Enid Blyton Read Online Free Page B

hand down—and pulled out a baby-rabbit!
    "You're more magic than the other  conjurer!" shouted Jackie. "You really are! You're—you're ..."
    And just then the door opened and Jackie's mother came in to see what the noise was. Mr. Pink-Whistle disappeared just in time.
    "Look! Look! A conjurer has been here, and he made this rabbit come out of my bed!" squealed Jackie. "Oh, I'm so happy! It's my very own rabbit for me!"
    "But there's no conjurer here!" said Jackie's mother in astonishment, looking all round. And yet—the rabbit was certainly there. How very, very strange!
    A little giggle came from the window, out of which Mr. Pink-Whistle was quietly climbing. Down he went—and off into the world again to find something else to put right. Hurry, Mr. Pink-Whistle!

CHAPTER V

    THE DOG WHO LOST HIS COLLARS

    NOW once Mr. Pink-Whistle had a rather queer adventure. It was with a little terrier dog.
    The dog's name was Jinky, and it lived with its master and mistress in a nice little house in the town. Jinky was a friendly dog, and loved to welcome people, and he was always ready to put out his small red tongue to lick anyone.
    But now, week after week, he was in disgrace. His mistress and master scolded him hard—and now he had been whipped.

    It was the first time, and he was very unhappy.
    "You are a very bad little dog to keep losing your nice new collars!" his mistress said to him. "You lost your first new red collar, and we bought you a green one with your name on it. You lost that the very next day! Then you had a fine brown one with bright studs all round it— and you came home without it the next week! And now you have lost the new blue one we gave you yesterday!"
    "Woof!" said Jinky sadly.
    "You are very naughty not to want to wear your collar," said his master sternly. "All dogs wear collars. So do their masters! You should be proud to be like your master! I can't imagine how you get your collar off, you bad dog, but just remember this, that you will be whipped and locked up in your kennel every time you do it!"

    Jinky's master banged the kennel-gate and left poor Jinky shut up inside. He was very sad. He lay and whined pitifully. It wasn't fair! He hadn't lost his collars! A horrid big boy had taken them away from him each time! But he couldn't tell his master that, because he could only talk doggy language, and no two-legged people understood it.

    Just then somebody came by who  did  understand whines and yelps and barks. It was fat little Mr. Pink-Whistle of course! He was half a brownie, and his big pointed ears could understand all that the birds and animals said, just as the real brownies could.
    So Mr. Pink-Whistle could hear all that poor Jinky was saying as he passed by the little house. To you and to me it might have sounded like "Ooooo! Oooooo! Oooooo! Yelp, yelp, yelp! Oooooo!! Oooooo"
    But to Mr. Pink-Whistle it sounded like this: "Oh, how sad I am! Oh, how unfair everything is! Oh, what a poor little dog I am, whipped for nothing! Oh, how I love my master and mistress, and now I have made them unhappy; but I couldn't help it, and they have made me unhappy too—but they could help it! Oh, tails and whiskers, I wish I wasn't a dog!"
    Mr. Pink-Whistle stopped and listened in astonishment.

    What could be the matter with the poor little dog? He made himself disappear and then he walked up the garden path and looked for the kennel. Inside was Jinky, his head on his paws, whining away to himself.
    "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Pink-Whistle in surprise. Jinky looked up. He couldn't see anyone, but he could smell somebody. How queer!
    "It's all right," said Mr. Pink-Whistle, patting Jinky. "I'm here, though you can't see me! Tell me, what's the matter?"
    So Jinky told him his trouble. "I'm being punished for something I didn't do," he whined. "But my master doesn't understand me when I try to tell him. A nasty, horrid boy keeps putting down lovely bones in the next street, and when I go to smell the