THE FAIRY RING

Evening Post, Volume CXXV, Issue 148, 25 June 1938, Page 20

THE FAIRY RING

Pixie People:

' z You are' all working hard for Winter Page, for every mail ' brings chilly tales and pictures. Letterbox Elf and 1 are trying hard : i; to believe it is winter this morning, for the Ring is bright with sun- ,- shine, and on our way through the city this morning toe saw baskets of fonqidls, massed thickly as scrambled eggs for a giant's breakfast. Violets, heavy tvith raindrops, scented the air, too, and the pine trees seemed to shine with a new green glossiness after the showers. Why, there are new buds in our garden, where new buds ' . 'shouldjnbv'er-be seen even heard '■■" st6rssffil iii6souildingl' c W'kat tricks bM Winter is-pktying! little black-and-whitesketches are needed, my elves, ibr oujry§peeli(A Winter■ P(ige . . : tiny sUhotiettes that mark the-end-nf-the-stdry and dainty border drawings to keep the versemakers from wandering into the storymakers' corner. We've welcomed ever so many new artists to the Ring this month. I hope ive'll see their work in Winter Page. And here comes Letterbox Elf ivith twenty more letters ... just \ too late for this Saturday's page. All those ivho sent after-Wednesday .> letters please Ipok for their repliei next week. My love to ydu all. '■■"■'

I it T wasn't .ftmrny Smith's fault that Farmer Griggs's cookhouse window I was smashed to fragments that sunny, Saturday morning. Or so he said! Whitey, a member of Tommy's gang, had tossed down a slow ball. So, was it Tommy's fault that irresistible temptation overcame him, and made him take one terrific swipe at the hard, cork ball? Fortunately, or, to Tommy, unfortunately, he lifted that ball far across the paddock and it descended, with undiminished velocity, like a bolt from the blue, right through the grimy, but inoffensive cookhouse window-pane. Tommy did not know, however, that at the time Whitey was bowling the ball, Mr, Griggs, the farmer, was giving the cook a portion of his tongue, metaphorically, of course. "You say you can cook," scoffed the farmer, glaring balefully at the palpitating, man before him. "Look at those sausages." He pointed at the sizzling lumps of blackened meat in the frying-pan, and which had been sausages twenty minutes previously. "You call this a pudding," went on Farmer Griggs, with biting and bitter scorn. He poked industriously at a brownish mess In a huge china bowl, and raised a spoonful of the mixture to examine its texture. As though from a bowl of chewing-gum it came up with a glug-glug, and, also like chewinggum, the pudding clung tenaciously, i£ not lovingly, to the spoon. "It's more like paste," snarled Griggs, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a snort of disgust. "I wouldn't swallow that stuff even if I was starvin'." But during the next few minutes he did! Those few minutes seemed a horrible dream to Farmer Griggs. He was vaguely aware of the crash of glass, a hurtling blurr, then the world about him was blotted out by a mighty deluge, which descended upon him, like the rains in Noah's time. For a terrible, horrifying moment, Farmer Griggs thought he had been

but when he did he saw a broken window, a smashed bowl, and a treacly' ball lying on the floor. .'".• ■ . .• .

Realisation burst upon him. That ball had come through the window and smacked into the bowl that had been in front of him, covering him in the awfully sticky pudding. His face grew red with wrath,- under coats of treacle pudding, and his great fists 'clenched, convulsively as he rushed outside in the hope of hatching' .the. culprits.. Tommy .and Co., like ghosts at cockcrow, had vanished. -In a towering rage Griggs "turned back to the cookhouse to see the cook, but that worthy, most wisely, had vanished too, so bottling his wrath for the time being, the farmer lumbered off for a much-needed wash. Back at their headquarters, an old hut, known as the "Fort," three boys sat on old soap-boxes, deep in. consultation.. "Oh, gosh," Tommy was groaning. "I wonder if old Griggs knows who did it?" "Well, Tommy," pointed but Whitey, Tommy's special white-haired pal, •"you hit the ball, didn't you? You'll hafter pay for it;" "Who bowled the ball?" growled Tommy, pugnaciously. "Tell me, who was it what bowled it?" , "Don't blame me," snapped Whitey. "It was your ball, wasn't it?" ' "That's right," Tommy sighed.. "Gosh, I'm broke, too. Pocket money's stopped till old Brown's winder is paid for. They always ask me about any broken winder that happens to Weak round here," he ':'. added bitterly, "That's the kind of justice I get. Blamed for every darned thing." The three looked up as the fort's door opened. Tommy, with a startled yelp sprang to his feet, expecting to see Constable Johns and Griggs, the farmer. It was a relief, however, to see only another small boy, like himself, standing on the threshhold. "Howdy," was his greeting. "Did any of you guys bust old Griggs's winder?" "It was me!" groaned Tommy, dismally. "Saw him come out of the wash-house," grinned Curly. "Covered all over with sticky. cake-mixture. Had a ball in his'hand." "Say, how do you. kijow?" queried Whitey. "Was over by his orchard—er-—looking after his apple trees." Curly winked knowingly. "Came rushing out of the cookhouse like a madman! Ball must have dropped into a basin arid splashed the stuff into his face." He paused to blow his nose—furiously, "Well, what happened then?" prompted Tommy. "Well, I just watched him," continued Curly. "Went into the washhouse and cleaned himself up. Brought the ball out,- too. and 7 went inside. Saw him at his bedroom window arid thought I'd find but where lie put it, in case we lost one. Saw him drop it in a drawer. Then a farm-hand saw me and chased me off the place." He rubbed one ear reminiscently. "There goes my ball," said Tommy, /gluhily. "Well, boys, we'll meet tomorrow mornin'at ten o'clock." And the four lads wended their way home. That night,, as sopri .as tea was finished, Mr. Smith laid his paper '.aside and stared thoughtfully ; \at his son. "Tommy," he- rapped,' ''where is that ball I gave you last Week?" "Eh?" gasped".Tommy. ;."The-the ball? Oh-er-yes,th' the ball! I-I-guess I lent it to an I —and forgot to get it back.'? ':..,. "Then I want you to show it tomorrow, Tommy," feplled his father. "I have heard that Mr. Griggs.has reported a broken window to Constable Johns. I don't want to doubt your word, Tommy, but show it to me tomorrow dinner.tihie,'.'lf you cannot produce it, I will make inquiries, and if you are responsible for. Mr. Griggs's broken window your pocket money will be stopped further. 1 A good spanking for lying, too, my boy." "I-I'll show it tomorrow, Dad," panted Tommy. "Honest I will. I-I-wonder who did break old 'er Mr. Griggs's window?" "That remains to be seen, son," Mr. Smith smiled grimly. "See that you do show me the ball, too." Tommy almost staggered'out of the kitchen. "Oh, crumbs,!* he groaned. "What can I do now?" With Tommy's ball safe in Farmer Griggs's drawer, how could, he show his Dad the ball on the morrow? Tommy sat on the doorstep and groaned. If he left things as they were his father would make enquiries the .following day. If he asked Griggs for, the. ball back it would be equally, as had. A dilemma indeed! " (THE END.)