The Magic Walking-stick

Tell tale Tippy was a pixie that nobody liked, and his name will tell you why. He told a hundred tales a day about other people – horrid, sneaky tales – and made all his friends very unhappy.

   ‘Can’t we do something to stop Tippy from telling tales?’ asked Gobo the elf. ‘He would be quite nice if only he hadn’t that nasty habit.’

   But it wasn’t a bit of use – scolding and coaxing made no difference to Tippy. He just went on telling tales.

   ‘Gobo went shopping with a hole in his stocking this morning!’ he told everybody.

   ‘Pippit hasn’t got enough money to pay his chocolate bill this week!” he whispered.

   ‘Silverwing hasn’t been asked to Tiptoe’s part,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t he mean? It is so horrid to tell tales and, really, Tippy had a new tale to tell almost every minute, so sharp were his little green eyes, and so long was the nose that he poked into everyone’s business.

   Aha! But he did it once too often, as you will see!

   When the Enchanter Too-Tall came to Tippy’s village to see his old Aunt Mickle-Muckle, Tippy was delighted - because, you see, Mrs. Mickle-Muckle lived next door to Tippy, and he could spy on all that the Enchanter did.

   Now Too-Tall the Enchanter had a habit of getting up very early in the morning, and walking in the garden in his dressing-gown to get the fresh cool air. Tippy heard him and crept to the window.

   There, down below in Mrs. Mickle-Muckle’s little garden, was Too-Tall the Enchanter, his mass of curly hair blowing in the morning breeze.

   And, as Tippy watched, what do you think happened? Why, the enchanter’s hair all blew away in the wind, every single bit of it! And Tippy saw that he was quite bald.

   ‘Ooh! He wears a wig! He wears a wig!’ said the peeping pixie. ‘I never knew that before! Why, he is as bald as a pea! Oh look! His curly wig has blown into the big rose-bush!’

   Too-Tall the Enchanter was horrified when his wig blew off. He looked around hurriedly to see if anyone was about who might see his bald head, but he couldn’t spy Tippy, who was safely behind his curtain. Quickly he ran to the rose-bush and pulled out his wig, which had settled down right in the middle of it. He scratched his hands on the prickles and said, very loudly, ‘Oh bother! Bother! BOTHER!’

   Then he put his wig on his head again, rather crooked, and went indoors.

   Tippy rubbed his hand in glee. What a lovely tale he would have to tell everyone that morning! He dressed very quickly, had his breakfast, put on his pointed cap, and went out. The first person he met was Gobo the elf, and he ran up to him.

   ‘Gobo, listen! Too-Tall the Enchanter is as bald as a pea! His hair is a wig! It blew off this morning and he said “Bother! Bother! BOTHER!”’

   ‘Ooh!’ said Gobo, surprised. ‘But really, Tippy, you shouldn’t tell tales, you know. You’ve been told ever so often. Too-Tall would be awfully cross if he knew you had told about his bald head.’

   ‘Pooh! He’ll never know,’ said Tippy, and he ran off to tell Skippy-Wee the brownie, who was just coming out of his cottage.

   ‘Skippy-Wee! Listen! Too-Tall the Enchanter is as bald as a pea! His hair is a wig! It blew off this morning and he said “Bother! Bother! BOTHER!”’

   ‘Ooh!’ said Skippy-Wee, with wide-open eyes. ‘Fancy that! I always thought he had such curly hair – but, Tippy, Too-Tall would be very angry if he knew you were telling tales about what you saw.’

   ‘Pooh! He’ll never know,’ said Tippy, and ran off to tell the news to someone else.

   Well, he told his tale to forty-two different people that morning, and once of them happened to go to tea with Mrs. Mickle-Muckle’s old gardener that afternoon. As soon as the gardener heard the tale he went straight to Mrs. Mickle-Muckle and asked her if it were true that her nephew, the great enchanter, hadn’t a single hair on his head.

   ‘Ooh my, who told you that?’ said Mrs. Mickle-Muckle. ‘Well, as far as I know, Too-Tall’s hair is his own. I never knew he wore a wig.’

   Now it so happened that the enchanter’s sharp ears heard every word of this, and he went red right down to his collar. Oh, dear! He hadn’t wanted anyone to know that he wore a wig – and now it seemed that all the village knew it! He had lost his hair because of a powerful spell that went wrong, and he had had a curly wig made just exactly like the hair he had lost – and he hadn’t told a single person about it!

   ‘Who’s been telling tales?’ he wondered, with a frown. ‘Well, I’ll find out.’

   He took a large silver ball and set it on the table in front of him. Then he stroked it with a peacock’s feather and sang in a low voice a little magic spell. At the end of it he struck the ball with the feather and said loudly:

   ‘Now let the face of the tell-tale appears!’

   And, gracious goodness, what a very strange and peculiar thing! In the silver ball came a misty face, and as the enchanter stared at it, it came clearer and clearer, and there at last was Tell-Tale Tippy’s face!

   ‘What is your name?’ asked the enchanter.

   ‘Tippy,’ said the face in the silver ball.

   ‘Where do you live?’ asked the enchanter, sternly.

   ‘Next door,’ answered the face. Then the enchanter struck the ball with the peacock’s feather and the face gradually grew misty and then vanished. Too-Tall put the ball on to a shelf and sat down to think.

   Oho! So it was that nasty little Tippy next door who had seen his wig blow off that morning and had told everyone about it! The horrid little tell-tale! His aunt, Mrs. Mickle-Muckle, had often told him what a tell-tale Tippy was – and, really, it was about time that pixie was punished.

   The next day Too-Tall the Enchanter went to a shop that sold walking-sticks. He bought one with a crook handle and took it home. It was a really beautiful stick, bright red with a yellow, and round the neck of the stick was a silver collar. If you twisted the crook handle came right off. It was really a very fine stick indeed.

   Too-Tall took it home to his aunt’s. He unscrewed the handle, and put a funny little blue spell into the neck of the stick. Then he put on the handle once more, screwed it up, hung the stick over his arm, and went next door to see Tippy.

   Tippy opened the door himself, and wasn’t he surprised to see Too-Tall! He began to shake at the knees, because he knew that he had been telling tales about the enchanter’s wig. But Too-Tall didn’t frown, and he didn’t scold – no, he simply bowed politely, and held out the bright-red stick to Tippy.

   ‘I hear you are a tale-teller,’ he said. ‘Pray accept this stick from me – it is one that all tale-tellers should use!’

   Tippy was almost scared out of his life! He knew that the stick must be a magic one, and he was afraid to take it – but he was also afraid to refuse it! So he just stood there, trembling, his mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, not knowing what to do.

   The enchanter stood the stick in Tippy’s umbrella-stand, and walked back to his aunt’s cottage. Tippy stood in the hall, very much afraid of the stick. But it seemed quite harmless. It didn’t do anything, or say anything, so suddenly Tippy made a face at it.

   ‘Pooh!’ he said. ‘You needn’t think I’m afraid of you! I shan’t take you out with me, and I shan’t take notice of you at all – so you won’t be able to do anything to me, you silly old stick!’

   The stick stood still and said nothing. And just then there came another knock at the door. Tippy opened it, and outside stood Gobo the elf.

   ‘Oh, Tippy,’ he said, ‘I’ve brought back the book you lent me. Thank you very much.’

   ‘Oh, thanks,’ said Tippy. ‘I say – do you see that blot of ink on the cover? Well, Skippy-Wee did that when I lent him the book. Wasn’t it careless of him?’

   ‘Oh, don’t tell tales,’ began Gobo – and then he stopped in surprise! The red-and-yellow stick had jumped out of its stand and was whipping Tippy!

   And all the time it cried out loudly: ‘Tell-Tale Tippy! Tell-Tale Tippy’

   Tippy howled in pain and ran into the kitchen, but the stick followed him there, and not until he said he was sorry he had told tales did it stop hitting him and go quietly to its stand.

   ‘Ooh my, Tippy, you’d better be careful!’ said Gobo the elf. ‘That stick will make you black and blue if you tell any more tales. I say! Won’t everyone laugh when they hear about your stick?’

   ‘Oh, don’t tell anyone; please, don’t tell anyone!’ begged Tippy. ‘They would laugh at me so.

   ‘Well, you are always telling tales about other people,’ said Gobo. ‘Why shouldn’t I tell tales about you, Tippy?’ And out he went, laughing to himself.

   Tippy frowned hard at the magic stick. Then he suddenly ran at it, grabbed it from the stand, and flung it out of the back door, and cried out: ‘Stay there, you miserable thing!’

   He put the kettle on to make some cocoa, for he really felt quite ill – and then he heard a tap-tap-tapping upstairs. The tap-tap-tap came all the way down the stairs, and, goodness me, when Tippy looked out into the hall, there was the magic stick back in the umbrella-stand again! It had crept in at one of the bedroom windows and gone back to the stand itself.

   After he had had a drink of hot coca, Tippy thought he had better go and do some shopping. So he put on his pointed cap and out he went – but as he passed through the hall the stick jumped from the hall-stand and quietly hooked itself on Tippy’s arm! He didn’t notice it, and went walking on with the stick beside him.

   Soon he met Mrs. Cuddle, the balloon woman, and he stopped to speak to her.

   ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I heard that Mrs. Hallo who lives in Lemon Cottage, stole two of your balloons the other day when you weren’t looking.’

   With a leap the magic stick jerked itself off Tippy’s arm, and before the surprised pixie could get away it began to whip him soundly again, crying out loudly all the time, ‘Tell-Tale Tippy! Tell-Tale Tippy!’

   In a trice a crowd collected, and dear me, how delighted everyone was to see Tippy being soundly whipped for telling tales! They clapped their hands and cheered, for there wasn’t a single person there that Tippy hadn’t told tales about. Tippy fought the stick, but it was too quick for him, and at last the weeping pixie took to his heels and ran as fast as he could back to his cottage. The magic stick flew after him and neatly hooked itself on to his arm again – and when at last the pixie got home he found that he had brought the stick with him!

   ‘I’ll punish you for beating me in front of everyone!’ wept Tippy, angrily. ‘I’ll burn you, see if I don’t’!’

   He went out into the garden and made a big bonfire. Then he fetched the stick and threw it into the middle. The flames roared up and Tippy rubbed his hands in glee. Hurrah!  Now the stick was done for!

   He ran indoors to change his tunic, for he was to go to dinner with his Aunt Wumple, who lived at the other end of the village. He put on his best yellow silk tunic and his finest green knickerbockers. Then he sat down to read a book until it was time to go.

   He didn’t hear a tap-tap-tapping coming across the floor – but suddenly he felt something brushing against him – and, oh, my goodness me, it was the magic stick again! It wasn’t burnt, but it had got all black and sooty in the fire, and when it brushed against Tippy’s fine clothes it made them black and dirty.

   ‘Go away, go away!’ yelled Tippy, angrily. ‘I thought you were burnt! Look what a mess you have made of my clean clothes!’

   The stick wouldn’t go away. It wiped itself all up and down Tippy till it was clean – and you should have seen him when it had finished! He was covered with sooty marks and looked a real little sweep!

   He was ready to cry with rage. ‘All right!’ he said. ‘You wait, you miserable stick. I’ll drown you!’

   He caught up the magic stick and ran to his well with it. Plonk! Splash! He threw it into the water far below and then left it there to drown.

   ‘Ho!’ he thought, as he changed into some clean clothes, ‘that’s the end of that nasty stick!’

   He hurried off to his Aunt Wumple’s, and stayed with her until it was dark. Then he ran back home again, undressed to go to bed, for it was late. He soon fell asleep, and began to snore.

   Suddenly he woke with a jump! Whatever was that noise? He sat up. Something was squeezing itself in at the window, which was just a little bit open. Then, oh, dear me – tap-tap-tap, he heard across the wooden floor, and something crept close beside him under the bedclothes.

   ‘Let me get close to you, I am cold and wet,’ said the voice of the magic stick. ‘I have struggled all the day to escape from the well, and I am tired and cold.’

   The wet stick pressed itself against Tippy, and he shivered. He got as far away from it as he could, but it crept after him. He didn’t dare to push it away in case it began to whip him again. So all night long he and the magic stick lay shivering together, and Tippy was as scared as a little pixie you’d find anywhere.

   In the morning he dressed very solemnly, and thought hard. He couldn’t burn that stick – he couldn’t drown it – perhaps he could chop it into pieces and use it for firewood. So he fetched his chopper, and laid the stick on the chopping-block. Chop! Chop! Chop! It wasn’t a bit of good, the stick was as hard as iron. Every time he chopped it it flew up and hit him on the nose, and soon Tippy threw down the chopper in despair.

   ‘It’s no good, Tippy,’ said the stick, hopping to the umbrella-stand. ‘You can’t get rid of me. You must just put up with me, that’s all.’

   So Tippy had to make up his mind to make the best of that magic stick. It went with him everywhere, and if he slipped out alone, it hopped after him and hooked itself on his arm. Every time he told a tale about someone the stick whipped him soundly and cried out loudly: ‘Tell-Tale Tippy! Tell-Tale Tippy!’

   And soon Tippy thought twice before he told tales! If his tongue began to tell a tale, he felt the stick jerk on his arm, and he quickly made the tale a nice one, in case the stick should start to beat him again.

   ‘Have you heard that Gobo-?’ he would begin, and feel the stick jerk, ready to beat him if the tale was an unkind one – and quickly he would alter his tale. ‘Have you heard that Gobo gave a nice rocking-horse to the gardener’s little boy? Wasn’t it kind of him?’

   Then the stick would rest quietly on his arm, and Tippy would be glad, But dear me, how hard it was to remember to tell only nice things about his friends. For so many years he had been a nasty little tale-teller that he found it very difficult to stop. He had many a whipping before he learnt his lesson.

   Then the day came when he knew that he would never, never tell tales again. He had grown to be a kind-hearted, generous little pixie, and although the magic stick still hung to his arm whenever he went out, it no longer whipped him, for it never had need to do so.

   One morning, when Tippy was in the village shopping, the stick jerked itself off his arm, and went tap-tap-tapping down the street, all by itself.

   ‘Where are you going?’ shouted Tippy.

   ‘Oh, I’m off to seek my fortune!’ called back the stick. ‘You do not need me now. You are no longer a tale-teller!’

   ‘Well, come back to me and be just an ordinary walking-stick!’ shouted Tippy. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of you, stick!’

   ‘No, no!’ called back the stick. ‘I am a magic stick. I could never be an ordinary one. Good-bye, Tippy, don’t miss me too much. I’m off to find another tale-teller!’

   And with that it tapped away over the hill and was lost to sight. It didn’t go back to Too-Tall the Enchanter (who, you will be glad to know, grew all his hair again through his Aunt Mickle-Muckle’s hair-cream) and it never went back to Tippy’s village anymore.

   It is probably still tap-tap-tapping through the world, waiting to hear someone tell an unkind tale about somebody else – and then it will hook itself on to his arm, and wait until it can give him a good beating! So do be careful, won’t you, not to tell tales about anyone, because you never know when that magic stick might be tap-tap-tapping somewhere near by!

-Enid Blyton-

Trit-Trot the Pony

There was once a brown pony called Trit-Trot. It belonged to old Mrs. Kennedy, and she used it for pulling her little pony-cart along when she went shopping. But, as she didn’t go shopping very often, Trit-Trot spent a good deal of time alone in the field.

   Every day, as he went to and from school, a boy called Billy stopped to speak with the pony. ‘Hallo, Trit-Trot!’ he would say. ‘How are you to-day? Found any nice grass to eat? I’ll bring you my apple-core to munch when I’ve eaten the apple at school this morning.’

   He always remembered to do as he said, and Trit-Trot liked Billy very much. He though he was the nicest boy he had ever met. Some of the boys that came by were not so nice.

   ‘There’s Leonard – he once threw a stone at me,’ thought the brown pony, as he ate the grass. ‘And there’s that nasty big boy called Harry – he has tried to catch me and ride me heaps of times. I wouldn’t at all mind giving him a ride – but he always has a big stick to hit me with, and I won’t have that! Ah- Billy’s the nicest. Always a kind word for a lonely little pony, and sometimes a juicy carrot, and apple – or even a lump of sugar saved from his breakfast cocoa! He really is a friend to have. I wish I could do something to pay him back for his kindness.’

   Now one day, when Billy was standing on the field-gate talking to Trit-Trot, the big boy called Harry came along.

   ‘Hallo, Billy!’ he said. ‘Got any money to-day? There’s some fine new marbles in the toy-shop.’

   ‘I’ve got three pennies and a ha’penny,’ said Billy. ‘But I’m saving them up for my mother’s birthday.’

   ‘Well, lend them to me till Saturday. And I’ll get the marbles,’ said Harry.

   ‘No,’ said Billy. ‘I lent you a penny last month, and you never gave it back to me.’

   ‘What! You won’t lend me the money to get the marbles!’ cried Harry, angrily. ‘We’ll see about that. I can easily get them away from a little shrimp like you!’

   And before Billy could shout or say a word, Harry had him down off the gate, and had taken the little purse from his pocket. He emptied the money out, put it loose into his own pocket, and threw the purse back to Billy. It wasn’t a bit of good Billy trying to get his money back. Harry was far too big and fierce to fight.

   Harry went off whistling. Billy stared after him, angry and miserable. Trit-trot the pony watched from surprised brown eyes. Billy turned to him and stroked his long nose.

   ‘It’s too bad,’ he said. ‘I shan’t get that money back. I know I shan’t. It took me three-and-a-half weeks to save it.’

   Trit-Trot was sorry. He didn’t like Harry any more than Billy did. He suddenly left the gate and ran down the field. At the end of it there was a gap that he could just squeeze through. Trit-Trot squashed his fat little brown body through it, and then stood waiting for Harry to come by. Ah – there he was, whistling merrily. Harry stopped when he saw Trit-Trot. ‘Hallo!’ he said. ‘You’ve got out of the field. Give me a ride, will you? Come on!’ Usually Trit-Trot ran when Harry came near – but now he stood still, and let Harry get on to his back. ‘Gee-up!’ said Harry, and hit the pony with the stick he always carried.

   The pony trotted off to the opposite side of the road, where there was a muddy patch. He suddenly stooped still, gave himself a jerk and off went Harry, landing in the mud with a bump and a splash. Trit-Trot neighed. Then he bent down his big head, and took hold of Harry’s belt with his strong teeth. Harry screamed. He half-thought the pony was going to eat him! But Trit-Trot had another idea in his mind! He carried the wriggling boy down the lane to the field-gate, where Billy was still standing.

   ‘Hrrrumph!’ said Trit-Trot, still holding Harry tightly by his belt.

   ‘Trit-Trot! You’ve caught Harry – and brought him to me!’ cried Billy, with a laugh, for really Harry looked very funny. ‘I suppose you thought I could get back my money if you held him like that for me. Well – I can!’

   And Billy quickly took back the money Harry had taken from him, and put it safely in his purse. Then Trit-Trot dropped Harry on to the ground and looked at Billy, asking him with his big brown eyes to open the gate and let him into his field once more.

   Harry jumped to his feet and fled down the lane at top speed. He was afraid Trit-Trot would go after him and grab him again. He disappeared round the bend and Billy gave a sigh of relief!

   ‘Thank you, Trit-Trot,’ he said. ‘You really are a good friend! I’m sure Mother won’t believe me when she hears what you did!’

   ‘Hrrrumph!’ said Trit-Trot, rubbing his nose against Billy’s arm. Billy knew what that meant quite well – he was saying: ‘I’ve paid you back for your kindness1’ And he certainly had, hadn’t he?

-Enid Blyton-

Winkle-Pip Walks Out

Once upon a time Winkle-Pip the gnome did a good turn to the Tappetty Witch, and she was very grateful.

   ‘I will give you something,’ she said. ‘Would you like a wishing-suit?’

    ‘Ooh, yes!’ cried Winkle-Pip, delighted. ‘That would be lovely’.

   So the Tappetty Witch gave Winkle-pip a wishing-suit. It was made of yellow silk, spotted with red, and had big pockets in it.

   ‘Now,’ said the witch to Winkle-Pip, ‘whenever you wear this suit, your wishes will come true – but there is one thing you must do, Winkle.’

   ‘What’s that?’ asked Winkle-Pip

   ‘Once a year you must go out into the world of boys and girls and grant wishes to six of them,’ said the witch. ‘Now don’t forget that, Winkle, or the magic will go out of your wishing-suit.’

   Winkle-Pip promised not to forget, and off he went home, with the wishing-suit wrapped up in brown paper, tucked safely under his arm.

   Now, the next day Winkle-Pip’s old Aunt Maria was coming to see him. She always liked a very good tea, and often grumbled because Winkle-Pip who was not a very good cook, sometimes gave her burnt cakes, or jam sandwich that hadn’t risen well, and was all wet and heavy.

   So the gnome decided to use his wishing-suit the next day, and give his aunt a wonderful surprise. He put it on in the morning and looked at himself in the glass – and he looked very nice indeed. He thought he would try the wish-magic, so he put his hands in his pockets and spoke aloud.

   ‘I wish for a fine feathered cap to go with my suit!’ he said.

   Hey presto! A yellow hat with a red feather came from nowhere, and landed with a thud on his big head.

   ‘Ho!’ said Winkle-Pip, pleased. ‘That’s a real beauty.’

   He looked around his kitchen. It was not very clean, and none of the breakfast dishes had been washed up. The curtains looked dirty too, and Winkle-Pip remembered that his Aunt Maria had said he really should wash them.

   ‘Now for a bit of fun!’ said Winkle, and he put his hands in his pockets again.

   'Kitchen, tidy yourself, for that is my wish!' he said, loudly.

   At once things began to stir and hum. The tap ran water, and the dishes jumped about in the bowl and washed themselves. The cloth jumped out of the pail under the sink, and rubbed itself hard on the soap. Then it began to wash the kitchen floor far more quickly than Winkle-Pip had ever been able to do.

 The brush leapt out of its corner and swept the rugs, which were really very dirty indeed. The pan held itself ready for the sweepings, and when it was full it ran outside to the dustbin, and emptied itself there.

   You should have seen the kitchen when everything had quieted down again! How it shone and glittered! Even the saucepans had joined in and had let themselves be scrubbed well in the sink. It was marvelous.

   ‘Now for the curtains!’  Said Winkle-Pip, and he put his hands in his pockets again. ‘I wish you to make yourselves clean!’ he called.

   The curtains didn’t need to be told twice. They sprang off their hooks and rushed to the sink. The tap ran and filled the basin with hot water. The soap made a lather, and then those curtains jumped themselves up and down in the water until every speck of dirt had run from them and they were as white as snow! Then they flew to the mangle, which squeezed the water from them. Then out to the line in the yard they went, and the pegs pegged them there in the wind. The wind blew its hardest, and in a few minutes they flew back into the kitchen once more. The iron had already put itself on the stove to heat, and soon as the curtains appeared and laid themselves flat on the table, the iron jumped over to them and ironed them out beautifully.

   Then back to their hooks they flew, and hung themselves up at the windows. How lovely they looked!

   ‘Wonderful!’ cried Winkle-Pip in delight. ‘My, I wonder what my old Aunt Maria will say!’

   Then he began to think about food.

   ‘I think I’ll have a big chocolate cake, a jelly with sliced pears in it, a dozen little ginger cakes, some ham sandwiches, some fresh lettuce and radishes, and some raspberries and cream,’ decided Winkle. ‘That would make a simple glorious tea!’

   So he wished for all those – and you should just have seen his kitchen coming to live again. It didn’t take the magic very long to make all the cakes and sandwiches he wanted, and to wash the lettuce and radishes that suddenly flew from the garden.

   ‘Splendid!’ cried the gnome, clapping his hands with joy. ‘Won’t my Aunt Maria stare to see all this?’

   In the afternoon his old aunt came – and as soon as she opened the kitchen door, how she stared! She looked at the snowy sink, she looked at the spotless floor. She stared at the clean curtains, and she stared at the shining saucepans. Then she gazed at the lovely tea spread out on the table.

   ‘Well!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘What a marvelous change, Winkle-Pip. How hard you must have worked! I am really very, very pleased with you.’

   She gave the gnome a loud kiss, and he blushed very red.

   ‘It’s my wishing-suit, Aunt,’ he said, for he was a truthful little gnome. He told her all about it and she was full of surprise.

   ‘Well, you be sure to take great care of it,’ she said, eating a big piece of chocolate cake. ‘And whatever you do, Winkle-Pip, don’t forget to go out to the world  of boys and girls and find six of them to grant wishes to – or you’ll lose the wishing-suit as sure as eggs are eggs.’

   Winkle-Pip did enjoy his wishing-suit! He granted wishes to all his friends – and you may be sure that everyone wanted to be his friend when they knew about his new magic suit! Then a time came when he knew that he must go out into our world, for the magic in his suit began to weaken.

   So one day, Winkle-Pip put on his suit of yellow silk and his fine feathered cap, and walked to the end of Fairyland.

   ‘How pleased all the boys and girl s will be to see me!’ he said. ‘And how glad they will be to have their wishes granted. I am sure they don’t see fairy folk very often, and they will go mad with joy to find me walking up to them.’

   ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said his friend, the green pixie, who had walked to the gates of Fairyland with him. ‘I have heard that boys and girls nowadays don’t believe in fairies, and are much too busy with their wireless-sets and their Meccanos to want to listen to tales about us. They might not believe in you!’

   ‘Rubbish!’ said Winkle. He shook hands with the green pixie and walked out into our world. He looked all around him and wondered which way to go.

   ‘I’ll go eastwards,’ he thought ‘It looks as if there might be a town over there.’

   So off he went, and after a few miles he came to a little market town. He went along, peeping into the windows of the houses as he passed by, and at last he saw a nursery. A little boy and girl were playing with a beautiful dolls’ house, and they were talking about it.

   ‘You know, this dolls’ house is very old-fashioned,’ said the little boy. ‘It’s got oil lamps, instead of electric light. It’s a silly dolls’ house, I think.’

   ‘Well, I’m sure Grandpa won’t have electric light put into it for us,’ said the little girl. ‘I do so wish he would. That would be fine!’

   ‘Ha!’ thought Winkle-Pip. ‘Here’s a chance for me to give them a wish.’

   So he jumped into the window, and walked quietly up behind the children. ‘Would you like electric light in that dolls’ house?’ he asked. ‘You have only to wish for it, whilst I am here, and you shall have it.’

   The children looked around in surprise.

   ‘Of course I’d like it,’ said the girl. ‘I wish I could have electric light all over the house!’

   In a second the magic had worked, and the dolls’ house was lit up with tiny electric lights from top to bottom! How the children gasped to see such a wonderful sight. They found that there were tiny switches beside each door, and when they snapped these on and off the lights went on or out. They began to play with them in great excitement.

   Meanwhile the gnome stood behind them, waiting for a word of thanks. The children seemed quite to have forgotten him. He was terribly hurt, and at last he crept out of the window, without even saying good-bye.

   ‘Fancy not thanking me for granting their wish!’ he thought, mournfully. ‘Well, that was a nasty surprise for me! I thought the children would be delighted to talk to me too.’

   Winkle-Pip went on again, and after a while he came across two boys hunting in the grass for something they had lost.

   ‘Where can that shilling have gone?’ he heard one of them say. ‘Oh, I do wish we could find it, for we shall get into such trouble for losing it, when we get home.’

   Up went Winkle-Pip to them. ‘I can grant you your wish,’ he said. ‘I am a gnome, and have my wishing-suit on.’

   The two boys looked at him.

   ‘Don’t be silly,’ said one. ‘You know quite well that there are no such things as gnomes – and as for their wishing-suits, well, you must think us stupid to believe in things like that! You couldn’t possibly grant us a wish!’

   Winkle-Pip went very red. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the two boys.

   ‘Do you really want to find that shilling?’ he asked.

   ‘Yes, rather!’ said the boys. ‘We wish we could, for we shall get whipped for coming home without it.’

   No sooner had they wished than the silver shilling rose from where it had been hidden in the grass and flew into Winkle-Pip’s hand.

   ‘Here it is,’ he said to the boys, and gave it to them. But were they pleased? No, not a bit of it!

   ‘You had it all the time!’ they cried, for they had not seen it fly into the gnome’s hand. ‘You have played a trick on us! We will beat you.’

   They set upon the poor gnome and he had to run for his life. He sat down on the first gate he came to and rubbed his bruises.

   ‘Well!’ he thought miserably. ‘That’s two wishes granted and not a word of thanks for either of them. What is the world coming to, I wonder? Is there any politeness or gratitude left?’

   After a while, he went on again, and soon he heard the sound of sobbing. He peeped round the corner and saw a little girl sitting on the steps of a small house, crying bitterly.

   ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Winkle-Pip, his kind heart touched by her loud sobs. At first the little girl didn’t answer, but just frowned at him. Then suddenly from the house came a voice.

   ‘Now stop that silly crying, Mary! You deserved to be smacked. It was very naughty of you to break your poor doll like that, just out of temper.’

   ‘I shall break her again is I like!’ shouted the naughty girl, jumping to her feet and stamping hard. The gnome was terribly shocked.

   ‘You shouldn’t talk like that,’ he said. ‘Why, do you know, I came to give you a wish, and –’

   ‘Silly creature, silly creature!’ screamed the bad-tempered child, making an ugly face at him. ‘I wish you’d go away, that’s what I wish!’ I wish you’d run to the other end of the town; then I wouldn’t see you anymore!’

   Well, of course, her wish had come true and poor Winkle-Pip found himself scurrying off to the other end of the town in a mighty hurry. He was soon very much out of breath, but not until he was right at the other end of the little town did his feet stop running.

   ‘My goodness!’ said Winkle-pip, sinking down on the grass by the road-side. ‘What a horrid day I’m having! What nasty children there are nowadays! Three more wishes to give away – and, dear me, I do wish I’d finished, for I’m not enjoying it at all.”

   “As Winkle-Pip sat there, two children came by, a boy and a girl.

   ‘Hallo, funny-face,’ said the boy, rudely.  ‘Wherever did you come from?’

   ‘I come from Fairyland,’ said the gnome. ‘I am a gnome, as I should think you could guess.’

   ‘Pooh!’ said the boy, ‘what a rubbish to talk like that! There are no gnomes or fairies.’

   ‘Of course not,’ said the little girl.

   ‘Well, there are,’ said Winkle-Pip, ‘and what’s more, I’m rather a special gnome. I’ve come into your world to-day to give wishes to six children. I’ve wasted three wishes, and I’m beginning to think there are no children worth bothering about nowadays.’

   ‘What, do you mean you can grant wishes to us?’ asked the boy. ‘I don’t believe it! Well, I’ll try, anyway, and we’ll see if what you say is true! I wish for a banana, a pear, and a pineapple to come and sit on your head!’

   Whee-ee-ee-ee-eesh! Through the air came flying a large banana, very ripe, a big pear, and a spiky pineapple. Plonk! They all fell on poor Winkle-Pip’s head and he groaned in dismay. The children stared and began to laugh. Then they looked rather scared.

   ‘Ooh!’ said the boy. ‘He must be a gnome, after all, because our wish came true!’

   Winkle-Pip was so angry that he couldn’t think what to say. The children gave him one more look and then took to their heels and fled, afraid of what the gnome might do to them in revenge.

   Poor Winkle-Pip! He was so distressed and so hurt to think that children could play him such a mean trick when he offered them a wish, that he hardly knew what to do. He tried his best to get the fruit off his head, but it was so firmly stuck there that it would not move.

   ‘Oh dear! Oh dear!’ wept the gnome. ‘I shall have to let it all stay there, because I can’t have any wishes for myself till I have given away the six wishes to boys and girls.’

   Presently there came a little girl carrying a heavy load of wood. She stopped when she saw the gnome, and looked at him in surprise.

   ‘Why are you carrying all those things on your head?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t they dreadfully heavy?’

   ‘Yes,’ said the gnome with a sigh. ‘But I can’t very well help it.’ Then he told the little girl all his story, and she was very sorry for him.

   ‘I do wish I could get it off for you,’ she said. ‘If I had a wish, I would wish that, and the fruit would fly away.’

   No sooner had she spoken these words than her wish came true! Off flew the banana, and off went the pear, and off jumped the pineapple. They all disappeared with a click, and the gnome shook his head about in joy.

   ‘Hurrah!’ he said. ‘They’ve gone. Oh, you nice little girl, I’m so glad you wished that wish. You’re the only unselfish child I have met in my journeys to-day.’

   ‘And you’re the first person who has ever called me unselfish,’ said the little girl, with a sigh. ‘I live with my stepmother, and she is always telling me I am lazy and selfish. I do try so hard not to be.’

   ‘Poor child,’ said Winkle-Pip, thinking it was a dreadful shame to make a little girl carry such a heavy load of wood. ‘Have you no kind father?’

   ‘No,’ said the little girl. ‘I have an aunt though, but since we moved she doesn’t know where my stepmother and I live. My stepmother didn’t like her because she was kind to me, and wanted me to live with her. She said I was nothing but a little servant to my stepmother, and so I am. I wouldn’t mind that a bit, if only she would love me and be kind to me.’

   Winkle-Pip was nearly in tears when he heard this sad story. ‘I do wish I could help you,’ he said. ‘What a pity your kind aunt isn’t here to take you to her home and love you.’

   ‘I do wish she was,’ said the little girl, lifting the bundle of wood on her shoulder again – and then she gave a loud cry of delight and dropped it. Winkle-Pip cried too, for, what do you think? – hurrying towards them was the kindest, plumpest woman you could possibly imagine!

   ‘Auntie! Auntie!’ cried the little girl. ‘I was just wishing you were here!’

   ‘Of course,’ said Winkle-Pip to himself with a smile, ‘that’s the sixth wish! I quite forgotten there was still another one to give. Well, I’m very, very glad that this little girl has got the last wish. She used up one wish to set me free from that banana, pear, and pineapple, and she deserves to have one for herself, bless her kind heart!’

   ‘Where have you come from, Auntie?’ asked the little girl, hugging the smiling woman round the neck. ‘Oh I have missed you so!’

   ‘I’ve come to fetch you home with me,’ said her aunt, kissing her. ‘I’ve had such a time trying to find out where your stepmother took you to. I don’t quite know how I got here, but still, here I am, and you’re coming straight home with me, and I’m going to look after you and love you.’

   ‘But what about my stepmother?’ asked the child.

   ‘Oh, I’ll go and see her for you,’ said the gnome, with a grin. ‘I’ll tell her what I think of her. You go home with your aunt and have a lovely time. I’ll take your wood back for you.’

   So the little girl went off happily, with her aunt holding her tightly by the hand. Winkle-Pip shouldered the bundle of wood and ran off to the little cottage that the child had pointed out to him.

   An ugly, bad-tempered looking woman opened the door, and frowned when she was Winkle-Pip.

   ‘I’ve brought you the wood that your little stepdaughter was bringing,’ said the gnome. ‘She has gone to live with her auntie.’

   ‘Oh, she has, has she?’ said the woman, picking up a broom. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve had something to do with that, you interfering little creature! I’ll give you such a drubbing!’

   She ran at the little gnome, but he stuck his hands into his pockets, and wished quickly.

   ‘I’ve given away six wishes!’ he said. ‘Now my wishing-suit is full of magic for me again – so I wish myself back in Fairyland once more!’

   Whee-ee-ee-eesh! He was swept up into the air, and vanished before the angry woman’s eyes. She turned pale with fright, and ran inside her cottage and banged her door.  She was so terrified that she never once tried to find out where her stepdaughter had gone.

   As for Winkle-Pip, he was delighted to get home again.

   Over a cup of cocoa he told the green pixie all his adventures, and they both agreed that he had a most exciting day.

   It will soon be the time for Winkle-Pip to walk out into our world again – so be careful if you meet him, and do try to use your wish in the best way you can.

-Enid Blyton-

The Author "Enid Blyton"

Enid Blyton is one of the best-loved writers of the twentieth century. Her wonderful, inventive stories, plays and poems have delighted children of all ages for generations.

   Born in London in 1897, Enid Blyton sold her first piece of literature; a poem entitled 'Have You. . .?', at the age of twenty. She qualified and worked as a teacher, writing extensively in her spare time. She sold short stories and poems to various magazines and her first book, Child Whispers, was published in 1922.

   Over the next 40 years, Blyton would publish on average fifteen books a year. Some of her more famous works include Noddy, The Famous Five, The Secret Seven and The Faraway Tree series.

   Her books have sold in the millions and have been translated into many languages. Enid Blyton married twice and had two daughters. She died in 1968, but her work continues to live on.