The Wishing-Chair Again (10 page)

They peeped inside. Yes, it was the storeroom, and stacks of books, pencils, rulers, ink-bottles, old desks, and all kinds of things were there.

“Can't see our toys,” whispered Chinky. “Or my wand. Let's look in all the drawers and all the cupboards.”

So they began opening the drawers and hunting in them, and pulling open the cupboard doors and peering in at the shelves. But they could find nothing more exciting than books and pens and rubbers.

And then Chinky gave a soft cry. “Look here,” he said. “Here they are!”

The others ran quickly over to him. He had opened a big chest—and there, lying quietly in the top of it, their wings vanished, lay all the toys they had lost— yes, Rosebud was there, and Peter's engine, and the top and the soldiers—everything.

But wait—no, not quite everything. “I can't see my wand anywhere,” said Chinky, hunting desperately. “Oh, where is it? Look quickly, you two.”

They hunted all through the chest, but there didn't seem to be any wand there. They looked in despair at one another. They simply
must
find Chinky's wand. “I'm glad we've found the toys,” whispered Chinky, “but it's dreadful that I can't find my wand. It's got a lot of magic in it, you know. I wouldn't want Mister Grim to use that.”

Then the children heard a noise that froze them to the floor. Footsteps—footsteps coming slowly and heavily up the stairs. Not light, quick, brownie steps, but slow, ponderous ones. Would the footsteps come to the storeroom?

In panic the children and Chinky squeezed themselves into a cupboard, not having time to put away the toys they had pulled out of the chest. The door opened— and somebody walked in!

The children hardly dared to breathe and Chinky almost choked. Then a voice spoke.

“SOMEONE has been here. SOMEONE has tried to steal toys. And that SOMEONE is here still. Come out!”

The children didn't move. They were much too scared to do a thing. And then poor Chinky choked! He had some dust in his throat and he simply couldn't hold his coughing in any longer. He gave a choke and then coughed loudly.

Footsteps marched to the cupboard and the door was flung wide open.

There stood Mister Grim—exactly like his name! He was a big, burly brownie, with a tremendous beard falling to the floor. He had pointed ears and shaggy eyebrows that almost hid his eyes.

“HO!” he said in a booming voice. “So the SOMEONE is not one person, but three. Come out!”

Peter, Mollie and Chinky came out, poor Chinky still coughing. Mister Grim took them each firmly by the back of the neck and sat them down on the window-seat.

“And now will you kindly tell me why you came to steal my toys?” he said. “How did you know they were there, and who told you about them?”

“They're not your toys, sir,” Peter said at last in rather a trembling voice. “They're ours. We let them grow wings yesterday by using Growing Ointment on them —and they flew away. We came to fetch them.”

“A very likely story indeed,” said Mister Grim scornfully. “And how did you come here?”

“Up the stairs,” said Mollie.

Mister Grim frowned a fierce frown. “Don't be foolish, girl,” he said. “I mean, how did you arrive here—by bus or train—and how did you get into the grounds?”

Chinky gave the others a sharp nudge. Mollie had just been going to say that they had come in their Wishing-Chair, but she shut her mouth again tightly. Of course she mustn't give that away! Why, Mister Grim would search the grounds and find it!

“
Well?” said Mister Grim. “I am asking you a question—and when I ask questions I expect them to be answered.”

Still no reply from any of the three. Mister Grim leaned forward. “Shall I tell you how you came? You must have friends here among the brownies—and they helped you to climb the wall, and told you to take the toys! Aha! Don't try to say you didn't do that.”

They didn't say a word. Mister Grim got up and put the toys back in the chest. “You,” he said to Chinky,
“you
are a pixie, and I don't usually take pixies into my school. But you are a very bad pixie, I can see, and I shall keep you here. And I shall keep these two as well. I'm not sure what they are—but even if they are real, proper children, which I very much doubt, they deserve to be punished by being my pupils here for a term.”

“Oh, no!” said Mollie in horror. “What will our mother say? You can't do that.”

“You will see,” said Mister Grim. “Now go downstairs, find the brownie called Winks, and tell him you are to come into class when the bell rings. He will give you books and pencils.”

The three of them had to go downstairs in a row, Mister Grim behind them. They were frightened! This was serious. Unless they could manage somehow to get to their Wishing-Chair, they would simply
have
to stay at Mister Grim's school!

They found Winks and told him quickly what had happened. He was very sorry. “Bad luck!” he said. “Very bad luck. Well, it's lucky for you that old Grim hasn't got a stick to whip you with just now. Come on—I'll get you your books and things. Sit by me in class and I'll try and help you all I can.”

He took them into a big room and gave them books and pencils. Almost at once a bell rang loudly and all the brownies trooped in quickly. Not one of them spoke a word. They took their places quietly and waited.

“Why are you sent here, Winks?” whispered Chinky as they all waited for Mister Grim to appear.

“Because I used my grandmother's Blue Spell and turned all her pigs blue,” whispered back Winks.

“And I was sent here because I put a spell into my father's shoe-tongues and they were rude to him all the way down our street and back,” whispered Hoho.

“And I was sent because...” began another brownie, when slow and heavy footsteps were heard. In came Mister Grim and stood at his big desk.

“Sit!” he said, as if the Brownies were all little dogs. They sat.

“We have three new pupils,” said Mister Grim. “I regret to say that I caught them stealing—STEALING— from my store-room. If I find out who helped them into this school and told them about the toys they came to steal, I shall take my stick to him. Brrrrrr!”

This was very frightening. Mollie didn't even dare to cry. She comforted herself by thinking of the Wishing-Chair hidden under the bush in the garden. They would run to it as soon as ever they could!

“Now we will have mental numbers,” said Mister Grim, and a little groan ran round the class. “You, boy, what number is left when you take eighty-two and sixty-four from one hundred and three?”

He was pointing at poor Peter. Peter went red. What a silly question! You couldn't take eighty-two and sixty-four from one hundred and three.

“Say six hundred and fifty,” whispered Winks. “He doesn't know the answer himself!”

“Six hundred and fifty,” said Peter boldly. Everyone clapped as if he were right.

“Er—very good,” said Mister Grim. Then he pointed to Mollie. “How many pips are there in seven pounds of raspberry jam?”

“Seven pounds of raspberry jam?” repeated Mollie, wondering if she had heard aright. “Er—well...”

“Say none at all, because your mother only makes raspberry jelly and strains the pips out,” whispered Winks.

“Er—none at all,” said Mollie.

“How do you make that out?” thundered Mister Grim in a very frightening voice.

“Because my mother makes raspberry jelly and strains all the pips out,” said Mollie. Everyone clapped again.

“Silence!” said Mister Grim. “Now you, pixie— and see you are very, very careful in your answer. If I take fifty-two hairs from my beard, how many will there be left?”

Chinky stared desperately at the long beard that swept down to the floor. “Well,” he began... and then Winks whispered to him.

“Say 'the rest'!” he hissed.

“Er—well, the rest of the hair will be left,” he said. Mister Grim suddenly pounded on the desk with his hand. “You, Winks!” he shouted. “I heard you whispering then—you told him the answer—and I believe you told the others the answers, too. Come here! I'll give you the stick. Aha, you think because all my canes were broken that I haven't got one—but I have! You just wait.”

“Please, sir, I'm sorry,” said Winks. “I just thought I'd help them as they were new. I was trying to be good, sir, and helpful, I really was. You're always telling us to be that, sir.”

“No excuses,” said Mister Grim, and he turned to a cupboard behind him. He unlocked it and took out a long, thin stick. He tried it on the desk—crack, crack!

“Come up here, Winks,” he said, and poor Winks went up. He got two strokes on his hands. Mollie was very upset, but Hoho whispered, “Don't worry—Winks always puts a little spell in his hands and he doesn't mind a bit if he's whacked. He doesn't feel it!”

Mollie felt comforted. Winks winked at her as he went back to his seat. Mister Grim went to take a book from a shelf—and as he turned his back Chinky clutched Peter by the elbow.

“Peter!” he hissed, “do you see what his stick is? It's my WAND! He's using it for a stick. Oh my, if only I could get hold of it!”

Peter stared. Yes—the stick on the desk was Chinky's little wand. Oh, if only it had wings now and could fly to Chinky!

But it hadn't. Chinky never took his eyes off it as the class went on and on. “I must get it,” he kept saying to himself. “I MUST get it! But how can I? Oh, for a really good idea!”

MORNING school came to an end at last. Mister Grim rapped on his desk with his stick— Chinky's wand!

“Attention, all of you!” he said. “Dinner will be in ten minutes' time. Anyone who is late or who has dirty hands or untidy hair will go without.”

Winks groaned. “It's awful,” he said to Peter when Mister Grim had gone out. “There's never enough dinner for everyone, so Mister Grim just says, 'Here, you, your hair is untidy,' or 'Here, you, your nails aren't clean,' and about a dozen of us have to go without our dinner.”

“What a dreadful school!” said Peter. “Why don't you run away?”

“How can we?” said Winks. “You've seen the high wall round the grounds, and all the gates are locked. I wish I could get out of here, it's a horrid place, and I really would be good if I could escape.”

“Would there be room for him in the Wishing-Chair, do you think?” whispered Mollie to Chinky. “He's so nice. I'd like to help him, Chinky.”

“So would I,” whispered back Chinky. “Well, we'll see.”

Poor Chinky was one of those who had to go without his dinner. Mister Grim stood at the door of the dining-hall as each brownie walked in. Every so often he pounced on one and roared at him.

“Here, you, you haven't washed behind your ears! No dinner! Here, you, why aren't your nails scrubbed? No dinner!” And when Chinky tried to slip past him he hit him hard on the shoulder with his hand and roared “Here, you, why haven't you brushed your hair? No dinner!”

“I did brush it,” said Chinky indignantly, “but it's the kind of hair that won't lie down.”

“No dinner today for untidy hair, and no dinner tomorrow for answering back,” said Mister Grim.

“Oh, I say, that's not fair,” said Chinky.

“And no dinner the third day for being rude,” said Mister Grim. “Another word from you and I'll cane you with this new stick of mine!”

He slapped the wand down so hard on a nearby table that Chinky was afraid it would break in half. But fortunately it didn't.

Chinky went out of the room, looking angry and sulky. Horrid Mister Grim! He joined all the brownies who were also to go without their dinner.

Peter and Mollie were very sorry for Chinky. When the pudding came they tried to stuff two tarts into their pockets to take to him. But the pastry fell to pieces and their pockets were all jammy and horrid. Mister Grim saw the crumbs of pastry around their pockets as they marched past him after dinner. He tapped them with the wand.

“Aha! Trying to stuff food into your pockets. Greedy children! No dinner for you tomorrow!”

Peter tried to snatch the wand away from Mister Grim, hoping to run and give it to Chinky, but Mister Grim was too quick for him. Up in the air it went, and poor Peter got a stinging slash on his arm. Fortunately his sleeve was nice and thick, so he didn't feel it much.