Enid Blyton (4 page)

IN FRIGHT THE TWO BOYS LEAPT OFF THE BUS.

Len and Tom clutched at each other in fright. That voice again! Who was following them? They left the little girl and the scared puppy and ran at top speed down the road.

The little girl felt a kiss on her cheek, and something was pressed into her hand. "Go and buy yourself some sweets," said a kind voice in her ear—but there was nobody there—how very, very strange!

Pink-Whistle followed the boys. They both turned in at the same gate. "My mother and father are in with yours this afternoon," said Len.

"We're all going to the pictures together to-night. So I can come in with you."

"Aha! Good!" thought Pink-Whistle, and he went in at the gate, round the back and in at the kitchen door with the two boys. They didn't see him, of course.

The boys slammed the door and clattered in without wiping their feet.

Len went to the larder door and grinned at Tom. They both Muck their dirty fingers into a jar of jam and licked them. Then they took some plums out of a pie and ate those.

"Not a word!" said Tom and winked at Len. Then they both went into the sitting-room. Their parents were there, talking.

"Well—have you been good boys to-day?" asked one of the mothers.

"Oh, yes," said Tom. "Both top of our class, and we came straight home as you said, and here we are."

"Who went into the larder just now and helped themselves to jam and plums out of the pie?" said a loud voice suddenly. "Where are the boys who did that mean thing? Stealing, I call it."

There was a sudden silence. The parents looked at one another to see who had spoken. The boys went as red as beetroots.

"Who said that?" said a father, at last. "How strange that voice sounded! I don't like it. Come on—let's go to the pictures. We all look scared! I'm sure the boys wouldn't take anything from the larder."

"But they did! Didn't you, boys?" said Pink-Whistle's stern voice.

The boys stood trembling and didn't say a word.

One of the fathers got up, looking pale. "Come along. We'll go.

There's something queer going on here. Somebody calling through the window or down the chimney or something."

They all went out. They caught a bus and so did Pink-Whistle. As soon as they were all seated on the bus, he began again.

"Where are the boys who scared that little girl and tied a can to her puppy's tail? Where are they? Bring them to me!"

Again Tom and Len went red and trembled. Everyone looked at them. A man spoke up from the corner. "Who is it that wants to know about those bad boys? There they are on that seat there, shaking in their shoes. Come and get them!"

The boys leapt off the bus in fright, and their parents followed, troubled and puzzled. They went into the cinema without a word-but each mother and father was thinking hard. Why was that voice following them?

Why did their boys look so red and ashamed?

And dear me, the voice came into the cinema with them as well!

Every time there was a quiet piece in the picture the voice sounded near to the boys and their parents—speaking in a loud whisper this time.

"Who scared the old woman with a water-pistol? Who rang the bells and ran away? Who frightened the little girl with the dog? Who has got parents who don't know what their boys are up to? Who went into the larder and------"

Len began to cry. Tom went very white this time, instead of red. The parents felt so upset that they couldn't watch the picture any more.

" THERE'S SOMETHING QUEER GOING ON HERE," SAID ONE OF THE 
FATHERS.

One by one they rose and went out. Pink-Whistle followed them.

They went home to Len's house. Pink-Whistle slipped in with them, too. The parents faced the boys.

"What's all this about? Where does this voice come from? Is it true what it keeps saying?"

"No," said Len.

"No," said Tom, his head down.

"Who tells untruths to their parents?" began the voice again. "Who lies in wait for little girls and breaks their dolls? Who throws stones at dogs and cats. WHO, WHO, WHO?"

"We do, we do!" sobbed Len and Tom, suddenly, almost scared out of their lives. "We do all those things. We won't any more. We won't!"

'I’ll see you don't!" said Len's father, angrily. "To think you do these things behind our backs and pretend to be so good to our faces!"

WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT ? " ASKED THE BOYS' PARENTS. " WHERE DOES 
THIS VOICE COME FROM ?"

"They want whipping," said Tom's father. "We've not been firm enough with them."

"Oh, Tom, oh, Len—how could you do things like that?" wailed their mothers.

'Tartly your fault, partly your fault!" said the voice again. "Why don't you look after your children better?
I’ll
look after them!
I’ll
tell
the
world about them!
I’ll
. . ."

"No, no, no!" cried Len. "Go away, whoever you are. You frighten me. Go away!"

"I'm going," said Pink-Whistle solemnly. "I'm going. I'm going." His voice got softer and softer. Then suddenly and most frighteningly it got loud again. "But I'm coming back if you don't keep your word Yes—I'm COMING back!"

He went then, back to his little cottage and to Sooty, feeling quite tired out. "I
think
I've put that right," he said to Sooty. "But you never know!"

Good old Pink-Whistle. He certainly has put it right. Those boys—

and their parents, too—are quite, quite different. Oh, dear—I do hope I never hear his voice booming out because
I've
done something wrong. I would be so ashamed, wouldn't you?

MR. PINK-WHISTLE COMES 
ALONG

“SOOTY!" called Mr. Pink-Whistle to his big black cat, "I'm going out for a walk. It's a lovely, sunny winter's day. I'll be back in time for dinner."

Sooty went to the door to see him off. He went briskly down the garden path and out of the gate. The frost crunched under his feet as he went, and the pale December sun shone down on him. What a lovely day!

"I think I'll go down to the pond and see if there are any children sliding on it," he thought. So off he went, down the lane, up the hill, down the hill, and across a meadow where frost whitened the long grass in the ditches.

Mr. Pink-Whistle was just putting his leg over the stile to go to the pond when his sharp ears heard a sound. He had pointed brown ears and could hear like a hare!

"Now, what's that?" he thought, his leg half over the stile. "Is it an animal? Or a child? Or just a noise?"

It seemed to come from a little tumble-down shed by the hedge. Mr. Pink-Whistle listened. Yes, there certainly was a noise—a sniffy sort of noise—sniff-sniff-gulp, sniff-sniff!

"I'd better go and find out," said Pink-Whistle, and he got down from the stile and went to the little shed. He poked his head inside. It was rather dark and he couldn't see anything at first. Then he saw something white,

"Dear me!" said Pink-Whistle. "Is that a face I see? Does it belong to someone? Who are you?"

The face was peeping out of a pile of hay in the corner. It spoke.

"Yes, but please go away. This is
my
shed. It's private."

Pink-Whistle didn't go away. He was sure that he could see that the face was very miserable. He came right into the shed.

Somebody scrambled out of the hay, crossly. It was a boy of about ten. "I told you this was
my
shed," he said. "It's on my father's land and he said I could have it for my own. You're trespassing!"

"Was it you I heard sniff-sniff-sniffing?" asked Pink-Whistle.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said the boy. "Nothing to do with you anyway. Don't you know when people want to be alone? I wish you'd get out of my shed."

"I'm going," said Pink-Whistle. "But it's a pity you haven't even a dog to keep you company. If you're unhappy, it's nice to have a dog's nose on your knee."

He walked to the door. "Come back," said the boy suddenly, in a shaky sort of voice. "I like what you said just now. You might understand if I tell you something. You wouldn't have said that if you hadn't understood what friends dogs are, would you?"

"No," said Pink-Whistle, turning back. "So it's something to do with a dog, is it? Your own dog, I suppose."

"Yes," said the boy, sitting down on the hay and rubbing a very dirty hand over his face. "You see, I've got no brothers or sisters, so my Dad gave me a dog for my own. My very own, you understand— not one that's shared by the whole family. Buddy was my own, every whisker of him, every hair."

"That's a fine thing," said Pink-Whistle. "I expect that you belonged to him as much as he belonged to you. You were his friend as much as he was yours."

"I'm glad you understand," said the boy. "It's nice to tell somebody.

Well, Buddy's gone. Somebody's stolen him. He was a golden spaniel with big, loving eyes, and he cost my father a lot of money. That's why he's been stolen, because he was valuable."

Sniff-snirf-sniff! The boy rubbed his hand over his eyes again. "I'm ten," he said, ashamed, "and too old to make a fuss like this, like a four-year-old. I know all that, so
you
needn't tell me. But a dog sort of gets right into your heart if he's your own."

"I shall begin to sniff, too, in a minute!" said Pink-Whistle. "I know exactly what you feel. You're thinking how miserable your dog will be without you and you're hoping that nobody is being cruel to him, and you're wondering if he's cowering down in some corner, puzzled and frightened. Well, that's enough to make anyone feel miserable."

" WHY—SURELY YOU'RE NOT MR. PINK-WHISTLE ? " SAID THE BOY.

"He disappeared yesterday," said the boy. "Two men came to the farm to ask if they could buy chickens—and I'm sure they took Buddy away. They may have given him some meat with a sleeping-powder in it and got him like that. I don't know. The police say they can't trace the men and they haven't had any report of a golden spaniel anywhere."

"I see," said Pink-Whistle. "Er—do you happen to know me by any chance, boy?"

"My name's Robin," said the boy. "No—I don't know you. I've never ever seen you before, have I?"

He peered closely at Pink-Whistle. The sun shone in at the little shed window just then and he suddenly saw Pink-Whistle clearly. He saw his green eyes and pointed ears, and he gave a little cry.

"Wait! Wait! Yes, I've seen your picture somewhere in a magazine or a book. Yes, I remember now. Why—surely you're not Mr. Pink-Whistle?"

"I am," said Pink-Whistle, beaming all over his face, pleased that the boy knew him. "And I like to go about the world putting wrong things right."

"Get back Buddy for me then, please, PLEASE!" said Robin, clutching hold of Mr. Pink-Whistle's arm. "I never thought you were real, but you are. Can you get back Buddy?"

"I'll do my best," said Pink-Whistle. 'I’ll go now. Cheer up, get out of this dark shed and go home and find some work to do. Perhaps I can put things right for you."

He walked out of the shed. Robin ran after him, suddenly very cheerful indeed. He was amazed. To think that Mr. Pink-Whistle should have come along just then—what a wonderful thing!