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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 3 (June 1, 1938.)

The Magic Island — Chapter II. — What Happened to Peter

page 47

The Magic Island
Chapter II.
What Happened to Peter
.

Now” said Michael, “we'll put it just opposite the door.”

“It” was an old drawing board of Barbara's which had chalked on it in bad spelling and irregular lettering, “Mr. Willum Wigins of the Crasy Cotige.”

“Won't he get a shock when he sees that,” said Peter, who had forgotten all about his little argument with Michael.

“Rather!” exclaimed Michael.” There! How's that?” He placed the board against the side of the cottage. The four children admired the effect from a distance.

“Let's wait until he comes back and see what he does,” suggested June. Once a week, on a Wednesday, the little man went into the township to do his shopping and as that day happened to be a Wednesday, the children felt safe in coming to the cottage.

There were clumps of bushes a little distance away and the children hid behind them. They did not have long to wait. Along the road came the queer little man wearing a wide-brimmed hat pointed at the top. His long shoes flapped up and down as he walked. He was carrying a basket full of parcels.

Straight up to the cottage he walked, looking neither to right nor to left. With a little key he opened the door, appearing not to notice the board. The door slammed behind him. Then a minute later the door opened and a bony hand stretched out and with one swift pull the board disappeared within the cottage and the door slammed again. The children looked at each other, their heads just peeping above the bushes. Peter, who had not seen the little man before, was the first to find his voice. “Gee! He's funny, isn't he? I wonder who he really is? I do wish we could find out.”

“I know,” said Michael, “wouldn't it be fun if we could come down here one night and try and get inside the cottage through that little window on the roof.”

“Oh, goody!” shouted June, “Do let's do that to-night!”

And so the plot was hatched.

That night the children were too excited to sleep. It was about eleven o'clock when Michael jumped out of bed. “It's time Barbara,” he whispered. Barbara needed no second bidding. They dressed quickly and tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house. They crept through the hole in the fence and there, waiting for them on the lawn of the house next door, were June and Peter.

“Listen,” said Peter, “we can't get up to the roof without a ladder. There's a small one round by the side of the house and some rope, we might need that.”

“Good,” said Michael. “Let's get them.” They hurried round the corner of the house and soon returned struggling with the ladder. So with the rope wound round it, the four children started off along the road carrying the ladder shoulder high.

When the yellow cottage was reached, the children set to work quietly-unwound the rope and placed the ladder against the wall.

“Let me go! Let me go!” screamed the Goblin.

“Let me go! Let me go!” screamed the Goblin.

“It's creepy here at night, isn't it?” said Barbara with a shiver.

June, who had been looking about with wide open eyes, gave a scream and pointed with a shaking hand at the clump of bushes.

“Look! Look! It's over there!”

“What ?” exclaimed Michael.

“There it is again! It ran from behind the bushes!” shouted June excitedly. “It's-it's a goblin!”

“Why, yes!” shouted Peter, “I can see it!” He ran over to the bushes. A minute later there came a faint squeal and Peter appeared triumphantly from behind the bushes, holding in his hand, a biting, kicking, little goblin.

“Let me go! Let me go!” screamed the goblin in a squeaky voice, struggling to free himself with all his might.

“Oh, isn't he lovely!” exclaimed June.

“What shall we do with him?” asked Michael.

“Let me go! Let me go!” screamed the goblin again.

“No fear,” said Peter, “I'm going to take you home.”

“You can't! You can't!” shouted the goblin, almost beside himself with anger, his little green cap jogging from side to side.

“What are you doing here?” asked Barbara.

“I won't tell you! Let me go!”

“If you don't,” said Peter, “I'll dash you to the ground.”

The poor little goblin stopped biting and kicking at that threat and began to tremble like a leaf. “Y-you- w-ouldn't d-dare!” he said.

“Wouldn't I just,” said Peter, and held him up in the air as if to throw him to the ground.

“Oh, Peter, don't hurt him,” said Barbara, “He's only such a little thing.”

“I will if he doesn't tell. Will you?”

The goblin looked up at Peter. “All page 48 page 49 right, I'll tell. I'm here because I live here.”

“Live here!” exclaimed Michael, “Where ?”

“There in the cottage,” replied the goblin, pointing with his tiny finger at the yellow cottage.

“Not with Mr. William Wiggins ?” asked Barbara.

“Mr. William Wiggins!” exclaimed-the goblin in puzzled tones. “Who is he ?”

“You know,” put in June, “the man with the bald head and tremendously large shoes.”

“Oh,” the goblin, stopped for a moment and a grin spread over his tiny wizened face, “You mean the goblin's friend. Mr. Wiggins is not his name.”

“What is his name, then?” asked Peter, “Come on, tell”-But he did not finish the sentence for the goblin, who had been waiting his chance to escape, had managed to put his hand into his tiny pocket and taking out a thorn needle, had thrust it sharply into Peter's hand, and as Peter released his grip, he had jumped to the ground and darted away.

“Ooh ! The little beast!” exclaimed Peter, sucking at the palm of his hand, “That hurt!”

“Well, I suppose you were hurting him,” said Barbara.

“Let's see if we can find him,” said June, eagerly.

But though they hunted high and low, the goblin could not be found. He had gone for good.

“I wonder what he meant when he said that Mr. William Wiggins was the goblin's friend,” said Michael.

“Perhaps,” said Barbara, “That is why he built this cottage so that it would be easy for the goblin to go and see him!”

“I wish we knew. If we could only find out his name,” sighed Peter. “I've asked everyone in the town, and no one knows it, or knows anything about him-where he comes from or anything,” he finished.

“It's no good waiting round here and doing nothing,” said Michael.

“All right, then,” said Peter, “I'll go up the ladder. I'm dying to see what's inside the cottage.”

Without wasting any time he began to climb the ladder and was soon standing on the sloping roof.

“Careful,” said June in a voice just above a whisper.

“Throw up the rope, Michael,” said Peter, “and tie your end onto the ladder.”

The rope soared through the air and Peter caught it. “Is the rope tied?” he asked.

“Yes,” whispered Michael.

“Righto, I'm going to see if I can open the window.” He knelt on the roof and tried to lift the window with his hands, but it was stuck fast. He took out of his pocket his brand new pocket knife which his father had given him for his birthday a fortnight previously. He scraped underneath the ledge of the window and levered it up. At last there was a faint creak, and the window opened. He pulled it wide and peered into the darkness below.

“Can't see anything,” he said, leaning over the roof and looking onto the children below. “I think I'll go in.”

He sent the rope down into the cottage and slowly put his foot over the ledge of the window. He then slipped hand over hand down the rope into the darkness.

The children waited for him anxiously.

Five minutes-ten minutes went by with no sign of Peter.

“I think I'll go in after him,” said Michael. He began to climb up the ladder and was half-way up, when bang! the window had closed and the rope which had been dangling through the window into the cottage fell off the roof onto the ground. It was very much shorter for one end had been cut off.

Michael scampered down the ladder. “Peter-Peter's been taken by the goblins!” he stuttered. “I know he has! He's in there and can't get out!”

“Oh! Oh! sobbed June, “I wish we hadn't come! I'll never, never see Peter again!”

“The goblins have taken Peter because he caught that goblin to-night, but we'll get him out of the cottage somehow,” said the more resourceful Barbara, though inwardly her heart was quaking. She had heard stories about people being captured by goblins and it was awfully hard to get the captured person free again. You must have something belonging to the captured person at the time he was taken prisoner, then you had to throw it into a ring of goblins and that broke the spell.

When the circus comes to town.

When the circus comes to town.

“We must get something belonging to Peter,” she said, “I've read stories all about goblins capturing people. I know what we can get!” she exclaimed. “His knife! I'm sure it's up there on the roof. Go up and see, Michael.”

Up the ladder scrambled Michael, and there sure enough, gleaming in the moonlight was Peter's brand new knife.

“Now,” he said, when he was safely on the ground again. “I'm going to make them come to the door.”

He went and banged at the door. No answer came from within. And though Michael continued banging and they all shouted together, “Let Peter out! Let Peter out!” several times, there was no sign of movement within the cottage.

“Oh,” sobbed June, “What are we going to do ?”

“I think,” answered Barbara, “That we really should tell Mummy.”

“Yes,” agreed Michael, “and we'd better go quickly. I wonder what Mummy and Daddy will say when we tell them where we've been to-night.”

“Oh! Oh!” sobbed June, “I want Peter!”

And so the children, feeling very miserable and leaving the ladder and rope behind them, hurried homewards along the road.

(To be continued.)