Free Anytime Tales by Enid Blyton Page A

left open, and went down the lane to her home. The door was open. The pony cantered inside—and there was her mother, laying the tea.

    “Good gracious! A horse coming to tea!” said Matilda’s mother. “I never heard of such a thing! Shoo! Shoo! Go out at once.”
    Matilda went right into the room and put her big pony-head on her mother’s shoulder. Tears ran down her big brown pony-nose.
    “Well, look at this!” cried her mother in the greatest amazement. “A pony crying on my shoulder! Poor creature, what’s the matter?”
    Matilda tried to get on to her mother’s knee, but of course, being a pony, she couldn’t possibly.
    “Now, pony, don’t be silly,” said her mother, pushing it away. “Do you think you’re a little dog or something, trying to sit on my knee? You’ll be borrowing my handkerchief to wipe your eyes next! Dear, dear, I don’t understand this! I must be in a dream.”
    A voice spoke from the doorway. “No—you are not in a dream. That is Matilda—but she stamped her foot at me, so I changed her into a pony for a time. Horses may stamp when they please, but not children!”
    “Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Matilda’s mother, putting her arms round the pony’s neck. “Now I understand what this poor pony wants. Old woman, you are magic! Change my little girl to her own shape,
please!
I am sure she will never, never stamp her foot at you again!”
    “Will you ever stamp your foot again, Matilda?” the old dame asked the pony. It shook its big head at
    once. The old woman waved her hand—and lo and behold! the pony disappeared, and there was Matilda, looking rather small and scared.
    “Good-bye,” said the old lady. “Remember that only horses stamp—so be careful you don’t change into one again. You never know!”
    She went out, with her basket of blackberries. Matilda looked at her mother.
    “Don’t let me stamp my foot any more!” she wept, glad to find that she didn’t neigh this time.
    “Well, you must try and remember yourself,” said her mother. “I can’t tell your feet what to do!”
    Matilda laughed through her tears. “I’ll try and remember,” she said. “I don’t want to eat grass any more—and you don’t want a pony stamping about the kitchen, do you, Mother?”
    All the same, I hope I’m there if Matilda ever
does
stamp her foot again—it would be so surprising to see her change into a pony!

The Very Fierce Carpenter
    Mr. Chip the carpenter had a very exciting workshop. He was always making or mending all kinds of things and the boys loved to go and look at his tools. He had so many—hammers, saws, screwdrivers, chisels—and it was marvellous to watch the way he used them.
    But Mr. Chip didn’t like the boys. “Little pests!” he called them. “Miserable little mischiefs! Rude little monkeys!”
    So, of course, although the boys liked Mr. Chip’s shop they didn’t like
him.
They made up a very silly game just to tease him. The game was to dart into his shop and pick up some shavings from the floor before he could stop them. At the end of the week the boys each counted their shavings and the one who had the most was their leader for the next week.
    “It’s a very silly game,” said Jack’s mother, when she heard of it. “And it will only make Mr. Chip angry.”
    “But the shavings aren’t worth anything to him, and it’s fun to see who can get the most,” said Jack. “He shouldn’t be so cross and grumpy, Mother. He doesn’t even like us to watch him when he’s making something—and he’s really very clever.”
    This silly game really made Mr. Chip very cross indeed—so cross that one day he bought a dog! It was only a puppy at first, but it would soon grow. “And I’ll teach him to fly at any boy who dares to come into my shop!” said Mr. Chip, hammering away.
    The boys would have liked the puppy—and the puppy would have liked the boys—but Mr. Chip taught it to bark and fly at any boy who dared to dart into his shop