The Wishing-Chair Again (5 page)

“Gone to see his mother, perhaps?” suggested the elf. “I really don't know. It's not much good looking for him, really, you know—he might be anywhere.”

“Yes—that's true,” said Peter. “Well, what shall we do, Mollie? Try and find Mr. Spells of Wizard Cottage by ourselves?”

“Oh, I know where
he
lives,” said the elf. “He's quite a nice fellow. I'll tell you the way. You want to take the bus through the Tall Hill, and then take the boat to the Mill. Not far off on the top of a hill you'll see a large cottage in the shape of a castle—only you can't call it a castle because it's not big enough. Mr. Spells lives there.''

“Oh, thank you,” said Peter, and off they went to catch the bus. It was one like they had caught the other night, but it had a different driver, and was not nearly so crowded. In fact there would have been plenty of room inside for Peter and Mollie if they hadn't noticed that one of the passengers happened to be Mr. Sleep-Alone, Chinky's strange and bad-tempered cousin.

“We'd better travel with the driver on the outside seat again,” said Peter. “Sleep-Alone might recognize us and lose his temper again.”

The bus travelled fast down the lane, going round corners in a hair-raising style. “Do you like going round corners on two wheels?” asked Peter, clutching at Mollie to prevent her from falling off.

“Well, it saves wear and tear on the others,” said the driver, and honked madly at a family of rabbits gossiping in the lane.

The bus suddenly ran straight at a very steep hill and disappeared into a black hole, which proved to be a long and bumpy tunnel. It came out again and stopped dead beside a little blue river, its front wheels almost touching the water.

“I always do that to give the passengers a fright,” said the driver. “Must give them something for their money's worth!”

The children were really very glad to get out. They looked for a boat and saw plenty cruising about on the water, all by themselves. “Look at that!” said Peter. “They must go by magic or something.”

One little yellow boat sailed over to them and rocked gently beside them. They got into it. The boat didn't move.

“Tell it where to go, silly!” called the bus-driver, who was watching them with great interest.

“To the Mill,” said Peter, and immediately the boat shot off down-stream, doing little zigzags now and again in a very light-hearted manner. It wasn't long before they came to an old Mill. Its big water-wheel was working and made a loud noise. Behind it was a hill, and on the top was what looked like a small castle.

“That's where Mr. Spells lives,” said Peter. “Come on—out we get, and up the hill we go.”

So up the hill they went and came at last to the curious castle-like house.

But when they got near they heard loud shouts and thumps and yells, and they stopped in alarm.

“Whatever's going on?” said Mollie. “Is somebody quarrelling?”

The children tiptoed to the house and peeped in at one of the windows, the one where the noise seemed to be coming from. They saw a peculiar sight!

Chinky and a nasty-looking little goblin seemed to be playing musical chairs! The children saw the six chairs there that they had seen the day before in Mr. Polish's shop, and first Chinky would dart at one and look at it carefully and try to pull it away, and then the goblin would. Then Mr. Spells, who looked a very grand kind of enchanter, would pull the chairs away from each and then smack both the goblin and Chinky with his stick.

Roars and bellows came from the goblin and howls from Chinky. Oh, dear. Whatever was happening?

“Chinky must have found out that the chairs had gone to Mr. Spells, and gone to get our own chair,” said Peter. “And the goblin must have gone to get it at the same time. Can you see the blue handkerchief we tied on our own chair, Mollie?”

“No. It's gone. Somebody took it off,” said Mollie. “I believe I can see it sticking out of Chinky's pocket —I expect he guessed we marked the chair that way and took the hanky off in case the goblin or Mr. Spells guessed there was something unusual about that particular chair.”

“Sir!” cried Chinky suddenly, turning to Mr. Spells, “I tell you once more that I am only here to fetch back one of these chairs, a wishing-chair, which belongs to me and my friends. This goblin stole it from us—and now he's come to get it back again from you. He'll sell it again, and steal it—he's a bad fellow.”

Smack! The goblin thumped Chinky hard and he yelled. Mr. Spells roared like a lion, “I don't believe either of you. You're a couple of rogues. These chairs are MY CHAIRS, all of them, and I don't believe any of them is a wishing-chair. Wishing-chairs have wings, and not one of these has.”

“But I tell you . . .” began Chinky, and then stopped as the enchanter struck him lightly with his wand, and then struck the goblin, too.

Chinky sank down into a deep sleep and so did the goblin. “Now I shall have a little peace at last,” said Mr. Spells. “And I'll find out which chair is a wishing-chair—if these fellows are speaking the truth!”

He went out of the room, and the children heard him stirring something somewhere. He was probably making a ‘Find-out’ spell!

“Come on—let's get into the room and drag Chinky out whilst he's gone,” said Peter. “We simply must rescue him!”

So they crept in through the window and bent over Chinky. And just at that very moment they felt a strong draught blowing round them!

They looked at each of the chairs—yes, one of them had grown wings, and was flapping them, making quite a wind! Hurray—now they could fly off in the Wishing-Chair, and cram Chinky in with them, fast asleep.

“Quick, oh, quick—Mr. Spells is coming back!” said Peter. “Help me with Chinky—quick, Mollie, QUICK!”

THE Wishing-Chair stood with the other five chairs, its red wings flapping strongly. The children caught hold of the sleeping pixie and dragged him to the chair. He felt as heavy as lead! If only he would wake up.

“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!”