Adventures of the Wishing-Chair (15 page)

She
was
cross!” How very, very careless of you!” she scolded. “You shall not go out to tea today, Peter and Mollie. I am very much annoyed with you. It’s a good thing the ink didn’t get on to my new cushion.”

Mollie and Peter said nothing. They did not go out to tea that day, and they were sad about it—but they kept thinking that perhaps they might get their wishing-chair back—so they did not get too unhappy.

The next day Peter sat in the wishing-chair and kicked his boots against the legs as hard as he could, so that they were scratched and dented. Mother heard him kicking and put her head into the study to see what was going on there.

“Peter!” she cried, “why aren’t you out in the garden on this fine day—and do stop kicking your feet against that chair! Oh, you bad boy, see what you have done!”

She ran over to the chair and looked at the legs. They
were
scratched!

“This is very naughty, Peter,” said Mother. “Yesterday you and Mollie spilt ink on this chair — and now you have kicked it like this. You will go to bed for the rest of the day!”

Poor Peter! He went very red, but he marched upstairs without a word. It was horrid to have to be so careless with a chair, especially one he loved so much — but still, somehow or other he
had,
to get it back to the playroom! Suppose it grew its wings when Mother was sitting in it and flew away with her. Whatever would she do? She would be so frightened!

Mollie was sorry that Peter had been sent to bed. She crept into his room and gave him a piece of chocolate to eat.

“I’m going to slit the seat now,” she whispered. “I expect I’ll be sent to bed too — but surely after chair isn’t good enough for the study and we’ll have it back again!”

So Mollie went downstairs, and took her work-basket into the study. She got out her scissors and began to cut out some dolls’ clothes—and then, oh dear, she ran her scissors into the seat of the chair and made a big cut there!

Mother came in after a while—and she saw the slit at once. She stared in horror.

“Mollie! Did you do that?”

“I’m afraid I did, Mother,” said Mollie.

“Then you are as bad as Peter,” said Mother crossly. “Go to bed too. This chair is simply dreadful now— inky, torn, and scratched! It will have to go back to the playroom. I can’t have it in the study. You are two bad children, and I am ashamed of you both.”

It was dreadful to have Mother so cross. Mollie cried when she got into bed—but she was comforted when she thought that the wishing-chair was really going back to the playroom. She and Peter had to stay in bed all day, and they were very tired of it. But when the next day came, they carried the chair back to their playroom and called Chinky.

“We’ve got the chair, Chinky!” they cried. “Hurrah! But we did get into trouble. We both went to bed for the day, and Mother was dreadfully cross. We shall have to be extra nice to her now to make up —because we didn’t really mean to vex her. Only we
had
to get the chair back somehow!”

“Good for you!” said Chinky, pleased. He looked at the chair and grinned.

“My word!” he said. “You did do some damage to it, didn’t you! What a mess it’s in! Mollie, you’d better get your needle and cotton and mend the seat—and Peter and I had better polish up the legs a bit and try and hide the scratches!”

So that morning the children and Chinky worked hard at the chair and by dinner-time it really looked very much better. Mollie put back into it the cushion they always had there, and then clapped her hands for joy.

“Dear old wishing-chair!” she said. “It’s nice to have you again! Mr. Twisty nearly got you—and Mother nearly had you too—but now we’ve got you back again at last!”

“And
I’m
longing for another adventure!” said Peter. “I wish it would grow its wings again!”

“It soon will!” said Chinky. “I expect it wants another adventure as much as we do!”

ONE morning Mollie, Peter, and Chinky were playing in the playroom at the bottom of the garden. It had been raining all morning, which was horrid in the summer-time. The children and the pixie were very tired of staying indoors.

They had played ludo and snap and draughts and snakes and ladders and dominoes. Now there didn’t seem any other game to play, and they were getting cross and bored.

“Cheer up, Peter!” said Mollie, looking at Peter’s cross face. “You look like a monkey that’s lost its tail.”

“And you look like a giraffe with a sore throat,” said Peter rudely.

“Don’t be horrid!” said Mollie.

“Well, don’t you, then,” said Peter.

“I’m not,” said Mollie.

“You are,” said Peter.

“Now be quiet, you two,” said Chinky. “I don’t like to hear you quarrelling. You only get silly.”

“Don’t interfere,” said Peter crossly. “You talk too much, Chinky.”

“Yes, remember we’ve been given two ears but only one mouth—so you should talk only half as much as you hear,” said Mollie.

“Same to you,” said Chinky. “All girls talk too much.”

“They
don’t!”
said Mollie. “How horrid of you to say that, Chinky.”

“You’re horrid this morning, too,” said Chinky. “You’re both horrid.”

“Well, if you think that, just go away and play somewhere else,” said Mollie at once. “
We
don’t want you!”

“All right then, I will!” said Chinky, offended—and to the children’s dismay he got up and walked out of the playroom!

“There! Now see what you’ve done!” said Peter, getting up. “Sent Chinky away! Suppose he doesn’t come back!”

He ran to the door and called. “Chinky! Hie, Chinky! Come back a minute!”

But there was no answer. Chinky had gone. There was no sign of him anywhere.

“I do think you are horrid and silly,” said Peter to Mollie. “Fancy sending Chinky away like that!”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Mollie, almost in tears. “He was being horrid, so I was too. We were all being horrid.”

“
I
wasn’t,” said Peter. “Yes, you were,” said Mollie. “No, I wasn’t,” said Peter.

“Yes, you were,” said Mollie. “I shall smack you in a minute.”

“Now, now!” said a voice, and Mother looked in at the door. “You are silly to quarrel like that! Uncle Jack is here and wants to know if you would like to go with him to the farm. They have some puppies there, and he wants to choose one for himself. Would you like to go and help him?”

“Oh yes!” cried Peter and Mollie. “We’ll put on our macs and rubber boots and go with him!”

So off they ran, forgetting all about their quarrel— and all about Chinky too! They went to the farm with Uncle Jack and chose a lovely black puppy with him.

Then back home they went, chattering and laughing, forgetting all about how horrid they had been, and enjoying their lovely walk.

It was dinner-time when they got home. They had dinner and ran down to the playroom afterwards, meaning to ask Chinky to play with them in the field outside the garden.

But Chinky wasn’t in the playroom. Peter and Mollie looked at one another and went red.

“Do you suppose he has
really
gone?” said Mollie, feeling upset.

“I don’t know,” said Peter. “I’ll whistle for him outside and see if he comes trotting out of the bushes!”

So Peter went to the door and whistled the little pixie tune that Chinky had taught him. But no Chinky came trotting up. It was really horrid.

“Suppose he never, never comes again!” said Mollie, crying. “Oh, I do, do wish I’d never said that to him—telling him to go away. I didn’t really mean it.”

“I shan’t like going adventures in the wishing-chair unless Chinky is with us,” said Peter. “It isn’t any fun without him.”

“Peter, do you suppose he will
never
come and see us again?” asked Mollie.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Peter. “Pixies are funny, you know—not quite like ordinary people.”

The two children would have been very unhappy indeed if something hadn’t suddenly happened to take their minds away from their disappointment. The wishing-chair suddenly grew its wings again!

“Look!” said Mollie excitedly. “The chair is ready to fly off again. Shall we go, Peter?”

“I don’t feel as if I want to, now Chinky’s not here.” said Peter gloomily.

“But, Peter, I’ve such a good idea!” said Mollie, running to him. “Listen! Let’s get in the wishing-chair and tell it to go to Chinky’s home, wherever it is. I expect he’s gone back there, don’t you? Then we can say we’re sorry and ask him to come back again.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Peter, at once. “Come on, Mollie. Get in! We’ll go at once.”

So the two children squeezed into the wishing-chair. It had grown its four red wings round its legs and was lazily flapping them to and fro, longing to be off into the air once more.

“Go to Chinky’s home,” commanded Peter. The chair rose up into the air, flew out of the door and rose high above the trees. It was fun to fly again. The two children looked down on the gardens and fields, and wished Chinky were with them, sitting in his usual place on the top of the chair!

“I wonder where Chinky’s home
is,”
said Peter. “He has never told us.”

“We shall soon see,” said Mollie.

The chair flew on and on, just below the clouds. Soon it came to the towers and spires of Fairyland. Then it suddenly flew downwards to a little village of quaint crooked houses, all of them small, and all of them with bright flowery gardens. The chair flew down into one of the gardens and rested there. The children jumped off at once.

They went to the little red door of the house and knocked.

“Won’t Chinky be surprised to see us!” said Mollie.

The door opened. An old pixie woman, with a very sweet face and bright eyes, looked out at them.

“Oh!” said Mollie, in disappointment. “We thought this was Chinky’s home.”

“So it is when he is at home!” said the pixie woman. “I’m his mother. Come in, please.”

They went into a neat and spotless little kitchen. Chinky’s mother set ginger buns and lemonade in front of them.

“Thank you,” said Peter. “Do you know where Chinky is?”

“He came and asked me to make up his bed for tonight,” said the pixie woman. “He said he had quarrelled with you, and wanted to come and live at home again.”