Blinky Bill

by Dorothy Wall

  “Me!” called out a tiny voice.

  “I can’t see you. Stand in front please,” Blinky shouted in his bassest voice.

  “I’m here!” came the reply. Looking down Blinky saw Master Trapdoor Spider at his feet.

  “Where’s your present?” he asked.

  “I haven’t brought one,” Master Trapdoor said boldly. “But if you don’t let me have a dip I’ll poison you.”

  “A nasty fellow! Let him have his dip,” whispered Mrs Possum.

  “I’ll get your prize out for you,” said Blinky, in a generous voice, and Master Trapdoor’s eyes glistened with excitement.

  Blinky pulled out a parcel, unwrapped the leaf and a huge frog jumped out.

  In a twinkling he had gobbled up Master Trapdoor.

  “That’s what comes through being rude!” said Blinky, as he eyed the rest of the customers sternly.

  Several very quietly crawled or flew away, as they evidently did not want the same thing to happen to them.

  “Come on, who’s next?” Blinky called.

  “I am!” cried Madam Hare.

  “Where’s your present?” Blinky asked.

  “Here it is, and a very valuable one too!” Madam Hare replied, as she placed a whisker at his feet.

  “Looks as though it’s been used,” muttered Blinky. “Take your dip quickly please.” He had good cause to remember Madam Hare, and thought it best to be polite.

  With a bound Madam Hare sprang right on top of the dip. Blinky bit his lip and clenched his paws, he was feeling so savage.

  Madam Hare gave a kick with her hind legs and sent dozens of parcels flying out of the dip.

  “Hey! Stop that!” cried Blinky angrily. But Madam Hare only gave another kick. Out came more parcels.

  “Stop it! Stop it at once!” cried Blinky, and pounced on Madam Hare, biting her ear.

  She turned suddenly and sprang out of the bin with two parcels in her mouth.

  “Catch her! Catch her!” Blinky called, as he raced away after the thief.

  Madam Hare was too quick for him. Away she bounded, over the stalls, knocking things down as she went and not caring a button for the shouts and screams behind her. Into the bush she raced and didn’t stop until she came to her home. There she untied the parcels, and savagely kicked them about when she saw what they contained. One was a bundle of straw and the other the leaf of a stinging-nettle.

  “The robbers!” she cried, as she kicked them again and again.

  Losing no time, Blinky raced back to the lucky-dip, just in time to find all the customers opening the parcels that Madam Hare had kicked out.

  “Put them down! Put them down!” he roared. The customers scampered away, each carrying a prize. As Blinky stood and gazed at the empty lucky-dip, feeling very sorry about it all, and still very angry, his friends the butcher-birds hopped round.

  “Was it a success?” they inquired.

  Blinky said nothing.

  “Where are all the presents?” they asked.

  “Go away, or I’ll eat you both,” Blinky growled.

  “He’s in a bad temper!” whispered the butcher-birds, and flew off while it was safe.

  Curling himself up in a corner Blinky decided to have a sleep, as chasing Madam Hare and fighting Mrs Flying Fox had made him very tired.

  Nodding his little head, and curling his toes up he was soon dreaming again of Mrs Koala and Mrs Grunty. He did not wake until daylight, and looking around he was surprised to find all the bush folk had vanished. The presents and goods had all gone too, and only an old owl gazed at him from a nearby tree.

  “It’s time you made a start for home,” said the owl.

  “I’m not going home,” replied Blinky.

  “Wise little bears won’t stay here too long,” said the owl.

  “Why?” asked Blinky.

  “This is Mr Smifkins’s favourite shooting-place,” replied the old owl. “He has a gun and a big dog, and when they come along and find you here you’ll be rabbit pie in two twos.”

  “Where does Mr Smifkins live?” Blinky inquired.

  “Down behind the moon! Whoo! Whoo!” answered the owl.

  “Whoo! Whoo!” echoed Blinky. “I’m not afraid of Mr Smifkins. I’m going to see where he lives.”

  “You’ll be rabbit pie in two twos,” said the old owl.

  “Whoo! Whoo!” cried the owl,

  “I beg your pardon?” said Blinky.

  “Whoo! Whoo!” the old owl called again, his great round eyes gazing at Blinky.

  “Will you show me the way to Mr Smifkins’s, please, Mr Owl?” Blinky pleaded.

  “Follow me, Whoo! Whoo!” the owl answered and flew away to another tree.

  Blinky trotted along, his funny little legs going wobbly, wobbly as he went.

  “Little bear,” he cried softly, “it is too light for me to see farther.”

  The old owl waited patiently until his little friend was under the tree, then crying “whoo, whoo,” off he flew again to the next tree.

  Here he waited for Blinky and flew to the ground to meet him.

  “Little bear,” he cried softly, “it is too light for me to see farther, we must sleep now until the sun goes down. I am as blind as a bat in the day time and here is a tree with nice young gum-leaves on it waiting for you to taste.”

  “I’m very hungry,” said Blinky. “They never think to have food for bears at bazaars. Only nasty flies and frogs and mosquitoes.”

  “Well, come up into the branches and I will show you gum-leaves made specially for young bears,” said the kind old owl.

  Blinky climbed up the tree and sat next to his friend chewing young tender leaves until he could eat no more.

  “Whoo! Whoo! It’s time to sleep!” said the owl.

  “I feel tired, too,” replied Blinky. And so cuddled together, a strange-looking pair, they snoozed and waited until the moon arose.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mr Smifkins’s Farm

  linky was awakened by a soft “whoo, whoo”. He sat up and blinked his eyes. There was the moon shining through the leaves like a big golden penny and Mr Owl’s eyes looked almost as large as he gazed at Blinky.

  “Time to get up,” he said very quietly.

  “Is Mr Smifkins’s far away?” Blinky inquired.

  “About six tree stops from here,” Mr Owl replied. “We’d better make a start while the bush is cool.”

  Grunting with glee Blinky crawled down the tree and as he reached the ground the old owl flew on ahead. After they had reached six stopping places Blinky looked up in the tree as Mr Owl hooted.

  “This is as far as I come,” he said.

  “Where is the farm?” Blinky asked.

  “Follow the track you are now on and in a very short time you will come to a fence. That is where the Smifkinses live.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr Owl, for showing me the way,” Blinky called out.

  “Whoo, whoo!” the old owl cried and on noiseless wings he was gone.

  “Seems to be very quiet and lonely just here,” Blinky thought as he pattered along.

  Presently he came to an opening in the trees and peering through he saw the fence just a few yards ahead, Farther on he could see a house with a light gleaming in the window and smoke rising from the chimney. Under the fence he crawled and through a potato patch, then very quietly he crept through the orchard. Here he sat and waited. Mr Smifkins’s dog was barking and Blinky remembered what Mr Owl had said about that dog.

  He waited until the light went out in the window and then crept nearer and nearer the house. On to the veranda he climbed and softly tiptoed round to the back door. Everything was locked up there, so he decided to explore the side of the house.

  Peeping round the corner he saw a bed on the veranda and thought he’d have a look to see what was in it. So softly as a cat he went and sniffed the end of the blanket. Some very funny sounds came from under that blanket.

  Blinky held his breath with fright.

&n
bsp; “What a dreadful noise!” he thought. “I must see where it is coming from.”

  Climbing up on the bed he crawled along the side, and — oh dear, what a funny sight he saw!

  Mr Smifkins was fast asleep making such queer noises with his mouth open; and over his head was a long white net.

  Blinky gazed and gazed at him. Never had he seen anything so funny. Why, he even had whiskers just like Mr Wombat, only much thicker, and they drooped all over his chin, while Mr Wombat’s stuck out straight and stiff.

  “I must take some of those whiskers to show Mr Wombat,” Blinky whispered to himself. Wouldn’t Mrs Grunty like some to pad her gum-leaf cushion with! and then his mother could make use of them for sewing on buttons.

  Blinky put out his paw and made a sharp tug at the whiskers.

  Snore, snore. Mr Smifkins had no idea he had a visitor.

  Lifting the net very cautiously, Blinky put out his paw and made a sharp tug at the whiskers.

  “Good heavens!” Mr Smifkins jumped six feet in the air.

  “Gee whizzikins! What the dickens was that?” he cried.

  As he shouted he made a leap out of bed quite forgetting the mosquito-net over his head. Down it came, right over him, tangling up his legs and arms. He seemed to have six pairs of legs and dozens of arms.

  Blinky made a dive under the bed, terrified beyond words, and lay there panting with fright.

  “Fancy whiskers doing that!” he murmured.

  The whole bed was shaking in an alarming manner, and such terrible words and growls came from Mr Smifkins.

  “To billy-o with this net!” he roared; while rips and kicks rent the air.

  Just as the commotion was at its worst Mr Smifkins’s dog came round the corner, snarling and growling. Blinky did not want to see what was going to happen. He raced from under the bed and down off the veranda and right into the legs of Mrs Smifkins.

  “Burglars!” she screamed at the top of her voice, and kept on screaming.

  Hearing this, Mr Smifkins took one leap off the veranda, the net all over him, and as he rushed along he waved his arms, frantically trying to get rid of it.

  Mr Smifkins took one leap off the veranda, the net all over him.

  Poor Mrs Smifkins took one look and raced for her life round the house.

  “Ghosts! Ghosts!” she yelled, as she tore round to the back door, with Mr Smifkins in hot pursuit. “Help! Help! Burglars! Ghosts!” she kept calling at the top of her voice, and ran right into old Neddy the draught-horse, who was snoozing under the kitchen window. He looked up, surprised to hear such dreadful screams on such a quiet night, and caught one glimpse of Mr Smifkins coming round the corner.

  Hoosh! Up went his hind legs and with a frightened neigh he raced off for the paddock, crashing over the lettuce bed, through the tomato frames, and away into the night.

  Mrs Smifkins reached the back door in a flash. Bang! and she was inside, still screaming “Ghosts!”

  All this time Mr Smifkins was using those strange words at the top of his voice. He roared like a bull and made mad lunges at things that got in his way. Just as he rushed past the old apple-tree the net caught in the branches and thank goodness it stayed there. Mr Smifkins’s dog added to the uproar with his yelps and barks and tried very hard to bite his master’s legs as the chase was in progress.

  Panting and very, very cross, Mr Smifkins banged on the back door as his wife had locked him out.

  “Don’t be a fool!” he roared. But Mrs Smifkins refused to open the door.

  She knew it was a ghost she had seen.

  Suddenly Mr Smifkins thought of the cause of all this trouble. What on earth could have pulled his whiskers? So once again he set off to investigate.

  Blinky was very thankful that Mr Smifkins’s dog chased his master, as it gave him a chance to hide.

  After colliding with Mrs Smifkins he was nearly collapsing with fright. Over the garden he rushed and through a gate that had foolishly been left open. Here was shelter at last he thought, as he saw a shed in front of him. Stumbling and rushing on he darted through a hole in the wall, and — landed right in the middle of the fowl-house where all the silly old hens and roosters were asleep. They cackled and crowed with fright; fell off their perches, and floundered around all over the fowl-house in the dark. You never heard such a row!

  Somewhere Blinky was in the middle of it. Feathers flew, and the old hens became hysterical. To make matters worse Mr Smifkins and his dog were coming.

  “I’ll have you, whatever you are!” he called at the top of his voice.

  “A fox. I’ll bet my hat it is!” he cried as he came nearer and nearer. Blinky was lucky in being able to see in the dark and through the feathers and straw that flew about he spied a box in the corner.

  With a bound he was in, and, ugh! something soft cracked under him. He did not know he was in a nest and had sat on Mrs Speckles’s best egg. He lay there huddled up, straw and feathers all over him, one eye peeping round the corner watching for Mr Smifkins. It was a terrible moment and his breath seemed to leave him altogether.

  “What the dickens did I do with my matches?” Mr Smifkins growled, as he crawled into the fowl-house. His entrance caused more cackling and the poor old hens flapped about madly. They were not used to midnight visitors. But Mr Smifkins took no heed of the cackling and squawking, he was determined to find the animal that had caused all this disturbance. Worst of all he called his dog in.

  “Here Bluey! Skeech him out of it,” he ordered at the top of his voice.

  Bluey was a cattle-dog and it did not take him many moments to nose his way to the nest.

  Blinky scratched his nose as hard as he could and kicked with all his might. Bluey yelped with pain and fright and darted round to the back of the box.

  “Here, let me there!” called Mr Smifkins, who had found his matches by now and was holding the light in his hands. Carefully peering into the box he saw Blinky, shuddering with fright, one paw raised, ready to scratch.

  “Well, I’ll be blowed!” Mr Smifkins cried in astonishment. “A koala — of all things. You young beggar. Come out of it my lad, and let me have a look at you.”

  But Blinky had no intention of coming out. He growled louder and louder.

  Mr Smifkins bent his head lower to have an extra good look at the mischief maker. At the same moment, Blinky kicked out a bundle of straw, feathers, and a broken egg, right into Mr Smifkins’s face. The match went out and — oh! Mr Smifkins lost his temper.

  “You young devil!” he roared. “You bad young egg-stealer! You’ll come along with me now, and I’ll teach you how to behave like a gentleman. Sneaking round a fellow’s bed in the dark — frightening the wits out of his wife and hens, and driving old Neddy into twenty fits all at once. Come out of it or I’ll rake you out!”

  Blinky only huddled up all the closer in the nest and growled his loudest.

  “So you won’t come out!” shouted Mr Smifkins, seizing the rake he kept to clean the fowl-house with. “Out you come, and no nonsense,” he cried as he poked the end of the rake in the box. Blinky bit it and scratched with rage. Mr Smifkins poked harder and poked Blinky right in the tummy.

  This was too much for him. With a scurry and flurry he bounded out of the box. But Mr Smifkins was waiting and grabbed him by a hind leg as he tried to dart past.

  “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” he yelled. “You bad young turnip!”

  Blinky was too angry to be frightened any longer. He turned like lightning and bit Mr Smifkins on the arm, at the same time clawing and scratching for all he was worth.

  “A nice kettle of fish, you are!” Mr Smifkins cried. “Just wait a moment my boy, and we’ll soon settle this argument.”

  With one hand firmly holding Blinky’s hind leg he managed with the other to take off his pyjama trousers. Wrapping them tightly round Blinky, he crawled out of the fowl-house with a struggling, kicking bundle under his arm.

  He did look funny, as he walked away, his shirt-t
ails flapping behind him and his pyjama coat torn in patches.

  Blinky kicked and kicked; but it was useless. He was held a prisoner. Goodness knows what would happen now. Perhaps he would be made into rabbit pie as wise old Mr Owl said.

  Mr Smifkins stumped home with a very determined step, saying the most frightful things all the time. He hammered on the back door.

  “Who’s there?” Mrs Smifkins called.

  “Open the door at once!” her husband replied. “I’ve caught the burglar!”

  “Has he any guns on him?” she asked in a frightened voice.

  “No! but he’s got claws like a tiger,” Mr Smifkins replied.

  “We can’t keep a tiger here!” his wife screamed. “Shoot him! Kill him quickly.”

  “Open the door!” Mr Smifkins roared. “I’m catching cold in the legs.”

  Very slowly the door opened an inch or two and Mrs Smifkins peered out with one eye.

  “Where’s the tiger?” she asked trembling.

  “Here he is!” said Mr Smifkins, pushing the door wide open with his foot and holding up the struggling bundle.

  “Whatever is it?” Mrs Smifkins asked, her eyes wide with amazement.

  “A young bear, and a very lively one, too!” her husband replied as he walked into the kitchen and carefully placed the bundle on the floor.

  “Oh, how beautiful!” Mrs Smifkins cried. “I’ll have him for a pet.”

  “Will you!” Blinky thought to himself as he struggled to get free.

  “He’s as fat as a young pig,” Mr Smifkins remarked as he untied the pyjama trousers.

  “Good heavens! He’s in knickerbockers,” Mrs Smifkins cried. “He must belong to some child.”

  At last Blinky was free. He looked a sorry sight. Torn bockers, fur all rumpled, and straw and egg sticking all over him.

  “I’ll give the poor little thing a bath!” said kind Mrs Smifkins.

  “Indeed you won’t,” thought Blinky, as he darted away under the table.

  “I don’t think it would be wise to bath him tonight,” Mr Smifkins advised. “Wait till the morning and we’ll have a good clean up then.”