Free The Wishing-Chair Again by Enid Blyton Page A

Winks.
    “Come on,” said Chinky to the others. “It's now or never! If we find our things we'll take them and rush down and out into the garden, and be off in the Wishing-Chair before Mister Grim even knows we're here!”
    “Sh!” said Mollie, and they all began to go up the stairs on tiptoe. “Shhhhhhh!”

Mister Grim's School for Bad Brownies
    UP the stairs went the three, treading very quietly indeed, hoping that not one of the stairs would creak or crack.
    The brownies crowded round the door at the bottom of the stairs, holding their breath and watching. Up and up and up—and there was the landing at last! Now for the door on the left.
    They saw the door. They tiptoed to it and Peter turned the handle. Would it be locked? No, it wasn't!
    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