Enid Blyton (10 page)

THE
 
MEAN LITTLE
 
BOY

THERE was once a mean little boy called Wilfrid. He took other children's toys away and wouldn't give them back. He pinched the little girls when no grown-up was about. He hit the little boys, and sometimes threw their caps right up into the trees so that they couldn't get them.

Wilfrid was big and rather strong for his age, so it wasn't much good trying to stop him. All that the other children could do was to run away when they saw him.

But one day little Janet didn't run away quickly enough. She was playing with her tricycle in the street and Wilfrid saw her. He loved riding on tricycles because he hadn't got one himself—so up he ran and caught hold of the handle.              

"Get off, Janet. I want a ride," said Wilfrid.

"No," said Janet."You are much bigger than I am, and my mother says I mustn't let bigger children ride my little tricycle in case they break it."

"Well, I'm jolly well going to ride it!" said Wilfrid. He dragged Janet off her tricycle and she fell on the ground. Wilfrid was always so rough. Then he got on the little tricycle himself and rode off quickly down the street, ringing the bell loudly.

My word, how quickly he went! You should have seen him. All the other children skipped out of the way, and even the grown-ups did, too. Ting-a-ling-a-ling! went the bell—ting-a-ling-a-ling!

Wilfrid came to where the street began to go down a little hill. On he went, just as fast—and then he came to a roadway. He tried to stop, but he couldn't. Over the kerb he went, crash! The tricycle fell over, and Wilfrid fell too.

He didn't hurt himself—but the tricycle was quite broken! The handle was off, the bell was spoilt and wouldn't ring, and one of the pedals was broken!

A little fat man with pointed ears and green eyes saw the accident. 

It was Mr. Pink-Whistle of course, trotting along as usual to see what bad things in the world he could put right.

He hurried up to the boy who had fallen, meaning to pick him up and comfort him, but before he could get there a little girl ran up and began to scold him, crying bitterly all the time.

"You horrid boy, Wilfrid! Now you've broken my tricycle and I did love it so much. My mother will be very angry with me because you rode it. I shan't be able to get it mended, and it will have to be put away in the shed and never ridden any more!"

And Janet cried bucketsful of tears all down herself till her dress was quite damp. The other children came running up to see what had happened. They glared at Wilfrid, who made a face and slapped Janet because she cried so loudly.

"It's a silly tricycle anyway!" said Wilfrid. "Stupid baby one. Good gracious, I might have broken my leg, falling over like that!"

He stalked off, whistling, leaving the others to pick up the tricycle and to comfort poor Janet.

"Horrid boy!" said Tom.   "Don't cry, Janet."

"Yes, but it isn't fair!" wept Janet. "It's my tricycle, and he took it away from me—and now it's broken and my mother will be so cross."

Mr. Pink-Whistle was sorry for the little girl. He walked up to the children and patted Janet's golden head.

"Now, now, don't cry anymore," he said. "Maybe I can mend your tricycle. Tell me some more about the boy who broke it."

Well, you should have heard the things that came pouring out about Wilfrid, the mean boy! 

Mr. Pink-Whistle didn't care whether it was telling tales or not—he just
had
to know about him. And soon he knew so much that a big frown came above his green eyes and he pursed up his pink mouth.

"Hmmmm," said Mr. Pink-Whistle, deep down in his throat. "I must see into this. That boy wants punishing. But first we will mend your tricycle, little girl.'"

Well, Mr. Pink-Whistle took the broken tricycle along to a bicycle shop, and soon it was as good as new. The handle was put on again very firmly. A new bell was bought and fixed on. It was much better than the other one. The pedal was nicely mended—and then Janet got on her tricycle and rode off in delight.

"Oh, thank you!" she cried. "But I do hope I don't meet Wilfrid! He will want to ride my tricycle again and break it!"

"I'll look after Wilfrid!" said Mr. Pink - Whistle. And then, in his very sudden and extraordinary way, he disappeared! One minute he was there—and the next he wasn't. But really and truly he
was
there—but quite invisible, because, as you know, he was half magic.

He had seen Wilfrid coming along again—and Mr. Pink-Whistle meant to 
watch that small boy and see all the things he did!

Yes—Wilfrid wasn't going to have a very good time now.

Wilfrid strolled along, hands in pocket, making faces at children he met. When he met Kenneth, who was eating a rosy apple, Wilfrid stopped.

"Give me that apple!"he said.

"No!" said Kenneth, putting the

apple behind his back. Wilfrid snatched at it— and it rolled into the mud so that nobody could eat it at all!

Kenneth yelled. Wilfrid grinned. Mr. Pink-Whistle frowned. The little fat man bought another apple at the fruit-shop and slipped it into Kenneth's pocket without being seen. He would find it there when he got home — what a lovely surprise!

Then Mr. Pink-Whistle suddenly became visible again, and walked into a shop. He bought several rather large sheets of white paper, some pins, and some black chalk. He stood by a wall and quickly wrote something in big letters on a sheet of paper.

Then he disappeared suddenly— but a very strange thing happened. On Wilfrid's back a large sheet of white paper suddenly appeared, and was gently pinned there so that Wilfrid didn't know. On the paper

was written a single sentence in big black letters :

"I KNOCKED KENNETH'S APPLE INTO THE MUD!"

Well, Wilfrid went along the street, humming gaily, not knowing that anything was on his back at all. But very soon all the children knew it. First one saw it, then another—and soon a big crowd was following Wilfrid, giggling hard.

Wilfrid heard them and turned round.

"What's the joke?"he asked.

"
You're
the joke!" said Harry.

"You stop giggling and tell me
how
I'm the joke!" said Wilfrid fiercely.

"Who knocked Kenneth's apple into the mud?" called Jenny.

"How do you know I did?" cried Wilfrid. "I suppose that baby Kenneth has been telling tales.

Wait till I see him again!"

"No, he hasn't told us—you told us yourself," giggled
Doris
. "I didn't," said Wilfrid. "Look
  
on
  
your
  
back!"
 
shouted Lennie.

Wilfrid screwed his head round and looked over his shoulder. He caught sight of something white on his back. He dragged at his coat and pulled off the paper. He read it and went red with rage.

"Who dared to pin this on my back!"he shouted. "I'll shake him till his teeth rattle!"

Every one shook their heads. No— they hadn't pinned the paper on Wilfrid's back, though they would have liked to, if they had dared.

Wilfrid threw the paper on to the ground and stamped on it. "If anyone does that to me again, they'll be sorry for themselves!" he said fiercely. "So just look out!"

But the one who had done it didn't care a rap for Wilfrid's threat. No—old Pink-Whistle grinned to himself and trotted quietly along after Wilfrid, waiting to see what mean thing the boy would do next.

And then out would come another sheet of paper, of course—and Wilfrid would have to wear another notice on his back!

WILFRID HAS A GOOD MANY 
SHOCKS

MR. PINK-WHISTLE followed Wilfrid home, and then he sat on the wall outside, still invisible, to wait for him to come out. Inside the house he could hear Wilfrid being very rude to his mother.

"Wilfrid, I want you to run down and get me some potatoes," said his mother.

"I don't want to. I'm tired," said the selfish boy.

"Now you do as you're told, Wilfrid," said his mother. "Hurry up."

"Shan't!" said Wilfrid. "I'm tired, I tell you."

Mr. Pink-Whistle listened, quite horrified. To think that any boy could talk to his mother like that! It was simply dreadful. Wilfrid went on being rude—and then, when his mother had gone to the back door to speak to the baker, Wilfrid slipped out of the front door.
He
wasn't going to go and fetch potatoes, not he!

Mr. Pink-Whistle had been busy writing something on a sheet of white paper with his black chalk. He waited till Wilfrid passed him, and then the little fat man neatly pinned the paper on to Wilfrid's back. He did it with such a magic touch that the boy didn't feel anything at all. Off went Wilfrid down the street, whistling —and oh his back the sheet of paper said :

"I HAVE BEEN VERY RUDE TO MY MOTHER!"

Well, it wasn't long before all the passers-by saw the paper and began to laugh at it. "Fancy!" they said to one another,
^"
he has been rude to his mother! Well, he looks a most unpleasant boy, it's true—but fancy being rude to his
mother
!
"

The other children soon saw the notice and gathered round, giggling. Wilfrid glared at them. Whatever was all the giggling about?

"You've been rude to your mother!" shouted Kenneth.

"Bad boy! You've been rude to your mother!" yelled all the children.

Wilfrid stopped in surprise.

 
Now how in the world did the others know that? He hadn't told anyone—and his mother certainly hadn't, for she would be too much ashamed of her son to say such a thing.

"How do you know?" he demanded angrily.

"You've got it on your back," shouted the children in glee.

Wilfrid tore the paper off his back and looked at it. How he scowled when he saw what was printed there! But how could it have got on his back? And who could have written that sentence?

He tore the paper into little pieces and stuffed them into a litter bin. Then he stamped off angrily. Just wait till he caught anyone pinning paper on his back again! He kept turning round quickly to make sure that no one was creeping behind him.

Soon he met Alison, and she had a bag of sweets. "Give me one!" said Wilfrid.

"No," said Alison bravely. Wilfrid 
gave her such a pinch that she squealed loudly and ran away, hugging her bag of sweets and crying.

Well, you can guess that it wasn't more than half a minute before Mr. Pink-Whistle had pinned another sheet of paper on Wilfrid's back! This time it said, in bold black letters :

"I HAVE PINCHED ALISON AND MADE HER CRY."

Every one who saw it looked surprised —and then grinned. "What a nasty little boy that must be!" they thought. They wondered if he knew that he had the paper on his back. He didn't know at first—but as soon as he met some other children, he knew at once!

For they danced around him, shouting, "You pinched Alison! You horrid boy! You pinched Alison and made her cry!”

"How do you know?" shouted Wilfrid. "Did she tell tales of me?"

"No—you're telling tales about yourself!" yelled back the children, keeping a good distance away from the angry little boy. He at once felt round at his back and tore off the paper. When he read what was written he was rather frightened. He felt quite certain that no one had been near enough to him to pin on that paper—he had been keeping a good watch. Then how did it get on his back?

Wilfrid thought he would go home. He didn't like these queer happenings at all. It wasn't a bit funny suddenly to have horrid things pinned on his back for people to laugh it. He ran home quickly.

His mother was out in the garden. Wilfrid thought that no one else was in the house, so he crept to the jam cupboard, and looked for a pot of strawberry jam. He didn't know that Mr. Pink-Whistle was just behind him, quite invisible! The naughty boy ran off with the jam and sat down under a bush in the front garden to enjoy it.

Mr. Pink-Whistle busily wrote on another sheet of paper, then sat down beside Wilfrid, and pinned it gently on his back. The boy couldn't see Mr. Pink-Whistle, of course, and he was so busy with the jam that he didn't even hear the very slight rustle of the paper.

He finished the jam and went indoors, and as soon as he turned round his mother saw what was pinned on his back:

"I HAVE STOLEN A POT OF STRAWBERRY JAM."

"Oh, have you!" said Wilfrid's mother, and she went to her jam cupboard to look. Sure enough a pot was gone.

"Wilfrid! You bad boy! You've taken my jam!" she cried. "Go straight upstairs to bed and stay there for the rest of the day! Go quickly before I smack you!"

Wilfrid rushed upstairs, for his mother was really very angry indeed. He took his coat off to undress—and saw the notice that said so plainly,"I HAVE STOLEN A POT OF STRAWBERRY JAM."

Wilfrid stared at it, frightened. Who had seen him take the jam? Who had pinned that notice on him? It was magic. It couldn't be anything else. Wilfrid began to cry.

"Oh, it's all very well to cry," said the voice of Mr. Pink-Whistle in the bedroom.

"You cry just because you are frightened—not because you are sorry. You are a very horrid, rude, and mean little boy."

"Oh, who's speaking to me?" asked Wilfrid, staring all round the room and seeing nobody. "I'm so frightened. Please, please, don't pin any more notices on me. I can't bear it."

"I shall go on pinning notices on you just as long as you do things that deserve it," said Mr. Pink-Whistle. "I say again—you are a very horrid, rude, and mean little boy."

There was a silence. Mr. Pink-Whistle had gone. Wilfrid slowly got undressed and climbed into bed. He lay there with nothing to do, thinking very hard.

Yes—the strange voice was right. He was a horrid boy. He had spoilt Kenneth's apple—broken Janet's tricycle—been rude to his mother—stolen her jam—pinched Alison—good gracious, what a long list of horridness!

"If only I could put things right!" thought Wilfrid uncomfortably. "It's so easy to do something wrong—and so difficult to put it right afterwards."

His mother came into the.room, very angry. Wilfrid called to her, "Mother! I'm sorry I was rude to-day—and please forgive me for taking the jam. I never will again. Can I take some money out of 
my money-box and buy another pot for you?"

"Well—that would be very nice of you and would put everything right again, Wilfrid," said his mother, surprised and pleased. "You can get up and go and buy it now, before you change your mind."

"I shan't change my mind," said Wilfrid, and he hurriedly dressed again. He had been saving up to buy a big bow and some arrows—   but never mind! He ripped all the money out of his box. There were seven shillings, a sixpence, and many pennies. He put it all into his pocket.

He rushed out. He went to the grocer's and bought a large pot of best strawberry jam. He went to the greengrocer's and bought two apples for Kenneth. He went to the toy-shop and bought a doll for Alison, and a tricycle basket for Janet. All his money was spent!

The other children were most astonished when they saw Wilfrid coming along looking ashamed and shy! He was always so bold and rude!

"Kenneth—here's something for you," said Wilfrid, and he pushed the apples into the boy's hands. "Alison—I didn't mean to hurt you and make you cry. Here's a doll to make up for it. And, Janet—here's a new basket to put on the front of your tricycle. I'm sorry I broke it."

"Oh, Wilfrid!" cried all three children in the greatest delight.

"How nice of you!
  
Thank you very much."

Wilfrid went red and ran home with the jam. He gave it to his mother and she kissed him.

"There's nobody can be nicer than you when you really try!" she said.

"Really, Mother?" said Wilfrid, feeling very happy all of a sudden."Oh, Mother —I don't know how those horrid notices came on my back, but I do hope there won't be any more, now I've tried to put things right!"

Well—there was one more! Mr. Pink-Whistle had watched Wilfrid trying to put things right, and he was pleased. He followed the boy about for a few more days and saw that he really was trying to be better. So he put one more notice on Wilfrid's back—and then went off to another town to see if he could find something else to put right.