Enid Blyton (9 page)

Mr. Pinch felt really most alarmed. He looked under the bed for any hidden hen. He looked behind the chest.

"Cock-a-doodle-DOQOOO!" said Pink-Whistle, just behind him. The young man almost jumped out of his skin.

"What is it? Where's that hen—and now a cock!" he said, angrily, feeling very scared. "There's nothing here—not even a feather."

"CLUCK!" said Pink-Whistle in his ear, and the young man rushed out of his room in a fright. He tore down the stairs and into the kitchen. The cook was there, and the maids, and the butler, all talking together.

"What's up, Jamie?" said the cook, as the young man rushed in, panting. Before he could answer, Pink-Whistle began clucking again.

"Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-CLUCK! Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-CLUCK!"

"A hen! A hen in my kitchen!" said the cook, and took up a broom to chase it out. "Where did it come from? We have no hens here!"

But she couldn't find it, of course. Pink-Whistle sat on a chair and chuckled to himself. Then he began again.

"Cackle, cackle, cackle—CACK! Cack-cack-eack-CACKLE!"

"There now—it must have laid an egg!" cried one of the maids.

"But where is it? Is it in the larder?"

The larder door was opened and Pink-Whistle slipped inside, bending down under the shelf, still quite invisible.

"Cock-a-doodle-DOO!" he crowed loudly.

"Well, if there isn't a cock about now, too," said the butler. "I never heard of such a thing! Where
are
the creatures!"

"Look here—we'd best not waste any more time in looking," said the cook. "My dinner will be late, and then My Lady High-Up will have plenty to say!"

Pink-Whistle took a rest. He waited till the footman went into the dining-room at dinner-time, to wait on Lord and Lady High-Up. Then he went, too, still invisible. He stood just behind Jamie Pinch.

"CLUCK!" he said, right in Jamie's ear, "Cackle-CACKLE!

Sqqqquawk!"

Jamie jumped and dropped the dish he was holding. CRASH! The butler frowned, and so did My Lady. Jamie hurriedly picked up the bits and ran from the room. Pink-Whistle ran behind him. "Cock-a-doodle-DOO!" he crowed in delight. Poor Jamie nearly fell over in fright. He looked round for the cock but there wasn't one there. He took another dish from the cook and hurried back. Pink-Whistle hurried after him.

"Cluck-cluck-cluck!" said Pink-Whistle, just behind Jamie, as he came into the room. The butler swung round angrily. "Jamie! What are you thinking of? Stop doing that!"

"But—but—but," said Jamie, just exactly at the same moment as Pink-Whistle said, "Cluck-cluck-cluck!" So it sounded as if Jamie were clucking!

"Get out of this room," said Lord High-Up. "Any more of this nonsense and you'll lose your job."

" THERE'S THAT CACKLING NOISE AGAIN," SAID THE COOK.

"Cock-a-doodle-DOO!" crowed Pink-Whistle at the top of his voice, and Jamie rushed out of the room. Pink-Whistle went, too, following him very closely.

"Here comes Jamie again!" said the cook. "What's up with him? And bless us all—there's that cackling noise again! Where's it corning from?

Jamie, do
you
know anything about it?"

"No, I don't!" said Jamie, looking very scared at the loud, cackling noise just near him. "Everywhere I go I hear it."

"It must be something to do with
you,
then," said the cook. "We didn't hear it when you were in the dining-room. Sometimes it's a hen, sometimes it's a cock!"

Pink-Whistle obligingly became both. "Cluck-cluck, cock-a-doodle, cackle-cackle, doo!" he said, clucking and crowing loudly. Jamie gave a scream and ran into the scullery.

"Cock-a-cluck-a-cackle-doodle-doo!" he heard just behind him, and sat down with his head in his hands. What a dreadful evening—but it hadn't ended yet. Pink-Whistle clucked and clacked, cackled and crowed—and once he forgot himself and did some very life-like quacks as well! Jamie thought he must be going mad. He went up to his bedroom and lay down.

Some feathers were coming out of a hole in his pillow. Pink-Whistle smiled to himself and pulled out a handful. Then he sat down on the floor and pretended to be a hen and a cock fighting. He scrabbled on the floor—and then suddenly flung the feathers up into the air.

Jamie watched in alarm. Now these awful creatures were fighting—tearing feathers out of each other. He groaned and shut his eyes. "I'll
never
go near a hen again!" he said.

Pink-Whistle spoke in his own voice then—a very solemn, deep and stern voice. "Who steals eggs? WHO steals eggs?" And then he gave the answer, crowing like a cock. "Cock-a-doodle-doo! It's you, you, YOU!"

"Oh, who is it?" said Jamie in alarm. "Tell me, tell me! I'm sorry, very sorry, and I'll never do it again. I'll give Katy all my savings to make up for what I've done,"

"Do, do, DO!" said Pink-Whistle, pleased. "Do, DO!"

Jamie got up and took a money-box from a cupboard. He slipped out of his room and down the backstairs. He ran all the way to Katy's, with Pink-Whistle close beside him.

Katy was just shutting up the hens, looking sad because eggs had been stolen again that afternoon, Jamie rushed up to her and put the money-box into her hands.

"Katy! I stole your eggs—I've stolen them for a long time, even though I knew you and your mother were poor. Please forgive me. I'll never do it again. See, I have brought you all my money."

Katy was too astonished to say a word. She took the box, and Jamie at once ran off again. How glad he was not to hear any more clucking or cackling or crowing in his ear that night. What a fright he had had!

"Mr. Pink-Whistle!" said Katy, in a low voice. "I know it's all because of you! Mr. Pink-Whistle, are you here? I want to say thank you."

"Dear me, I forgot I was invisible," said Mr. Pink-Whistle, and immediately said the words that made him visible once more. Katy saw the dear little fellow standing there, beaming at her, and ran to him.

"Take half the money!" she said. "Oh, how clever you are! What did you do?"

"The money is all yours and your mother's," said Pink-Whistle.

JAMIE PUT THE MONEY-BOX INTO KATY'S HANDS.

He told Katy what a fright he had given to Jamie, and the little girl laughed till she cried. "Oh, I wish I could have heard you!" she said. "I do wish I could!"

"It was very funny," said Pink-Whistle. "I really enjoyed it. I'm glad you wrote to me, Katy dear—I do like to put wrong things right, as you know."

He kissed her good-bye and went, humming a little song, Cock-a-doodle-doo, I've lots of things to do.

When things go wrong I come along and see what I can do.

Yes, I see what I can do, Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

I really do like Mr. Pink-Whistle, don't you?

WELL DONE, 
MR PINK-WHISTLE

ONE afternoon, when Mr. Pink-Whistle was enjoying a little nap in his garden, his cat Sooty came up to him.

"Please, Master, wake up," he said. "There's a little girl come to see you, and she says it's important."

Pink-Whistle woke up with a jump. "A little girl—important?" he said, blinking at Sooty. "Bring her here at once. Little girls are always important to me—and little boys, too!"

So Sooty brought a little girl of about nine years old to Pink-Whistle.

She gazed at him shyly. "I hope I haven't disturbed you, Mr. Pink-Whistle," she said. "But I managed to get your address from a little boy you once helped."

"And what have you come to see me for?" asked Mr. Pink-Whistle.

"Sooty, bring some lemonade and your new buns."

Sooty ran off and came back with a tray of home-made lemonade and chocolate buns. "What a lot of buns for only two people," said the little girl.

"But surely you can eat five or six new-made chocolate buns!" said Mr. Pink-Whistle. "Help yourself and tell me what you've come for."

"Well, it's about a boy called Peter," said the little girl, taking a bun.

"Peters are usually nice, but this one isn't. In fact, he's really horrid, and you see, nobody can do anything about him. So I thought perhaps you could."

"Well, you know, I don't like people to tell tales," said Pink-Whistle.

"Are you sure you ought to tell me about this Peter? And tell me your name, too, please, I'd like to know."

"I'm Geraldine," said the little girl. "Oh, aren't these buns nice! Did Sooty really make them? You know, Mr. Pink-Whistle, I've read all about you in a book; that's how I know that you go about the world trying to put wrong things right.

And I think that's a lovely thing to do."

Pink-Whistle liked this little girl. He was sure she hadn't come just to tell tales. He poured her out some more lemonade.

"I'll tell you about Peter," said Geraldine. "It isn't really telling tales.

The other children all asked me to come to you for help."

"Well, tell away," said Pink-Whistle, "and do have another bun.

Eating always helps talking if you've got something to say, and I can see you have."

"Oh, do you think that, too?" said Geraldine. "/ always think so.

Well—Peter is a big boy at our school, and he hasn't got a bicycle. Most of us have, but he hasn't."

"Go on," said Pink-Whistle.

"So he borrows ours," said Geraldine. "He never
asks
us if he can—he just takes them. He rides nearly all the way to his home on them, then jumps off, throws them into a-hedge and walks the rest of the way home."

MR. PINK-WHISTLE OFFERED GERALDINE ANOTHER BUN.

"I see. And whoever owns the bicycle he has taken has to catch the bus home," said Pink-Whistle.

"Well, no—because usually we haven't the bus-money if we ride bicycles,"

said Geraldine. "So we have to walk home and we're late and get scolded. We get scolded about our bikes, too. But nobody can stop Peter. We don't like to tell tales of him to the teacher, or to our mothers—you see, Mr. Pink-Whistle, he's very big and strong."

"I see," said Mr. Pink-Whistle again. "Do have another bun. Sooty will think you don't like them if you leave any. I suppose this Peter does quite a lot of other things besides taking people's bicycles."

"Oh yes," said Geraldine. "But I needn't bother you with those. You can guess them."