Enid Blyton (10 page)

Pink-Whistle grinned. He slipped quietly into the kitchen, found the pig, came back, shut the kitchen door softly, and, when no one was looking, placed the pig on the mantelpiece again!

Then he jiggled it hard and grunted in a piggy way again, talking in a funny, squeaky voice. "Take me back! Take me back! I don't belong to you. Take me back!"

"HOW EXTRAORDINARY!" SAID CROOKY'S FRIEND.

All the four men stopped talking and stared in astonishment at the jigging pig. Mr. Crooky went very red and looked most alarmed. How had that pig got down from the dresser, opened the kitchen door, and got back to the mantelpiece? How was it that it grunted and jiggled and talked like that? It must be magic!

"What does it mean, saying that it wants to be taken back?" asked one of the men. "Doesn't it belong to you?"

"Of course it does," said Mr. Crooky. "I can't imagine what's come over the pig. I never knew a tin pig behave like that before."

"Oh, you bad story-teller, oh, you wicked man!" squeaked Pink-Whistle, making the pig dance all round the mantelpiece as if it was angry. "You stole me! You know you did! Take me back, take me back!"

"This is very strange," said one of the men, looking hard at Crooky. "What does it mean?"

"Nothing. It's just a silly joke of some sort," said Mr. Crooky, beginning to tremble. "I'll throw the pig into the dust-bin."

So he snatched it up, went into the yard and threw the pig hard into the dust-bin. He slammed on the lid and went back to the house. How tiresome of this to happen just when he had called a meeting to ask his friends to give him money to start a shop! Now they might not trust him!

Pink-Whistle had gone into the yard with Mr. Crooky. As soon as Crooky had gone back, Pink-Whistle took off the lid and fished out the pig. It was covered with tea-leaves.

Pink-Whistle crept to the window. It was open. To the men's enormous surprise, the money-box pig suddenly appeared on the window-sill, jigging and capering like mad, and a grunting voice could be heard at the same time. Then came the squeaky, piggy voice.

"You bad man! You put me in the dust-bin! I'm covered with tea-leaves—but you ought to be covered with shame! You stole me from those children. You know you did. Take me back, take me back!"

"This is most extraordinary and most disgraceful," said one of the men, standing up. "Mr. Crooky, take that pig back at once. If you don't, I shall call the village policeman and ask him to listen to all the pig says."

Mr. Crooky felt as if he were in a bad dream. He stared at the pig, which turned a somersault and rattled like mad. "I'm hungry!" it squeaked, "I'm hungry. You put something into me, quick! I'm hungreeeeeeeeeeeh!''

Mr. Crooky felt so frightened that he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out all the money there. He popped it into the slit in the pig's back.

"More, more!" cried the pig, and Mr. Crooky put in more and more till he had no money left. "Now take me home, home, home!" cried the pig, and leapt high into the air and back again to the window-sill. Mr. Crooky thought that either he or the pig must be mad, or perhaps both of them.

Or maybe it was a frightening kind of dream.

"Well, I'd better take you back, and then perhaps I shall wake up," he said. So he snatched up the dancing pig, and ran off with it at top speed. He came to the children's garden and threw the pig over the wall. It landed on the grass.

Mr. Crooky turned to go home. "Now don't you ever do such a wicked thing again!" a voice boomed in his ear, making him almost jump out of his skin. It was Mr. Pink-Whistle, of course, having one last smack at Mr. Crooky. The man tore off down the lane as if a hundred dogs were after him. Mr. Pink-Whistle made himself visible and climbed over the wall into the garden. He called the children.

They came running to him and he showed them the pig, which he had picked up. "Here you are," he said. "Safely back again—and heavier than before."

The children shouted with delight. They undid the little door in the pig's tummy and the money tumbled out. What a lot there was now!

"More than we ever put in!" cried Katie. "Oh, how marvellous! How did it happen, little man? Tell us, do!"

THE CHILDREN SHOUTED WITH DELIGHT AT GETTING THEIR MONEY-BOX BACK.

But Pink-Whistle had vanished again. He didn't like being thanked. It was enough to see the children's joyful faces, and to know that they could buy their mother the present they had saved up for—and could buy her something else besides now!

As for Mr. Crooky, he didn't get the money lent to him for the shop he wanted to start—and a very good thing, too! He is still puzzled whenever he thinks of that grunting, dancing, talking pig, but if he happens to read this story, he won't be puzzled any more!

MR. PINK-WHISTLE HAS A

GOOD IDEA

ONE
day Mr. Pink-Whistle was going along down a quiet road, when he saw a face looking at him out of a window.

It was a nice face. It belonged to an old lady, whose hair shone silvery-grey in the sunshine, and whose eyes were blue and kind. But it was a sad face.

"I'll go by here to-morrow, and see if the old lady is still looking out/' thought Pink-Whistle. "I shall be seeing that poor old pony in the field at the bottom of this road every day for some time, so I can easily come down this road and look out for the old lady."

Mr. Pink-Whistle had made a new friend—a very old pony, who had worked hard all his life long, pulling heavy carts, taking his master to market, working willingly and well.

He would have been very happy if he had had a kind master, but the man he worked for was rough and impatient, too ready with the whip, and always shouting.

And now, when the pony was too old to pull heavy carts any more, and had been shut into the field, he was lonely and afraid.

"You see," he said to Pink-Whistle, who, being half a brownie, understood animals very well, "you see, Mr. Pink-Whistle, I'm afraid that my master, now that I am no good to him, may sell me off to someone who will work me to death, and I really feel very tired and old now. I could do a little light work, but I'm afraid I couldn't do heavy work any more. I should fall down, and then I should be lashed and shouted at."

"It's a shame," said Pink-Whistle. "It really is. But perhaps your master won't sell you to anyone who will work you like that. He certainly is not a kind or just man, but I don't believe his wife would let him do anything horrid to you."

"I DO FEEL LONELY SOMETIMES," SAID THE POOR OLD PONY.

"He might even sell me to be killed and sold as horse-flesh said the poor old pony. "You see, I really am no use to him now! I might pull a baby's pram, but I couldn't pull a cart any more. Oh, Mr. Pink-Whistle, I do feel so lonely and afraid sometimes. I don't know what I should do if you didn't come and talk to me."

"Now I really can't bear this," thought kind Pink-Whistle to himself, each time he left the old pony, "What am I to do? I must put this right somehow, but how? Nobody wants a pony like that, and yet he deserves a little kindness and friendliness now, after having worked so hard and well all his life. It isn't fair."

It wasn't fair. The farmer should have gone sometimes to the field, patted the old pony, and cheered him up. He should have told him that he could live out the rest of his days in peace and sunshine. But he didn't. He just grumbled because he couldn't get any more work out of him.

"If I could hear of anyone that wants an old pony like that I'd sell him," he said to his wife. "He's perfectly useless to me, but anyone with an old cab could still get a bit of work out of him."

"Well, it's a good thing that there are so few horse-cabs now," said his wife. "I'd hate you to sell old Brownie to a cabman, who might whip him and try to make his poor old legs go faster than they can."

Pink-Whistle thought a lot about the old pony. Anyone or anything in trouble made his kind heart very heavy and sad. And now he began to worry about the old lady who looked out of the window he passed every day.

"She looks so sad and lonely. She's got the same look in her eyes as the old pony. When people get old and tired they shouldn't be allowed to be sad and lonely."

Every day he looked at the old lady and soon he began to smile and wave as he passed. She smiled back and waved, too. Each time Pink-Whistle went to see the old pony he kept a special smile for the old lady in the window.

Then one day he found some marigolds growing wild on a rubbish-heap at the bottom of the field where the old pony lived. "I'll take those to the old lady!" thought Pink-Whistle. So he picked them, made them into a nice little bunch, and that day, instead of passing the gate where the old lady lived, he opened it and marched up to the door!

But nobody opened it. A voice from the window said: "I'm so sorry I can't open the door. I can't walk without help. Will you come to the window?"

So Pink-Whistle went to the window, beamed at the old lady, and gave her the marigolds. She put them into a glass of water that stood beside her and beamed back.

"How kind you are!" she said. "I always look for your smile as you go down the street. Where do you go?"

Pink-Whistle told her about the old pony. The old woman listened with great interest.

"Poor old thing," she said. "Once I used to be rich and I had a pony-cart and pony of my own, and I used to drive about. Now I am poor, and somehow I have no friends. I am a poor, helpless old woman, no use to anyone—just like the old pony!"

"Can't you walk?" asked Pink-Whistle. "If you could get about a bit you could soon make friends!"

"No, I can't walk," said the old lady. "There is something wrong with my legs. I did have a good friend who came in every day to take me out in my bath-chair—but now she has moved far away, and the woman who said she would come is cross and busy—too busy to take me out at all. She cleans my room for me, and helps me in and out of bed—but she can't spare the time to take me out."

MR. PINK-WHISTLE TOOK THE OLD LADY A BUNCH OF MARIGOLDS.

"So you never go out?" said Pink-Whistle. "Well, well—what a pity! You must be very lonely and dull. I must come and see you sometimes."

So he went to see her, and one day he pulled out the bath-chair from the cupboard it had stood in for months and managed to get the old lady tucked up in it. Then out they went—and the first thing Pink-Whistle did was to take her to see the old pony!