Rag, Tag and Bobtail and Other Magical Stories

by Enid Blyton

  ‘It sounds as if something was tearing about across the nursery floor,’ said Tom. ‘Whatever can it be?’

  ‘Let’s go and look!’ said Elizabeth. So they crept out of bed and went to the day-nursery. The moon was shining right into it and they could see everything quite clearly.

  And weren’t they surprised! They saw their toy motor-car tearing round and round, full of small pixies who were yelling with excitement. The dolls all stood watching, and the blue teddy-bear held up his paw, saying: ‘Sh! Sh! Sh! Not so much noise! You’ll wake the children!’

  Tom and Elizabeth could hardly believe their eyes. They stood peeping in at the door, watching. And as they watched they saw the Meccano motor-car dash straight into a chair. Bump! It turned over and all the pixies fell out.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ cried Elizabeth, quite forgetting that she didn’t mean to be seen.

  As soon as she had cried out, all the pixies gave a squeal of fright and flew out of the window. The toys rushed back to the cupboard and sat themselves down at once, keeping as still as could be. The Meccano motor-car didn’t move. It lay on its side.

  Tom and Elizabeth were just going to step into the nursery when they heard their mother’s voice.

  ‘Elizabeth! Tom! Whatever are you doing? Go back to bed at once!’

  ‘But, Mummy, such funny things have been happening in the nursery,’ said Tom. ‘We saw some fairies riding in the motor-car we made, and all the toys were alive!’

  ‘Oh, nonsense! You were just dreaming,’ said Mummy. ‘Go back to bed before you get a cold, both of you!’

  So to bed they had to go, and they soon fell asleep again. In the morning they looked at one another.

  ‘Did we really see those fairies and our toys all alive?’ said Elizabeth. ‘Or did we dream it?’

  ‘Well, we couldn’t both have dreamt it, could we?’ said Tom. ‘We’ll see if the motor-car is still lying on its side in the nursery.’

  It was! And do you know, tucked in one of the seats was a tiny silver wand with a shiny star on the end of it! One of the pixies must have left it behind.

  ‘There!’ said Elizabeth, in delight. ‘It was real. We didn’t dream it. Oh Tom! Let’s use the wand and wish a wish!’

  So when they are in bed tonight, they are going to wave that tiny wand and wish a wish. I do wonder what will happen!

  The Jumping Frog

  All the toys in the nursery were perfectly happy before the horrid jumping frog came. They used to play peacefully together, having a lovely time, never quarrelling, never snapping at one another or teasing.

  But as soon as the jumping frog came he spoilt everything. For one thing he talked all the time, and for another thing he was always jumping out at the toys and giving them frights.

  They couldn’t bear him, but they were too polite to say so. They begged him not to frighten them, but he took no notice.

  ‘You don’t need to be frightened of me!’ he would say. ‘It’s only my fun.’

  But it wasn’t fun to the toys. The teddy-bear fell over and bumped his nose when the frog jumped out at him from behind the cupboard; and the captain of the wooden soldiers broke his gun through tumbling down in fright when the frog jumped right on top of him.

  ‘One of these days,’ said the big humming-top solemnly to the frog, ‘one of these days, frog, you will be sorry for all these tricks of yours. People who frighten others always end in getting a terrible fright themselves. And when that happens, we shan’t help you!’

  One night the jumping frog planned to frighten the doll. The frog could wind himself up, so he was able to jump about whenever he wanted to. He knew that the doll often walked round by the window at night so he thought he would hide behind the big waste-paper basket and jump out at her as she came walking by. How frightened the doll would be! How she would squeak! How fast she would run, and how the jumping frog would laugh!

  The frog wound himself up and hid behind the waste-paper basket. He waited and he waited. At last he peeped out. Ah, was that the doll coming? Yes, it must be. Now for a good high jump to frighten her out of her skin!

  The frog jumped – but oh, my goodness me! it wasn’t the doll after all. It was the black kitchen cat! The jumping frog saw her just as he landed flat on the cat’s back.

  ‘Sssssssssss-tt!’ hissed the cat angrily, and flashed round to see what it was that had fallen on her back, and was now slipping to the floor. Out went her paw and gave the jumping frog a good smack. He leapt away in fright. The cat went after him.

  All the toys peeped out of the cupboard in surprise. Whatever was happening?

  ‘It’s the frog!’ cried the doll. ‘He jumped out at the cat, thinking it was me, I expect. And now the cat is chasing him! Oh my, what a fright he is in.’

  ‘Serve him right!’ cried the toys.

  ‘Help! Help!’ squealed the frog, jumping for all he was worth.

  But the toys were far too much afraid of the cat to go to his rescue. Each of them felt that the frog was getting what he deserved, and what he had so often given others – a good fright!

  Jump! Jump! Jump! The frog leapt high in the air half a dozen times as the cat went after him. He was so frightened that he didn’t look where he was going and once he nearly jumped right into the fire.

  The toys watched, their eyes wide open in surprise. Whatever would happen?

  Suddenly the cat shot her claws out at the frog and something clattered to the floor. It was the frog’s key, which the cat had clawed out of his back. The frog jumped higher still, frightened almost out of his life. He was near the waste-paper basket, and to the toys’ enormous surprise he jumped right into it!

  He hadn’t meant to – but there he was, at the bottom of the basket, among Nurse’s bits of cotton and torn-up paper. And just at that very moment his clockwork ran down. He could jump no more. He couldn’t wind himself up, either, because his key had fallen out. There he must stay.

  The cat didn’t know where the frog had gone. She hunted about for a while and then ran out of the nursery to catch mice in the kitchen. The toys ran to the waste-paper basket and peeped in.

  ‘Help me out,’ said the frog. ‘I’ve had such a fright.’

  ‘Serve you right!’ said the doll sternly. ‘We can’t help you out, the basket is too tall. You’ll be emptied into the dust-bin tomorrow, and that will be the end of you. You’ve always been fond of giving other people frights, so you can’t complain of what has happened to you !’

  The next morning the housemaid took the waste-paper basket downstairs, and emptied it into the dust-bin. The jumping frog went in all among the tea-leaves and potato-peel. He was very unhappy, and wished many times that he had been kind and jolly, instead of unkind and mean.

  ‘I wonder what happened to him in the dust-bin,’ said the toys to one another. But no one ever knew!

  The Little Brown Pony

  Monty had a little brown pony for his birthday. It was a pretty little thing, not very tall, with a long brown mane and tail.

  Monty wasn’t very pleased. ‘Pooh!’ he said to himself when he saw it. ‘Why didn’t Dad give me a horse? I don’t want a silly little pony! It won’t be able to gallop nearly fast enough for me. I’d like a big horse that goes like the wind.’

  He didn’t say all this to his father, though. No, he didn’t dare! His father called Monty to him and spoke gravely to him.

  ‘Now listen, Monty,’ he said. ‘You are a very lucky boy to have a pony for your birthday, and I want you to be sure to treat it kindly and well. You are not very good with animals, for you let your rabbit die, and you never remembered to take your puppy for a walk when you had one. The gardener will teach you how to look after your pony properly, and you may ride him twice a day, if you wish. And remember, always be kind to him!’

  Monty promised, but after a little while he grew bored with having to brush his pony and see to its water and food. He found that it couldn’t go fast enough for him and soon he began to smack it and s
hout at it. The little thing was frightened and did its best for Monty, but he was impatient and unkind.

  The small girl who lived next door to Monty often used to watch him riding the pony. She had always wanted a pony of her own, but her daddy couldn’t afford one. So she watched Monty’s pony instead, and sometimes she would climb over the wall and go to help the gardener groom the pretty little animal.

  ‘Do you like doing that sort of work?’ asked Monty scornfully one day, watching Ann brush his pony till its coat gleamed and shone.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Ann. ‘I wish I could do it always. I love your little pony, Monty.’

  ‘Well, look here – if you’ll look after my pony for me, I’ll let your ride it once a week,’ said Monty. ‘I hate looking after it. It’s a silly animal, anyway. I want a great big horse that will gallop!’

  Ann promised to care for his pony each day, and once a week Monty let her have a short ride on it. Ann grew very fond of the pony, and the fonder she grew the more she hated seeing Monty whip the little animal and shout at it.

  ‘You shouldn’t do that,’ she said to him. ‘It’s unkind.’

  ‘Hold your tongue!’ said Monty rudely. ‘Whose pony is this, yours or mine? I shall do what I like with it!’

  The pony grew frightened of Monty and one day when the boy galloped it round and round the field, slashing it with a big stick, the pony lost its temper. It stood quite still and wouldn’t move a step. Ann was watching over the wall, and she shouted to Monty to jump off.

  ‘Stop it, Monty!’ she called. ‘The pony is getting angry.’

  ‘What do I care!’ cried Monty, and he hit the pony hard. It suddenly galloped off, nearly throwing Monty, and rushed for the open gate that led into the road. Ann saw that it was running away with Monty. In a trice she was over the wall, and reached the gate just as the pony got there. She caught hold of the reins and dragged at them with all her strength.

  The pony stopped just outside the gate, and Monty slid off. Ann’s arms were almost pulled out of her shoulders.

  ‘You’re a cruel boy!’ she said, through her tears. ‘You don’t deserve to be saved when the pony’s running away. I wish I had him! I’d love him and be kind to him. You don’t like him a bit. You don’t even look after him. I do all that!’

  ‘What’s all this?’ said a deep voice, and who should look over the hedge at the other side of the road but Monty’s father. ‘Ann, I saw what you did. You’re a brave little girl, and I’m proud of you. As for Monty, I’m thoroughly ashamed of him. I saw him lashing the pony and I don’t wonder it ran away.’

  Monty’s father led the pony back to its stable and there he heard from the gardener how Ann looked after it each day, and how all that Monty did was to ride it and whip it every day. Monty’s father looked very stem. ‘Very well,’ he said to Monty. ‘You have disobeyed me. Now you must be punished. As Ann loves the pony and looks after it so well, she shall have it for her own. You don’t deserve to go riding at all, and you are never to ride the pony again. It’s Ann’s now.’

  Well, what do you think of that? Ann was so overjoyed that she could hardly say a word. Monty turned red and ran off. The pony gave a little whinny of delight and snuggled its nose into the small girl’s hand.

  ‘I’m happy now!’ whinnied the pony.

  ‘So am I!’ cried Ann. ‘We’ll have lovely times together!’ They do, too – you should just see them galloping round the field on a sunny morning! As for Monty, he always looks the other way.

  About the Author

  Enid Blyton, who died in 1968, is one of the most successful children’s authors of all time. She wrote over seven hundred books, which have been translated into more than forty languages and have sold more than 400 million copies around the world. Enid Blyton’s stories of magic, adventure and friendship continue to enchant children the world over. Her beloved works include The Famous Five, Malory Towers, The Faraway Tree and the Adventure series.

  These stories first published 1950 by Macmillan & Co. Ltd in Rag, Tag and Bobtail and other stories and The Three Naughty Children

  This collection published 2016 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  This electronic edition published 2016 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-5098-2546-2

  Text copyright © Hodder & Stoughton Ltd 1950. All rights reserved.

  Illustrations copyright © Hannah George 2015

  The right of Hannah George to be identified as the illustrator of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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