by Dorothy Wall
“Where will he sleep?” Mrs Smifkins then asked. “Will I take him in my bed? Or perhaps he’d be happier in yours, as he knows you better.”
“To billy-o with the bed!” said Mr Smifkins. “Look what he’s done to mine already.”
“Well, I’ll find a nice little box and he can stay here by the stove. That’ll keep him warm and comfy,” said Mrs Smifkins.
“That’s a good idea,” said Mr Smifkins.
So a box was placed by the stove with an old jacket in it to keep Blinky warm. But, he had been watching preparations carefully, and had made up his mind that no box would be his bed, as the last box caused him to be caught. He looked all round the kitchen trying to find some way of escape, but there seemed to be none. The window was closed and the door also.
“Come to your bed, little bear,” called Mrs Smifkins kindly.
Blinky only grunted savagely and glared at her.
“Leave the little chap alone, he’ll find his way into the box when we put the light out.” So Mr Smifkins and his wife said good night to Blinky, turned out the lamp, closed the door again and were gone.
“Thank goodness!” sighed Blinky. “Now I can explore.” He waited till his little heart stopped pounding so loudly, then softly crept from under the table, There was the box, all cosy and warm. Blinky took one look at it, growled, and walked around the kitchen to see if there was a way of escape.
“Yes!” he thought, as he came to a door not quite shut, “here’s where I escape.”
Pushing his little fat body through the opening he was disappointed to find himself in another room, much smaller, with rows and rows of shelves running all round it.
“Looks like a shop!” he said to himself. “I’ll find out what’s in here.”
Climbing on a chair he stood on tiptoe and had a good look all round.
There were dozens of jars of jam and preserves, boxes with lids on, bags filled with things, and piles of apples and oranges.
He sniffed an orange, and felt it with his paw. “Don’t like the smell of it,” he thought, then finding he could squeeze himself on to the shelf, he had a look at the bottles of jam.
Plum, apricot, orange, peach, loganberry, pineapple, and melon. Each bottle was labelled. But Blinky did not stop to read the name — he did not know the meaning anyhow. So the quickest way, he thought, to find out the contents was to taste. The plum jam was the nearest. Breaking the paper top with his claws he dipped his paw in and scooped up the lovely red jam. He tasted it, licked his lips and decided to try the next bottle. Loganberry it was labelled; scratching away the top, in went his paw and out came the sticky jam. It dropped all over the shelf and down Blinky’s front. But it was good! So the next bottle must be tasted. Every pot of jam was sampled, and that naughty bear’s paws and face were covered with a mixture unlike anything ever seen before. All his pretty fur on his chest and tummy dripped jam. Every bottle was covered with the sticky stuff and the shelf too. As he carefully walked in and out of the things on the shelf he left jammy foot-prints behind.
He quite forgot to look for an escape as he was having such a glorious time.
Suddenly he caught sight of a dish full of eggs. “They look funny things. I must see what they are,” he murmured.
Patting one with his paw he found it cold and hard, and decided to taste it; but he could not catch it in his paw so put out his claws to get a firmer hold.
Crack! The egg broke and out came everything. “That’s funny!” laughed Blinky, and gave another egg a smack with his paw. Crack! It went just like the other one.
“Goodness! What silly things!” And Blinky laughed. Then he stood on his hind legs and with his two front paws came down smack! smack! on all the eggs. Oh, what an awful mess there was! Eggs and jam were all over his paws; and such nasty things, too, for a little bear to have on his fur. He licked one paw after another to shake the sticky stuff off.
“Ker-chew! Ker-chew!” he sneezed as the milk ran up his nose.
Poor Miss Smifkins’s best teacups, standing so neatly on the shelf, in a jiffy were spattered with eggs and jam.
Still exploring the wonderful shelf, he found a jug of milk. In went the paw and up to his mouth. “Um, urn,” Blinky grunted, as he licked his paw all over. The milk tasted good, so another dip in the jug and another lick followed. Finding it so nice, he stuck his head in the jug to have a good long drink. The milk was the best taste of all.
“Ker-chew! Ker-chew!” Blinky sneezed as the milk came up his nose, but he drank and drank until the jug was empty. Then, grunting with satisfaction, he sat down to see what next he could taste.
Some cakes under a wire cover looked very nice, and just as Blinky was crawling along the shelf to try one, he caught sight of a tiny mouse peeping out of his hole.
Blinky gave a grunt.
The mouse popped his head back in his hole. In a few minutes he had another look out.
Blinky gave another grunt. But the mouse became brave and gazed up at Blinky with bright little eyes.
“Good evening, Mr Bear,” he said in a tiny squeaking voice.
“Good evening, Mr Mouse,” Blinky replied. “What are you doing in here?”
“I’ve come to look for my supper.”
“Do you like sticky things?”
“No, Mr Bear,” the mouse answered. “I like cheese and crumbs.”
“Cheese? What’s that?”
“The best thing in the world to make your whiskers grow,” the mouse replied. “And I smell some somewhere.”
“Then come out of your hole and I’ll help you to find it,” Blinky said boldly.
“You won’t eat me, will you?” the little mouse asked anxiously.
“No,” said Blinky softly. “I’ve seen Mrs Kookaburra eat dozens of your relations, but I don’t like tails!”
“I’ll find you some cheese, then,” said Mr Mouse. “And once you’ve tasted it, you’ll eat nothing else.”
Coming out of his hole Mr Mouse scurried here and there; into corners he popped, and bags and boxes he’d gnaw so quickly and silently that Blinky was astounded.
“Wait a minute, Mr Mouse,” he whispered. “I’ll come down and help you.”
Very carefully he walked round the shelf again, all through the sticky muddle until he reached the chair. He climbed down, leaving jam everywhere. The pretty blue chair that Mrs Smifkins had just painted was decorated with paw marks and blobs.
“What a fat bear you are!” Mr Mouse remarked.
“I’ve just had a nice drink,” Blinky replied. “But where’s this cheese?”
“Let’s look over in that corner behind the sugar-bin,” Mr Mouse advised.
“You go first,” Blinky whispered.
Mr Mouse scampered away and Blinky saw his tail disappear round the bin.
“Here it is! Come and smell,” Mr Mouse called. Blinky crawled over to the corner, but he was far too big and fat to squeeze round behind the sugar-bin.
“Let’s have a look,” he said in a whisper.
“See, here it is, right in the corner!” Mr Mouse said, pointing to a funny looking object.
“It looks like wood to me,” Blinky replied as he squeezed his nose and eye round the end of the bin.
“It looks different to what it usually is,” said Mr Mouse. “But I can smell it, and the smell’s the same.”
“Stick your paw in and see,” advised Blinky.
“All right,” said Mr Mouse. “You keep an eye open for Mrs Smifkins.”
“Hurry up, then,” said Blinky. “She may be in any minute.” Really and truly he had forgotten all about the Smifkinses, and now that Mr Mouse mentioned them, he felt rather nervous.
Mr Mouse crept closer to the strange object. He put out his whiskers and sniffed. Yes, it was cheese, and no mistake.
“Grab it,” Blinky whispered.
Mr Mouse became braver and made a dart at the cheese.
Snap!
“Goodness! What was that?” Blinky asked, frightened b
eyond everything. Mr Mouse made no reply.
“What was that noise?” Blinky asked again. But still Mr Mouse did not reply.
“Are you gobbling up all the cheese?” Blinky asked angrily. Still Mr Mouse did not reply.
Becoming alarmed at his friend’s silence, Blinky pushed his other eye into the narrow space and — oh, how dreadful! He turned pale with fright and sprang out of the corner.
Poor Mr Mouse was lying on the floor, his head caught in the trap and his body as flat as a pancake. Even his tail looked dead, Blinky thought. It lay so still and straight.
“Well, if that’s cheese, I don’t want any,” he muttered to himself. “And I’m getting out of this Smifkins place. It is too dangerous.”
“Well if that’s cheese, I don’t want any,” he muttered to himself.
Trembling with fright and still quite pale, he pattered around the pantry, and imagine his joy when he saw a tiny window open not far above the shelf. He wasted no time in climbing up again, and in his excitement knocked down Mrs Smifkins’s very best fruit dish.
“Poof!” he said as he took a hurried glance at the broken dish. “Serves her right for killing Mr Mouse.” Up to the window-ledge he climbed. It was a very small window, just large enough as it happened for him to squeeze through, and best of all, outside stood a big gum-tree, with one branch right up against the window. Blinky was in that tree in no time. But when he had time to think about matters, he thought it wisest to go right away from the Smifkinses’ house; so softly he climbed down out of the tree. Over the orchard he went, and back into the bush again.
Oh, dear! it was beautiful to see all the gum-trees again. And he felt very, very happy as he heard the different birds calling to one another just as day broke. Finding a comfortable tree, one that was very tall and straight, he climbed to the topmost branch and there, cuddled up in a corner, closed his tired little eyes and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 9
Blinky Meets Willie Wagtail
ug, tug, tug. “Whatever is that?” Blinky thought as he opened his eyes and looked around, still feeling rather sleepy. Something had pulled his ear.
Before he had time to make quite sure that he was not dreaming, another tug fully awakened him.
“Could it be Mr Smifkins again?” he wondered, and carefully put up his paw to feel his ear.
Imagine his surprise when he felt a little bird, and screwing up his eyes he tried to see what cheeky fellow was trying to nest there.
All he could see was a very pretty tail that kept bobbing about, first in one direction and then in another.
“Ah! I know who you are!” Blinky said very cheerily. “You’re Willie Wagtail.”
“Quite true,” came the reply. “I’m sorry I woke you, Mr Koala, but I’m in such a hurry to finish my nest. My wife is growing quite impatient because she wants to lay her eggs and the nest is not quite ready. Do you mind if I gather a few more hairs from your ears? They are so silky and pretty, and besides, I think the colour will look very well with the grass I have gathered.”
“Go ahead,” Blinky answered. “Only don’t pull too many at once.”
“Thank you very much,” Willie replied. “You know it is very difficult to gather the necessary materials for our nest right here in the middle of the bush.”
“How is that?” Blinky inquired, as the tug, tug at his ears proceeded.
“There are no cattle or sheep,” Willie replied.
“What use are they to you?” said Blinky curiously.
“Why, we gather the hair from the cows’ and horses’ backs, and the wool from the sheep,” Willie Wagtail explained. “It makes a nest so cosy when lined with wool, and of course the hair binds the grass together.”
“Don’t pull so hard!” Blinky cried impatiently. “And for goodness’ sake keep that tail of yours still.”
“Sorry,” said Willie in an apologetic voice. “I forgot for the moment that I was plucking a bear’s ears and not a cow’s back. Their hair is much harder to pull. Do you know, I actually pulled hair from the back of Mr Smifkins’s cat once.”
“You were brave.”
“Yes, it was rather a daring thing to do,” Willie replied. “But the cat did not seem to mind.”
“Did you ever try pulling Mr Smifkins’s whiskers?” Blinky asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Goodness gracious, no! I wouldn’t be so bold!” Willie replied.
“Well, I did,” said naughty Blinky, “and he did get cross. In fact, he went quite mad for a time.”
“Don’t pull so hard!” Blinky cried impatiently.
“You must be a brave bear,” said Willie. And he gave an extra sharp tug at Blinky’s ear.
“That’s enough!” Blinky cried. “You’ll leave me bald soon; and I’ve been very kind to give you so many.”
“You have, indeed,” Willie said politely. “You’ve no idea how pleased Mrs Wagtail will be with these hairs. They are quite a novelty.”
“How often does your wife lay eggs?” Blinky inquired. “Because if you are short at any time I know where you can get heaps and heaps.”
“She lays them twice a year,” Willie replied. “But I never know the day when she will stop, so I’d be pleased to know where I could find some — just in case of emergency.”
“Well, you fly into Mrs Smifkins’s pantry,” advised Blinky, “and you’ll see dozens and dozens of them.”
“That’s strange,” said Willie Wagtail. “I wonder if my wife has been laying away’?”
“That’s strange!” said Willie Wagtail. “I wonder if my wife has been ‘laying away’.”
“These are huge eggs, some white and some brown,” explained Blinky, who began to realize he may have said something that was not quite right.
“Oh, then they are none of ours,” said Willie. “You mean hen eggs, I think.”
“I believe you’re right,” said Blinky, “because now I come to think of it, I sat on one in a nest in the fowl-house.”
“Oh! Whatever did Mr Smifkins say?” Willie asked in a shocked tone.
“Nothing, nothing at all!” Blinky carelessly murmured. “By the way, Willie, what do you do with all your children? You must have hundreds of them by now.”
“Possibly,” said Willie, very seriously. “But as soon as they are old enough to feed and take care of themselves, we shoo them off. One can’t feed dozens of birds all the time, you know!”
“Well, my mother has only me for a child, and she says: ‘Thank goodness there are no more.’ That is, of course, when she is angry with me. But at other times she says: ‘I don’t know what I’d do without my son. I wish I had more.” Blinky’s eyes had a far-away look in them as he talked to Willie.
“That’s just like all mothers,” said Willie Wagtail, knowingly. “But I’ll have to be going, or I’ll get into trouble.”
“Take care of those hairs,” Blinky called as Willie flew off.
“Of course I shall,” called back Willie, and Blinky watched him as he darted this way and that until he was out of sight.
“A nice little fellow,” said Blinky softly, still watching the trees through which his friend had flown.
“I beg your pardon. Were you speaking to me?” said a tiny voice.
Blinky turned round in surprise. He thought he was alone.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Possum! How are you?” he said bravely. He was not going to let anyone see he had been startled.
“Very well, thank you,” Miss Possum replied. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, no, not so very far,” said naughty Blinky. “Anyway, a change of trees is good for a chap.”
“Quite so,” agreed Miss Possum, “providing you’re in the right one.”
“Is this a private tree?” Blinky inquired.
“Not exactly,” Miss Possum replied. “But we don’t allow all the ragtag to come here.”
“Who are the ragtag?” Blinky asked.
“Well, there’s Mrs Snake,
and old Granny Goanna, and a few more grumbly things. We don’t want them in our tree. They’re always crotchety and creeping around, peering round corners when we least expect them; and their eyes seem to be everywhere. If we make the least noise, they complain and hiss.”
“Why don’t you push them out?” Blinky asked.
“We did,” said Miss Possum proudly. “And what do you think we found when they had gone?”
“Don’t know,” Blinky said carelessly.
“They left a note to say that they would come back some day and steal our babies.” And Miss Possum’s eyes nearly dropped out with fright.
“The old thieves,” Blinky exclaimed. “Old Granny Goanna would eat a possum as soon as look at it, and as for Mrs Snake, she tried to kill me when I was a baby.”
“How dreadful!” cried Mrs Possum. “What do you think we could do to frighten them away?”
Blinky thought very hard for a minute, his nose wrinkled and his eyes blinking rapidly.
“I know!” he cried. “Well dig a big hole at the bottom of the tree and when the rain comes it will fill, and then, when they come to steal the babies, they’ll fall in and be drowned.”
“But Mrs Snake and Granny Goanna can swim,” exclaimed Miss Possum disappointedly.
“Well, that won’t do,” said Blinky, ‘I’ll have to think of something else.
“We could carry stones up the tree and when they come along, pelt them with big ones and kill them.”
“I can’t carry stones and climb as well,” Miss Possum replied.
“Oh, well,” Blinky said impatiently, “I’ll have to go and see Mr Owl. Perhaps he could think of something to do.”
“I’ll come with you if you’d like me to,” Miss Possum said quietly.
“No thanks!” Blinky replied, “I’ll manage by myself, and I’ll be back before long.”
Down the tree he climbed and scrambled through the bush, gazing up at every tall gum-tree in search of Mr Owl. Presently he heard away in the distance a soft “Whoo, whoo.”
“That’s him!” thought Blinky and hurried along as fast as he could. Nearer and nearer came the call of Mr Owl, and in a very short time Blinky saw him sitting away up in a very high tree. He trotted along to the tree, and then began to climb. Half-way up, just as he reached the lowest branch, Mr Owl flew down to meet him.