Enid Blyton by MR. PINK-WHISTLE INTERFERES

pig must be mad, or perhaps both of them.
    Or maybe it was a frightening kind of dream.
    "Well, I'd better take you back, and then perhaps I shall wake up," he said. So he snatched up the dancing pig, and ran off with it at top speed. He came to the children's garden and threw the pig over the wall. It landed on the grass.
    Mr. Crooky turned to go home. "Now don't you ever do such a wicked thing again!" a voice boomed in his ear, making him almost jump out of his skin. It was Mr. Pink-Whistle, of course, having one last smack at Mr. Crooky. The man tore off down the lane as if a hundred dogs were after him. Mr. Pink-Whistle made himself visible and climbed over the wall into the garden. He called the children.
    They came running to him and he showed them the pig, which he had picked up. "Here you are," he said. "Safely back again—and heavier than before."
    The children shouted with delight. They undid the little door in the pig's tummy and the money tumbled out. What a lot there was now!
    "More than we ever put in!" cried Katie. "Oh, how marvellous! How did it happen, little man? Tell us, do!"

    THE CHILDREN SHOUTED WITH DELIGHT AT GETTING THEIR MONEY-BOX BACK.
    But Pink-Whistle had vanished again. He didn't like being thanked. It was enough to see the children's joyful faces, and to know that they could buy their mother the present they had saved up for—and could buy her something else besides now!
    As for Mr. Crooky, he didn't get the money lent to him for the shop he wanted to start—and a very good thing, too! He is still puzzled whenever he thinks of that grunting, dancing, talking pig, but if he happens to read this story, he won't be puzzled any more!

CHAPTER X

    MR. PINK-WHISTLE HAS A
    GOOD IDEA

    ONE day Mr. Pink-Whistle was going along down a quiet road, when he saw a face looking at him out of a window.
    It was a nice face. It belonged to an old lady, whose hair shone silvery-grey in the sunshine, and whose eyes were blue and kind. But it was a sad face.
    "I'll go by here to-morrow, and see if the old lady is still looking out/' thought Pink-Whistle. "I shall be seeing that poor old pony in the field at the bottom of this road every day for some time, so I can easily come down this road and look out for the old lady."
    Mr. Pink-Whistle had made a new friend—a very old pony, who had worked hard all his life long, pulling heavy carts, taking his master to market, working willingly and well.
    He would have been very happy if he had had a kind master, but the man he worked for was rough and impatient, too ready with the whip, and always shouting.
    And now, when the pony was too old to pull heavy carts any more, and had been shut into the field, he was lonely and afraid.
    "You see," he said to Pink-Whistle, who, being half a brownie, understood animals very well, "you see, Mr. Pink-Whistle, I'm afraid that my master, now that I am no good to him, may sell me off to someone who will work me to death, and I really feel very tired and old now. I could do a little light work, but I'm afraid I couldn't do heavy work any more. I should fall down, and then I should be lashed and shouted at."
    "It's a shame," said Pink-Whistle. "It really is. But perhaps your master won't sell you to anyone who will work you like that. He certainly is not a kind or just man, but I don't believe his wife would let him do anything horrid to you."

    "I DO FEEL LONELY SOMETIMES," SAID THE POOR OLD PONY.
    "He might even sell me to be killed and sold as horse-flesh said the poor old pony. "You see, I really am no use to him now! I might pull a baby's pram, but I couldn't pull a cart any more. Oh, Mr. Pink-Whistle, I do feel so lonely and afraid sometimes. I don't know what I should do if you didn't come and talk to me."
    "Now I really can't bear this," thought kind Pink-Whistle to himself, each time he left the old pony, "What am I to do? I must put this right somehow, but how? Nobody wants a pony like that, and yet he deserves a little