06 (19 page)

"And the Wishing-Chair," said Mollie in a whis¬per. "And Chinky."

They rushed downstairs and out into the gar¬den. It was the end of July and the garden was full of flowers; it was lovely to be home! No more les¬sons for eight weeks, no more preps.

They raced down to the playroom, which was really a big airy shed at the bootom of the garden. Peter slid the key into the lock. "Chinky!" he called. "Are you here?"

He unlocked the door. The children went into the playroom and looked round. It was a nice room, with a big rug on the floor, shelves for their books and toys, a cot with Mollie's old dolls in it, and a large dolls' house in the corner.

But there was no Wishing-Chair and no Chinky

the pixie! The children stared round in dismay.

"He's not here," said Peter. "He said he would come to-day with the chair. 1 gave him the date and he wrote it down in his note-book."

"I hope he's not ill," said Mollie. They looked all round the playroom, set the musical box going and opened the windows.

They felt disappointed. They has so looked for-ward to seeing Chinky, and to sitting once more in the Wishing-Chair. Suddenly a little face looked in at the door.

Mollie gave a shout. "Chinky! It's you! we were so worried about you! We hoped you'd be here."

Both children gave the little pixie a hug. Chinky grinned. "Well, how could I be here waiting for you if the door was locked and the windows fas¬tened, silly? I may be a pixie, but I can't fly through locked doors. I have missed you. Were you very bored away at school?"

"Oh, no" said Peter. "Boarding school is sim¬ply lovely. We both loved it—but we're jolly glad to be home again."

"Chinky, where's the Wishing-Chair?" asked Mollie anxiously. "Nothing's happened to it, has it? Have you got it with you?"

"Well, I brought it here this morning." said Chinky, "but when I found the door of the play¬room was locked and couldn't get in I hid it under the hedge at the bottom of the garden. But you'd be surprised how many people nearly found it!"

"But nobody goes to the bottom of the garden!" said Peter.

"Oh, don't they!" said Chinky. "Well, first of all your gardener thought he'd cut the hedge there to-day, and I had an awful job dragging the chair from one hiding place to another. Then an old gipsy woman came by, and she almost saw it, but I barked like a dog and she ran away."

The children laughed. "Poor old Chinky! You must have been glad when we got here at last."

"Let's go and get it," said Peter. "I'm hoping to sit in it again. Has it grown its wings much since we left it with you, Chinky?"

"Not once," said Chinky. "Funny, isn't it?

It's just stood in my mother's kitchen like any ordinary chair, and never grown even one red wing!

I think it was waiting for you to come back."

"I hope it was—because then it may grow its wings heaps of times," said Peter, "and we'll go off on lots of adventures."

They went to the hedge. "There it is!" said Mollie in excitement. "I can see one of its legs sticking out."

They dragged out the old chair. "Just the same!" said Peter in delight. "And how well you've kept it Chinky. It's polished so brightly."

"Ah, that was my mother did that," said Chinky. "she said such a wonderful chair should have a wonderful polish, and she was at it every day, rub, rub, rub, till the chair groaned!"

Peter carried the chair back to the playroom. Chinky went in front to make sure there was no¬body looking. They didn't want any questions asked about why chairs should be hidden in hedges. They set it down in its old place in the playroom. Then they all climbed into it.

"It's just the same," said Peter. "We feel a bit more squashed than usual because Mollie and 1 seem to have grown at school. But you haven't grown, Chinky."

"No. I shan't grow any more," said Chinky. "Don't you wish the chair would grow its wings and go flapping off somewhere with us now?"

"Oh, yes" said Mollie. "Chair, do grow your wings—just to please us! Even if it's only to take us a little way up into the air and back."

But the chair didn't. The children looked anx¬iously down at its legs to see if the red buds were forming that sprouted into wings, but there was nothing there.

"It's no good," said Chinky. "It won't grow its wings just because it's asked. It can be very obsti¬nate, you know. All I hope is that it hasn't forgot¬ten how to grow wings after being still so long. I shouldn't like the magic to fade away."

This was a dreadful thought. The children pat¬ted the arms of the chair. "Dear Wishing-Chair! You haven't forgotten how to grow wings, have you?"

The chair gave a remarkable creak, a very long one. Everyone laughed. "It's all right!" said Chinky. "that's its way of telling us it hasn't for¬gotten. A creak is the only voice it's got!"

Mother came down the garden. "Children! Daddy's home. He wants to see you!"

"Right!" called back Peter. He turned to Chinky. "See you to-morrow, Chinky. You can cuddle up on the old sofa as usual, with the rug and the cush¬ion, for the night. You'll live in our playroom, won't you, as you did before, and tell us when the chair grows its wings?"

"Yes. I shall like to live here once more," said Chinky.

The Children ran back to the house. They had a very nice evening indeed telling their parents ev-erything that had happened in the term. Then off they went to bed, glad to be in their own dear little rooms again.

But they hadn't been alseep very long before Peter began to dream that he was a rat being shaken by a dog. It was a very unpleasant dream, and he woke up with a jump.

It was Chinky shaking him by the arm. "Wake up!" whispered the pixie. "The chair's grown its wings already. They're big, strong ones, and they're flapping like anything. If you want an adventure hurry up!"

Well! What a thrill! Peter woke Mollie and they pulled on their clothes very quickly and ran down the garden. They heard a loud flapping noise as they reached the playroom shed. "It's the chair's wings," panted Chinky. "Come on—we'll just sit in it before it goes flying off!"

II

OFF ON AN ADVENTURE

The children raced in at the playroom door and made for the Wishing-Chair. They could see it eas¬ily in the bright moonlight. It was just about to fly when they flung themselves in it. Chinky squeezed between them, sitting on the top of the back of the chair.

"Good old Wishing-Chair!" said Peter. "You didn't take long to grow your wings! Where are we going?"

"Where would you like to go? said Chinky.

"Wish, and we'll go wherever you wish."

"Well—let me see—oh dear, I simply can't think

12

of anywhere," said Mollie. "Peter, you wish- quickly."

"Er—Wishing-Chair, take us to—to—oh, good-ness knows where I want it to go!" cried Peter. "I simply don't..."

But dear me, the Wishing-Chair was off! It flapped its wings very strongly indeed, rose up into the air, flew towards the door and out of it—then up into the air it went, flapping its red wings in the moonlight.

Chinky giggled. "Oh, Peter—you said "Take us to Goodness Knows Where'," said the pixie. "And that's just about where we're going!"

"Gracious!—is there really a land called Good¬ness Knows Where?" said Peter, in surprise.

"Yes. Don't you remember when we went to the Land of Scallywags once, the Prince of Good¬ness Knows Where came to see me," said Chinky. "I was pretending to be a King. Well, I suppose it's his Land we're going to."

"Where is it?" said Mollie.

"Goodness knows!" said Chinky. "1 don't. I've never met anyone who did, either."

"The Wishing-Chair seems to know," said Pe¬ter, as it flew higher and higher in the air.

But it didn't know, really. It dropped downwards after a time and came to a tiny village. Peter leaned out of the chair and gazed with great interest at it. "Look at that bridge," he said. "Hey, Chair, what¬ever are you doing now?"

The chair hadn't landed in the village. It had flown a few feet above the queer little houses and

had then shot upwards again.

The chair flew on again, and then came to a heaving mass of water. Was it the sea? Or a lake? The children didn't know. " Look at that lovely silver moon-path on the sea," said Mollie, leaning out of the chair. "I'm sure it leads to the moon!"

The chair seemed to think so, too. It flew down to the water, got on the moon-path and followed it steadily, up and up and up.

"Hey! This isn't the way to Goodness Knows Where!' said Chinky, in alarm. "It's the way to the moon. Don't be silly, Chair!" j

The chair stopped and hovered in mid-air as if I it had heard Chinky and was changing its mind. I To the children's great relief it left the moon-path f and flew on till it came to a little island. This was j perfectly round and flat, and had one big tree stand- I ing up in the middle of it. Under the tree was a boat and someone was fast asleep in it.

"Oh, that's my cousin, Sleep-Alone," said Chinky, in surprise. "He's a funny fellow, you know—can't bear to sleep if anyone else is within miles of him. So he has a boat and an aeroplane, and each night he takes one or the other and goes off to some lonely place to sleep. Hey there, Sleep- Alone!"

Chinky's shout made the children jump. The chair jumped, too, and Mollie was almost jerked off. She clutched at the arm.

The little man in the boat awoke. He was more like a brownie than a pixie and had a very long beard, which he had wound neatly round his neck

like a scarf. He was most surprised to see the Wish¬ing-Chair landing on the island just near him. He scowled at Chinky.

"What's all this? Coming and shouting at me in the middle of the night! Can't I ever sleep alone?"

"You always do!" said Chinky. "Don't be so cross. Aren't you surprised to see us?"

"Not a bit," said Sleep-Alone. "You're always turning up when I don't want to have company. Go away. I've a cold coming on and I feel gloomy."

"Is that why you've got your beard wound round your neck—to keep it warm?" asked Mollie. "How long is it when it unwinds?"

"I've no idea," said Sleep-Alone, who seemed a disagreeable fellow. "Where are you going in the middle of the night? Are you quite mad?"

"We're going to Goodness Knows Where," said Chinky. "But the chair doesn't seem to know the way. Do you know it?"

"Goodness knows where it is," said Sleep- Alone, pulling his beard tighter round his neck. "Better ask her."

The children and Chinky stared. "Ask who?" said Chinky.

"Goodness, of course," said Sleep-Alone, set¬tling down in his boat again.

"Oh—is Goodness the name of a person then?" said Mollie, suddenly seeing light.

"You are a very stupid little girl, I think," said Sleep-Alone. "Am I to go on and on saying the same thing over and over again? Now good night,

14

15

and go and find Goodness if you want to disturb someone else."

"Where does she live?" bellowed Chinky in Sleep-Alone's ear, afraid that he would go to sleep before he told them anything else.

That was too much for Sleep-Alone. He shot up and reached for an oar. Before Chinky could get out of the way he had given him such a slap with the oar blade that Chinky yelled at the top of his voice. Then Sleep-Alone turned on the two children, waving the oar in a most alarming man¬ner.

Peter pulled Mollie to the chair. He put out a hand and dragged Chinky to it too, shouting, "Go to Goodness, Chair, go to Goodness, wherever she is!" Up rose the chair so very suddenly that Chinky fell off and had to be dragged up again.

Sleep-Alone roared after them. "Now I'm throughly awake and I shan't go to sleep to-night. You wait until I see you again, Chinky, I'll fly you off in my aeroplane to the Land of Rubbish and drop you in the biggest dustbin there!"

"He's not a very nice cousin to have, is he?" said Mollie, when they had left Sleep-Alone well behind. "I hope we don't see him again."

"Who is this Goodness, I wonder?" said Peter.

"Never heard of her," said Chinky. "But the chair really seems to know where it's going this time, so I suppose it knows Goodness all right!"

The Wishing-Chair was flying steadily to the east now. It had left the water behind and was now over some land that lay shining in the moonlight.

The children could see towers and Pinnacles, but they were too high up to see anything clearly.

The chair suddenly flew downwards. It came to a small cottage. All three of its chimneys were smoking. The smoke was green, and the children knew that was a sign that a witch lived there.

'i say—that's witch-smoke." said Peter, ner¬vously. He had met witches before on his adven¬tures, and he knew quite a bit about them.

"I hope the chair his come to the right place," said Mollie, as it landed gently on the path just outside the door of the little cottage.

They jumped off the chair, dragged it under a tree and went to knock at the door. A little old woman opened it. She looked so ordinary that the children felt sure she wasn't a witch.

"Please, is this where Goodness lives?" asked Chinky, politely.

"Not exactly. But I keep a Book of Goodness," said the old woman. "Have you come to seek ad¬vice from it?"

"Well—we rather wanted to know where the Land of Goodness Knows Where is," said Chinky. "And we were told that only Goodness knew where it was!"

"Ah, well—you will have to consult my Good¬ness Book then," said the old woman. "Wait till I get on my things."

She left them in a tiny kitchen and disappeared. When she came back, what a difference in her! She had on a tall, pointed hat, the kind witches and wizards wearm and a great cloak that kept blowing out round her as if she kept a wind under its folds. She no longer looked an ordinary little old woman—she was a proper witch, but her eyes were kind and smiling.

She took down from a shelf a very big book indeed. It seemed to be full of names and very tiny writing. "What to be full of names and very tiny writing. "What are your names?" she asked. "I must look you up in my Goodness Book before you can be told what you want to know."

They told her, and she ran her finger down col¬umn after column. "Ah—Peter—helped a boy with his homework for a whole week last term—remem¬bered his mother's birthday—owned up when he did something wrong—my word, there's a whole list of goodness here. And Mollie, too—gave up her half-holiday to stay in with a friend who was ill—told the truth when she knew she would get into trouble for doing so—quite a long list of good¬ness for her, too."