” said Winks, blinking away tears. “I couldn't do anything about it, though I did try to catch hold of Chinky. But he was too high up by that time.”

“This is awful,” said Mollie. “Whatever are we to do? Has the chair gone to his mother's, do you think?”

“No. I thought of that,” said Winks. “I went next day to see, but Chinky's mother said she hadn't seen either Chinky
or
the chair. She's very worried.”

“But
why
didn't the chair go to Chinky's mother?” wondered Peter. “Chinky would have been sure to yell out to it to go there.”

“Well, I think the chair was frightened,” said Winks. “It didn't know it had got Chinky by the foot, you see. It couldn't understand all the yelling and struggling. It just shot off into the night, terrified.”

“This is awfully bad news,” said Mollie. “Both Chinky
and
the chair gone. And we don't know where. How can we find out?”

“I don't know,” said Winks, who looked very tired. “I've been all over the place, asking and asking. I say —is that a ginger cake? I haven't had anything to eat today. Can I have a piece?”

“Poor Winks,” said Mollie, and cut him a big slice. “You do look very tired. I suppose you've been worried to death about Chinky.”

“Yes, I have,” said Winks. “You see, I've been teasing him rather a lot—and I hid his wand and made him cross—and I broke a cup—and now I feel awfully sorry I was such a nuisance to him.”

“You're really not very good at times, Winks,” said Peter, sternly. “You ought to be careful, in case you get sent back to Mister Grim.”

“Yes, I know,” said Winks. He looked sadly at the ginger cake. “I suppose I'm too bad to have another slice of that cake,” he said. “I won't ask for one.”

Mollie couldn't help smiling. She cut him another slice. “Don't be silly, Winks. But now
do
try to make up for being silly and tiresome to poor Chinky, and think of some way we can find out where he and the chair have gone.”

“The awful part is, even when we do find out, if ever we do, we haven't got the Wishing-Chair to fly off in to rescue him,” said Peter, gloomily.

“Shall we go and ask Mr. Spells if he can help us?” said Mollie, suddenly. “He's awfully clever. He might think of some way of finding out where Chinky's gone.”

“Yes—that's a very good idea,” said Peter. “You've heard about Mr. Spells, haven't you, Winks? Shall we go straight away now? I think I remember the way.

We have to go to the Village of Pin first, and then take the bus, and then a boat.”

“Yes,” said Winks, cheering up. “I feel much better since I've talked to you—and eaten two slices of cake—though I'm still hungry.”

“Well, take the cake with you and finish it as we go,” said Peter. “There's not much left. Come on. We really must find out something about poor old Chinky.”

They set off. Down the garden they went, and through the gap in the hedge. Into the field, and across to find the dark patch of grass. It was still there. They all sat down in it and Mollie felt about for the little knob that set the magic going.

She found it and pressed it. Down shot the ring of grass, much too fast, and they all tumbled off in a heap below. “Gracious!” said Winks. “You might have warned me what was going to happen. I nearly died of fright when the earth fell away beneath me!”

“Come on,” said Peter. “We have to go down this passage now—past all these doors. We really
must
find Mr. Spells as soon as possible.”

They went on down the twisting passage, which was still lighted clearly by some light nobody could see. Winks wanted to stop and read the names on each door.

“'Dame Handy-Pandy', “he said. “Whoever is she? And this name says 'Mr. Piggle-Pie.' Oh, let's knock and see what he's like.”

“Winks! Come along at once,” said Mollie. “We're in a hurry!”

“Wait! “ cried Winks. “Look at this door! Look at the name. Hey, Mollie, Peter—it says 'MRS. SPELLS!' Do you think she's anything to do with
Mr.
Spells? Let's find out.”

And he banged hard at the little green door. “RATTA-TATTA-TAT!” Oh, Winks—now what have you done?

RATTA-TATTA-TAT! The echo of Winks' knocking at Mrs. Spells' door filled the underground passage and made the children jump. They turned round angrily. “Winks! You shouldn't do that!”

“But I tell you, it says '
MRS.
Spells' on this name-plate,” began Winks. Just then the door opened and a black cat stood politely there, with a little apron round its tubby waist.

“If you've brought the papers, please don't knock so loudly again,” said the cat, politely but crossly. “We were in the middle of a spell, and you made my mistress upset half of it. Now we've made a spell to make things small instead of big. It's most annoying.”

Winks gaped at the cat. “I didn't bring the papers,” he said. “I just wanted . . .”

The cat slammed the door in his face, almost hitting Winks' nose. The children came running up, Peter calling out breathlessly “I say! I do believe that was old Cinders, Mr. Spells' cat! He had such enormous green eyes—like green traffic lights shining out!”

“Was it really?” said Mollie. “Well, let's ask him if he is. Why, Mr. Spells might be here himself! It would save us quite a long journey.”

“Dare we knock again?” said Peter. “That cat was really very cross.”

“I'm not afraid of a cross cat!” said Winks boldly, and he lifted the knocker and knocked again. He also found a bell and rang that, too.

“RATTA-TATTA-TAT!JINGLE-JANGLE-JING!”

“Goodness!” said Mollie. “What an awful noise!”

It certainly was. Mr. Piggle-Pie's door flew open and a cross voice called, “Who's making that row? Just wait till I get dressed and I'll come and chase you!”

“That must have been Mr. Piggle-Pie,” said Winks. “Bother! He's shut his door again. Now I shan't know what he's like!”

Then Mrs. Spells' door flew open, and the cat appeared again. But this time it behaved much more like a real cat. It spat at Winks and scratched him on the hand.

It was just about to shut the door again when Peter called out, “I say, aren't you Cinders?”

The cat stared at him. “Yes, I'm Cinders. Oh, I remember you. You're the boy who came with a girl to rescue Chinky—and I helped my master do a spell to wake him up. What are you doing here, hammering at our door?”

“Well, we were really on our way to see Mr. Spells,” said Peter. “But Winks here noticed the name ‘Mrs. Spells' on the door, and he knocked. He thought she might be some relation to Mr. Spells.”

“She is. She's his mother,” said Cinders. “I came here to help the old lady with a new spell—the one you spoilt by making her jump. My master is coming to call for me in a few minutes.”

“Oh,
is
he?” cried Peter joyfully. “Then do you think we might stay and see him—we do so badly want his help.”

“Well, come in, then,” said the cat. “I don't know about this brownie though—Winks, do you call him? Banging and ringing like that. You wait till Mr. Piggle-Pie is dressed and comes after him. He'll get such a spanking.”