Copyright

First published in Great Britain by Jonathan Cape 1945

First published in this abridged edition By Lions 1975

Lions is an imprint of HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

This edition published by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2016

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright (abridged edition) © Beverley Nichols 1975

Cover illustration © Nicola Kinner 2016

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers, Ltd 2016

Beverley Nichols and Isobel and John Morton Sale assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrators of the work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780006709930

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008199531

Version: 2016-04-21

For the PRRP

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One – Judy Meets a Stranger

Chapter Two – The Strangest Shop in the World

Chapter Three – Plots and Plans

Chapter Four – The Struggle Begins

Chapter Five – Bruno Escapes

Chapter Six – More About Bruno

Chapter Seven – Bruno Recaptured

Chapter Eight – A Peacock Spreads his Tail

Chapter Nine – Queer Customers

Chapter Ten – The Wickedness of Miss Smith

Chapter Eleven – Witchcraft

Chapter Twelve – A Tortoise to the Rescue

Chapter Thirteen – The Book of Magic

Chapter Fourteen – Judy in Danger

Chapter Fifteen – Appeal to the Law

Chapter Sixteen – The Night Before the Trial

Chapter Seventeen – Justice is Done

Chapter Eighteen – The Storm – and After

Chapter Nineteen – Happy Ending

Footnote

Collins Modern Classics

About the Publisher

Chapter One
JUDY MEETS A STRANGER

JUDY WAS OUT in the wood, collecting Sleepo.

In case you do not know about Sleepo, I will explain. It was one of the things which Judy’s grandmother sold in The Shop Under the Willow Tree. It was really her own invention, though other people in the wood had tried to copy it. But nobody’s Sleepo was as good as Mrs Judy’s; it did not send you to sleep nearly so quickly, and sometimes it gave you bad dreams. Mrs Judy’s Sleepo never gave you bad dreams … in fact, she had an extra special variety, which cost a penny an ounce more, which gave you the most beautiful dreams. She put a dream in each of these special boxes, which were tied up with green ribbon. Sometimes, if she thought you looked sad, she would pop in an extra dream for luck. The ordinary boxes, which had not got a dream in them, were only tied up with string. But even so, they were very good value for money.

Now I will explain how to get Sleepo, because you might like to try to collect some yourself.

*

Whenever a cat or a dog or a dormouse or any other animal is sleeping, the air it breathes out through its mouth or its nose has got a little Sleepo in it. You cannot see it, any more than you can see the air itself, but it is there.

Now if the animal just goes on sleeping, the Sleepo drifts away, like smoke, and goes up to the ceiling or flies out of the window. But if you take a glass jar, and hold it near its nose, a lot of Sleepo goes into the jar and settles down. And if you bottle it up and recite the right spells over the bottle, it will keep for a whole month; and when you pour it out of the bottle again, it will send you to sleep.

Now that sounds very simple, but it isn’t really quite as simple as all that. First of all, the jar has to be specially treated before it will hold the Sleepo properly. It has to be put under the branches of a willow tree at midnight. And then you have to wait until three willow leaves have fallen into the jar. And they must fall in of their own accord; it is not the least use putting them in yourself, or shaking the branches of the tree.

When the three leaves have fallen into the jar, you must carry it up to your bedroom, and put it as near as you can to your pillow. And every night, before you go to sleep, you must take the jar in your hands and look at the leaves and say:

Sleepo, sleepo, three times three,

Out of the branch of a willow tree;

Sleepo come and make me wise.

Give me rest and close my eyes.

You do this for three nights running; and when you wake up on the third morning you find that something very exciting has happened. The leaves of the willow tree have flown away, and in their place are three pennies. You must take these pennies and buy something with them to give away … you must not spend any of it on yourself. When you have done this (which will be a very nice and kind thing to do) you will be able to collect as much Sleepo as you want. And perhaps you may be able to sell some of it for more than the three pennies that you gave away.

*

Now let us get back to Judy in the wood, and see how she is getting on.

She had just been holding the jar in front of the nose of a baby leopard. It was lying fast asleep in the sun and a lot of Sleepo was coming from its nose. And then a fly settled on its tail, and the baby leopard began to twist and turn, and not so much Sleepo came. So she closed the jar and walked on.

She came to a cornfield in a clearing and wondered if she should go in to look for dormice. They were always sleepy, and it was a very good quality of Sleepo which one collected from them, because they were such amiable animals, and always had the nicest thoughts. However, they were also very small, and it took a dreadfully long time to collect any quantity; you had to hold the jar in front of at least twenty dormice before you got more than half an ounce. What she really wanted was somebody like old Mr Sloth, who hung from a tree, with Sleepo pouring from him in bucketfuls.

Then, through a gap in the trees, she saw something lying on the ground. It was covered with stripes, and at first she thought it must be a rug which somebody had left behind after a picnic. But when she looked more closely, her heart beat fast with excitement, because she saw it was a little zebra, sound asleep. And when zebras slept, they slept very heavily indeed. If she could only tiptoe across without waking him up, she would be able to fill her jar in no time, and go home to tea.

Very cautiously she began to creep through the bushes. Now and then the branch of a wild rose caught in her skirt, and once she nearly stumbled over a stone. But step by step she drew nearer to the zebra. What a pretty little thing he was! He looked so tired – his front legs were crossed over each other, and his head was thrown back into a cluster of ferns; she could see the Sleepo rising regularly, in tiny puffs, through the ferns, like pale blue smoke.

She was nearly on him now, and was just about to undo the lid of her jar, when suddenly the air was rent with a shrill cry. Out of the shadows leapt a boy, with a ragged shirt and red hair. Over his head he waved a glass jar. With a single jump he landed on the zebra’s back and clamped the jar over its nose. For a second the poor little beast seemed stunned, then it jumped to its feet with a loud neigh. The boy was still holding the jar to its nose, but when the zebra leapt up, he was thrown from its back into a bramble bush. As he fell, he clutched his jar very closely to him.

The zebra darted away into the woods and the boy scrambled to his feet. Judy wondered where she had seen him before; then she remembered … of course, it was Sam, whose grandfather had just bought the only other shop in the wood, which was called The Shop in the Ford. (We will tell you more about this shop later.)

Judy did not like the look of Sam very much, but she was a polite little girl, so she said, ‘Good afternoon.’

‘What’s good about the afternoon?’ snapped Sam. ‘And who are you, anyway?’

‘I live in The Shop Under the Willow Tree.’

‘That old dump!’ Sam made a rude face. ‘I wouldn’t live in a place like that if you paid me a thousand pounds.’

Judy was about to say that it was not very likely that anybody would want to pay him a thousand pounds, when she noticed that his knee was scratched.

‘Oh, you’ve hurt yourself!’ she cried.

‘It’s nothing,’ he retorted. ‘And anyway it’s none of your business.’

‘Really,’ thought Judy, ‘he is the rudest boy I ever met.’ However, she made another effort to be pleasant.

‘Were you collecting Sleepo?’ she asked.

‘Sleepo! That stuff! Of course not. I was collecting Wakeo.’

‘Wakeo? Whatever’s that?’

‘It wakes you up. Every time you startle an animal out of its sleep its breath has got a lot of Wakeo in it. Only don’t you go collecting it, because my grandfather’s going to patent it.’

‘I certainly shouldn’t dream of collecting such a thing,’ replied Judy indignantly.

‘You couldn’t even if you tried,’ sneered Sam, ‘because you have to have a magic jar, or it escapes. And anyway, you’d be too frightened.’

‘No I wouldn’t.’

‘Yes you would.’

‘No I wouldn’t.’ Judy stamped her foot. ‘It isn’t because I’d be frightened but because I think it’s very unkind to go jumping about on animals’ backs when they’re tired out and want to sleep.’

‘Pooh! Who cares about being kind to a lot of silly animals?’

‘I do. Besides, I’m quite sure it can’t be good for people to take Wakeo.’

‘Oh, yes it is! It makes them jump and sing and go on like mad. Old Mrs Parrot bought some the other day; she’s a hundred and eight; and after the first dose she climbed to the top of a tree and began to sing hymns.’

‘I don’t think people ought to sing hymns on the tops of trees, not if they’re a hundred and eight,’ replied Judy severely. ‘She might have fallen down and broken her neck.’

‘All the better,’ chuckled Sam. ‘Then we could have sold her some Necko to mend it again.’

‘Don’t you ever think of anything but selling things and making money?’ asked Judy.

‘Not very often. I’m going to be a millionaire. That’s more than you’ll ever be. In fact, if you don’t look out, you won’t have anything left at all. You’ll be turned out of that old shop of yours.’

Judy felt a little cold shudder run down her spine, for her grannie was very poor, and was always afraid of being turned out of the shop.

‘How do you mean?’ she whispered.

‘I mean that all the animals are going to come to our shop. We’re going to sell all sorts of new things, and they’ll be much cheaper, and we’re going to advertise.’

‘Advertise? Whatever’s that?’

‘Of course you wouldn’t know. It means painting things on tree trunks and writing things on leaves.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Things letting the animals know that we’ve got everything they want – telling them that we can cure them of all their illnesses.’

‘But can you?’

‘Of course not, but we shall say we can. What does it matter as long as we get their money?’

‘It sounds downright wicked!’ cried Judy.

‘You only say that because you didn’t think of it yourself.’

‘I should be ashamed if I did think of such things. It’s wicked … telling lies to poor animals.’

‘Oh, you are goody-goody!’ jeered Sam.

‘I don’t care if I am. I’d rather be goody-goody than a thief.’

Sam shrugged his shoulders and grinned. ‘Have it your own way, goody-goody,’ he said.

Judy could bear it no longer. She turned on her heel and ran rapidly through the wood. And after her came the harsh echo of Sam’s voice, growing fainter and fainter as she plunged deeper into the shadows:

Goody-goody Judy

Judy, Judy

Goody-goody Judy

Judy … Judy …

Chapter Two
THE STRANGEST SHOP IN THE WORLD

THE SHOP UNDER the Willow Tree might just as well have been called The Shop In the Willow Tree, because it would have been impossible to say where the shop began and where the Tree ended. It was a very old tree indeed, so old that the trunk had split open, forming a sort of cave, in which there was always a candle burning at night. When it was cold, Mrs Judy slept in the cave; otherwise she slept in a hammock high up in the branches. She used to swing backwards and forwards in the wind, and if you had looked up through the branches, on a wild night when the clouds were scurrying across the moon, you would have thought that she was some strange bird that was resting there.

The main business of the shop was conducted in what Mrs Judy called the ‘Extension’. This was really an immense branch which had sagged away from the trunk, through sheer age, and had come to rest on the ground, forming a sort of arch. The branch was not dead; it was just old, and it felt that it had earned the right to sit down. And so the arch was a living arch, pale green in spring, gold in autumn, bare in winter – but always strong and warm. Underneath the arch Mrs Judy had dragged an old log, and it was this log which served as a counter.

Apart from the Tree itself and the ‘Extension’ there was another department which Mrs Judy called the ‘Bargain Basement’. This had originally been only a dip in the ground, but Mrs Judy had hollowed it out till it was about four feet deep, and cut some steps down to it, and scooped away the earth from the rocks, which were large and flat, and made excellent shelves. On these shelves were displayed an extraordinary variety of objects, ranging from coconuts for the tits to toy mice for the Manx children.

It was really a wonderful shop, and there were hundreds of things that would have interested you, stored away in the hollows of the trunk or hanging from the branches. But we have not time to look at any more of them just now, because Judy is coming home and we must get on with our story.

*

When Judy had told her grandmother about Sam, Mrs Judy looked very grave.

‘I was afraid this would happen one day,’ she said. ‘We are faced with Competition.’

‘What is “competition”, Grannie?’

‘Some people call it “progress”, others call it “the survival of the fittest”; but whatever name they use, it is always cruel.’

‘Never mind. We shall pull through somehow.’

‘It will not be easy. I am very old.’

‘But the animals all love us.’

‘Yes – but animals are simple creatures. They are not as simple as humans, of course, who spend their whole lives being cheated and deceived. If a man wants to make up his mind about something, he has to read a book about it, and even then the book will often tell him lies. But an animal can sum up a man’s character in a single sniff; an animal can tell whether a man is a friend or an enemy simply by listening to his footfall on the grass. And that is really the most important thing in life, to know who are our friends and who are our enemies.’

‘In that case, surely the animals will know that Sam and his grandfather are their enemies?’

Mrs Judy sighed. ‘I wonder. Those two sound as if they are very cunning. And remember – they are going to give the animals something new, something from the outside world, of which they have no experience. For instance, you told me that they are going to use advertisements. Now human beings know that advertisements are often just another name for lies. Some advertisements are true, of course, some are half-true, but many are plain unvarnished lies. The animals will not know this, because the advertisements will be written up in print, and the only print the animals have ever seen has been in our own shop, and we have never printed anything that has not been true. So the animals will think that print and truth are the same, and if we tell them that print can tell a lie, they will only think that we are jealous.’

‘Oh, why did they ever come to the wood?’ cried Judy. ‘We were so happy here.’

Mrs Judy stroked her hair. ‘We shall be happy again,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘But we shall have to think. We shall have to get some new ideas ourselves – better ideas than any that Sam can think of.’

‘But where shall we get them?’

‘From the Tree of course.’ Mrs Judy spoke quite sharply. She had lived so long under the old willow, climbing its great branches by day, sleeping snugly among its giant roots at night, that she had come to regard the Tree as almost human. More than human, in fact, for she felt that the Tree had some magical power to protect them both, that no harm could come to them as long as they dwelt in its shadow.

‘I don’t see how the Tree can give us any ideas,’ sighed Judy.

‘Ssh! Don’t say such things!’ Mrs Judy looked anxiously upwards; she was afraid that the Tree might hear, and be offended. And sure enough, at that moment there came a cold gust of wind that set the branches swaying and set up a thousand little whispers among the leaves, as though the Tree were murmuring to itself.

But what was it saying? What was the message it was trying to give them?

‘Time will tell,’ she thought. And with that, she had to be content.

Chapter Three
PLOTS AND PLANS

IT IS THE day of the opening of The Shop in the Ford, and we had better pay it a visit before the animals get there, or it will be too crowded to see anything.

When Sam and his grandfather had first come to the wood, the Ford had been a very battered old car, abandoned years ago by some adventurous tourist, who had wandered off the beaten track and lost his way. Brambles thrust through the windows; there was no engine, there were no tyres, and nettles were growing out of the radiator. However, after Sam had cleared the ground, and mended the roof, and given it a coat of bright blue paint, it looked quite smart. And the animals, who had never seen a car before, thought it was very grand indeed.

‘Will it really go?’ demanded PC Monkey. (He was the policeman of the wood, and Sam had got on the right side of him by giving him a bag of nuts.)

‘Of course it will go,’ replied Sam.

‘Where is the engine?’

‘Underneath the bonnet.’

PC Monkey, to Sam’s great annoyance, had then proceeded to lift up the bonnet and peer inside.

‘But there isn’t anything here,’ he exclaimed.

Sam cursed; he would have liked to call PC Monkey a meddling young fool, but he did not dare to offend the law. So he thought for a moment and said, ‘It’s an invisible engine. They go much better than the ordinary ones.’

This had impressed PC Monkey so much that he had gone all through the wood, telling the animals about Sam’s wonderful invisible engine. They had all believed him except Mr Justice Owl, the Chief Magistrate of the wood. Mr Justice Owl had merely sniffed, and observed:

‘In the eyes of the law there is no such thing as an invisible engine.’

‘But the eyes of the law couldn’t see it,’ replied PC Monkey, ‘because it is invisible.’ He thought this was a very clever reply.

‘An invisible engine,’ summed up Mr Justice Owl, ‘is not evidence.’ And when he said something was ‘not evidence’ it was no use arguing with him any more. There was nothing worse than being ‘not evidence’ in the eyes of Mr Justice Owl; if you were ‘not evidence’ you just weren’t worth thinking about. PC Monkey was never quite sure what was evidence and what was not evidence, but if ever Mr Justice Owl told him that he was not he felt that it would be more than he could bear; he would go and hang himself by his tail on the highest tree in the wood.

*

On the morning of the opening, Sam was up early.

Instead of ‘up’ I should perhaps have written ‘down’ for Sam and his grandfather lived in a cave, and Sam slept in the top bunk. It was made of rough planks, and it was filled with hay; sometimes when Sam was getting out of it he stepped on his grandfather’s long beard, because it was warmer than the stone floor. Which shows the sort of person he was, because no polite little boy would deliberately step on his grandfather’s beard, however warm it might be.

Sam finished the work he was doing, and then he went back to the cave, pushed his head inside, and shouted ‘Get Up!’

With a great many mutterings and groanings, Old Sam shuffled out of bed, pulled on his shirt and stuck on his hat and wandered outside, blinking in the September sunlight. When he could see clearly he gazed with astonishment at the object which young Sam was holding up before him.

It was a huge notice-board, and it read like this:

THE SHOP IN THE FORD

Principal Emporium

of

The Animal Kingdom

UNDER ROYAL PATRONAGE

All the Latest Goods

Underneath, in smaller letters, was written:

Goods Delivered to your Door

Try our Speciality – Wakeo!

Visit Our Information Bureau

Special Terms for Large Families

‘What d’you think of it?’ demanded Sam proudly.

Old Sam scratched his head. ‘Looks pretty good to me. Only …’

‘Only what?’

‘What’s an emporium?’

‘It’s another name for a store.’

‘Well why not say so?’

‘Oh, don’t be dumb!’ snapped Sam. ‘We want to make a splash. We want to impress these darned animals, and that’s the way to do it. They’ll spend much more money if they think they’re spending it in an Emporium instead of just an ordinary store.’

Old Sam scratched his head again. ‘Maybe you’re right. But what’s that about royal patronage? I don’t remember seeing no Kings nor Queens round these parts lately.’

‘Gosh!’ cried Sam. ‘Why do they call animals “dumb” when things like you are walking about?’

‘That’s no way to speak to your grandfather,’ quavered the old man.

‘It’s the way I am speaking, so you can do what you like about it.’ Sam spat contemptuously on the grass. ‘Who’s going to prove we’re not under royal patronage? We’ve got a mail-order business, haven’t we?’

‘Have we?’

‘No, you old son of a lobster, we haven’t. But we can say we have. You’re old-fashioned. Now listen. The only way we’ll get the animals to come to us instead of going to that darned old Shop Under the Willow is by giving ’em something new. Or at any rate by making ’em think we’re giving them something new. That’s the reason for the telephone.’

‘We ain’t got a telephone,’ muttered Old Sam.

‘No. Nor has anyone else in the wood. So they can’t prove it, see? All we have to do is to say to an animal, “Call us up”, and we know quite well he can’t call us up ’cos he’s not got anything to call with.’

‘That seems fair enough,’ admitted Old Sam.

‘It’s the same with “Goods Delivered to your Door”.’

‘If you think I’m going round with a basket at my age, climbing trees and ferreting into burrows, you’re very much mistaken,’ proclaimed Old Sam.

‘You don’t have to. Read the notice. It says … “To your Door”. Well, none of the animals have got a door. They’ve got nests and holes and hideouts, but there’s not a darned door in the wood. So if we say we deliver to the door, we don’t because there ain’t no doors to deliver to. Got that?’

‘’Pon my word,’ admitted Old Sam, ‘that’s a bright idea.’

Together they carried the board over to the stump of a blasted oak. A few bangs with a hammer and it was firmly in position.

‘And now,’ said Sam. ‘we’d better have breakfast, so’s to be ready for the customers.’

*

News travelled fast in the wood. Long before the shop was open, processions of animals were to be seen coming from all quarters of the wood, and by nine o’clock there was a long queue outside the Ford. Sam had put up a lot of shelves, and on these shelves were a great number of boxes, tied up with attractive ribbons.

‘What was inside the boxes?’ you may ask.

We will tell you, because it will help to show you what a really horrible little boy Sam was.

There was nothing in the boxes.

Nothing at all.

‘But how could he get the animals to buy nothing?’ you may enquire. ‘Wouldn’t the animals call in PC Monkey and have the law on him?’

No, they couldn’t. Because, you see, Sam was very clever. He knew that ‘nothing’ has many names; in German it is nichts, in French it is rien. All over the world men make different sounds when they want to describe that which is without sound or shape or weight or life.

So Sam was going to sell the animals ‘Nichts’ and ‘Rien’ and if any of them made a fuss about it, he’d say that it wasn’t his fault that they were so ignorant. Anyway, he had a shrewd idea that they wouldn’t complain; he knew that an animal hates to be made to look a fool. If you had ever seen the look of pain in the eyes of a circus dog you would know what I mean. He was meant to run on all fours, free as the wind, through the long grass, through sunlight and shadow, but men force him to spend half his life staggering over the sawdust on two legs, blinking in the glare of arc-lights.

*

At nine o’clock precisely Sam’s grandfather came out of his cave, beating a big drum. That was the signal that the shop was open, and immediately all the animals began to swarm around, twittering, and purring, and squeaking, and sniffing.

Of course, there were lots of things besides the boxes full of Nothing … real things, I mean. Most of them – though the animals did not know it – were quite useless. There were heaps of brightly coloured glass, which Sam described as rubies and diamonds and emeralds, though they only came from Woolworth’s; there were all sorts of things like that. But it was the boxes full of Nothing which interested the animals most; they longed to know what was inside them; and soon there was quite a queue in front of the counter.

‘What is in these boxes?’ enquired Mrs Rabbit.

‘Nichts,’ replied Sam, with a grin.

‘Nichts?’ Mrs Rabbit looked puzzled. She had no idea what ‘nichts’ were, but she did not like to show her ignorance, because Mrs Hare was standing beside her. And Mrs Hare always put on superior airs, simply because she could run so fast.

‘Ah, nichts!’ repeated Mrs Rabbit, nodding and trying to look wise. ‘Nichts,’ she said again, wondering if they were anything like nuts. Probably that was what they were – a new sort of nut. But then again they might be nothing of the sort. They might be nightdresses or they might be nail-scissors. She tried to find out a little more.

‘What quality nichts?’ she asked.

‘Medium,’ observed Sam.

‘Medium,’ repeated Mrs Rabbit. That told her nothing at all, though it seemed to suggest that they were not nuts. You would not describe nuts as ‘medium’. Perhaps it was nightdresses after all, in which case she did not want to buy them; she had no use for medium nightdresses, being a very fat rabbit.

She turned to Mrs Hare. Maybe she would be able to learn something from her, without revealing that she did not know what ‘nichts’ were.

‘Ah, good afternoon, Mrs Hare!’

Mrs Hare gave one of her superior bows.

‘I was just thinking of buying some nichts,’ said Mrs Rabbit, fumbling with her shopping-basket.

‘Then why don’t you buy some and have done with it?’ snapped Mrs Hare. ‘You’re holding up the queue.’

Mrs Rabbit gave a nervous giggle. ‘It’s just a question of whether you think the medium variety is the best?’

She looked Mrs Hare straight in the eyes as she said this.

Now between you and me, Mrs Hare was just as ignorant as Mrs Rabbit about nichts, but being so superior she did not betray her ignorance. Without batting an eyelid, she returned Mrs Rabbit’s stare, and drawled:

‘Well, it depends on what you are going to use the nichts for.’

‘Yes, of course. It would depend on that.’

‘What were you going to use the nichts for?’ demanded Mrs Hare.

This was too much for Mrs Rabbit. She could not say, ‘I am going to eat them,’ because they might be nightdresses, and no lady would eat a nightdress – only shady girls like Miss Moth ever indulged in such a peculiar diet. On the other hand, she could not say ‘I am going to wear them,’ because they might be nuts, and you could not possibly wear a nut unless you balanced it on the top of your head, which would look ridiculous. Nor could she run the risk of saying, ‘I am going to cut my nails with them.’ They might be nail-scissors, it is true, but again they might not. And you could not possibly cut your nails with a nut or with a nightdress. Out of the question.

So she gave no direct reply; she merely lowered her eyes, fumbled in her bag, and asked:

‘How much?’

‘Five shillings,’ snapped Sam.

‘Five shillings!’ gasped Mrs Rabbit. It was far more than she could afford. It would mean that the whole Rabbit family would have to stay indoors, in the burrow, next weekend instead of going for a ramble in the wood. But she had gone too far to draw back … she could not admit to poverty in the presence of that dreadfully superior Mrs Hare.

‘I will have one box.’

Sam wrapped up a box for her in a cabbage leaf, tied it with a few strands of hay and sealed it with a drop of gum which he had stolen from the fir tree. It looked such a grand parcel that Mrs Rabbit felt it must be worth five shillings.

As Sam handed it to her, he said, ‘I suppose you understand how to undo this parcel?’

‘How to undo it?’ Mrs Rabbit blinked at him in bewilderment. She did not know what he meant.

‘You must not undo it in daylight,’ Sam said. ‘Otherwise, all the goodness goes out of the nichts. They must never be exposed to the sun.’

‘No,’ muttered Mrs Rabbit. ‘I quite understand.’

Poor thing. She did not understand at all. As she gathered up the parcel her brain was in a whirl. Nuts? Obviously not nuts … it didn’t make any difference if you exposed nuts to the sun. Nor, for that matter, nail-scissors or nightdresses. What could these nichts be? Perhaps they were some sort of photographic film? In which case, what would Mr Rabbit say when he learned that she had spent five whole shillings on a photographic film, considering that they were far too poor to afford a camera to fit it into?

She felt on the verge of tears. She wanted to go off, all by herself, and hide in the bracken till the darkness came and she could undo her box and see what it was that she had really bought. She was just about to hurry away when she caught Mrs Hare’s eye. For the first time in her life she thought that Mrs Hare looked embarrassed; she kept on biting her lower lip, and there was a nervous twitch to her tail. Was it possible, after all, that Mrs Hare had been bluffing, that she too did not know what nichts were? The thought made Mrs Rabbit feel much better. So instead of running off with her parcel, she hovered in the background pretending to examine some of the other goods on the shelves.

*

It was now Mrs Hare’s turn in the queue.

She strolled up to the counter, put down her bag, and sniffed haughtily.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hare,’ said Sam. ‘May I have the pleasure of selling you some nichts?’

‘Thank you, no.’ Mrs Hare had not the least idea what nichts were but she was not going to show it. Nor was she going to be such a fool as Mrs Rabbit, and buy something she might not want.

‘I have already a large supply of nichts,’ she said. ‘At “The Burrows”.’

That was the name of Mrs Hare’s house. When Mrs Rabbit heard these words, she felt a little better. If Mrs Hare kept plenty of nichts at ‘The Burrows’ it must be all right. ‘The Burrows’ was a very superior residence.

Mrs Hare leaned forward over the counter. She pointed to some boxes done up in pale pink paper.

‘What is in those?’ she drawled.

‘Rien,’ replied Sam.

‘Rien?’ she repeated. And then … in the same drawling tones … ‘Is it pure rien?’

Sam nodded. ‘You will not find purer rien anywhere.’

Mrs Hare sniffed. This sniff was another sign of nerves.

‘You say that this is pure rien?’ repeated Mrs Hare.

She asked the question because she wanted to gain time.

‘Yes, madam. Nothing but rien. Absolute … complete … rien.’

Sam spread out the palms of his hands to prove what he was saying. And suddenly some instinct warned Mrs Hare to beware of him and his boxes. She could not explain what she felt; it was like one of those tremors of warning which came to her on some still summer afternoon when a tiny sound or a faint scent told her that Man was in the wood.

So she plucked up her courage, and drew herself up to her full height, and looked Sam straight in the eye.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I do not think I need any rien. It is one of those things which I can do without.’

*

So great was the success of The Shop in the Ford that dusk was falling before the animals reluctantly tore themselves away, and wandered back to their homes, bearing their parcels with them. After his experience with Mrs Hare, Sam had decided not to sell any more boxes of Nothing; it was too risky; some of the animals might talk, and then they would not come to the shop any more.

Meanwhile Mrs Rabbit, instead of going home, had scampered off to a quiet place to wait till darkness came, so that she might undo her parcel and see what was inside it. She did not dare to undo it in the presence of the family in case the ‘nichts’ was something which none of them wanted.

Never had night seemed so long in coming. There had been a beautiful sunset, but though it had faded, a few gleams of gold still lingered in the sky. Surely it was dark enough now? The outlines of the trees had merged into the night; even the white wings of Mr Justice Owl were invisible, as he soared overhead with a melancholy ‘too-wit too-woe’.

Now!

Mrs Rabbit stretched out her paw and with trembling fingers she untied the ribbon. She rolled it up carefully and placed it on the grass beside her. Next she removed the brightly-coloured paper, folded it up, and sat on it to make sure that it did not blow away. And at last, holding her breath, very slowly, very gently, she lifted the lid and peered inside.

She could see nothing, even though her eyes were made to see in what we would call ‘darkness’.

Perhaps it was very small – perhaps it was a jewel, a diamond or ruby? She put her paw inside the box and felt round the edges. She could feel nothing. Round and round moved her paw; it could find nothing. She lifted the box and sniffed it; there was no smell but the smell of paper; she turned it upside down and listened; there was no sound of anything dropping out, not even the faintest whisper. The box was empty.

Heavy at heart, and trembling with worry and disappointment, Mrs Rabbit put down the box and stared into the darkness. Big tears came to her eyes, but she did not notice them; they fell unheeded over the coloured paper on which she was sitting. Far, far away in the distance the faintest gleam of light still lingered; it was like a single golden thread in a coverlet of deep black velvet; and as Mrs Rabbit watched it she told herself that this was the cause of all her trouble, this little thread of light. Sam had said ‘wait till complete darkness’; she had not waited, she had been too eager.

How could she face the family? As she thought of the family the tears flowed faster. They would all be waiting for her; Mr Rabbit would be running backwards and forwards to the front door, pushing out his nose and sniffing anxiously; and the children would be twitching their tails and asking when she was coming back with their presents. Presents! A piece of coloured paper and an empty box! It was too much to bear. Mrs Rabbit buried her face in her paws and sobbed out loud.

*

Now it so happened that Judy was walking home through the very field where Mrs Rabbit was sitting, and Judy had been trained to hear all the cries of animals in sorrow. She knew, for instance, that there are times when even dragonflies are depressed, when they feel that there is no point in flitting from flower to flower, and that the only thing to do is to sink on to a cool cabbage-leaf and cry.

So when Judy drew near to Mrs Rabbit, she naturally heard her crying, though most humans would have heard nothing at all, and she tiptoed across and whispered to her, very softly.

‘Mrs Rabbit, what is the matter?’

Instantly, Mrs Rabbit stopped crying. Her body stiffened, her ears snapped back flat on her head, her paws were rigid. This was a Human. And Humans had only one idea, to hunt and to kill.

‘Don’t be silly, Mrs Rabbit.’ Judy’s voice was very gentle. ‘It’s me. Judy.’

Mrs Rabbit breathed a long sigh of relief. She looked up and blinked through her tears.

‘I am so unhappy, Miss Judy.’

‘Tell me.’

So Mrs Rabbit told her all about going to the shop and buying the box from Sam.

‘But what did he say was in it?’ asked Judy.

‘Nichts.’

‘Nichts?’ Judy’s brow puckered. ‘But that is nothing.’

‘How can nichts be nothing?’

‘I mean, it is nothing in Germany.’

Mrs Rabbit sniffed. ‘It may be nothing in Germany, but I do not see why it should not be something here.’ She was feeling better now, and was inclined to be argumentative.

‘What I mean is …’ began Judy.

Mrs Rabbit interrupted her. ‘I might be nothing in Germany myself. In fact, I probably should be nothing … nobody at all. Most of my relations are in Australia.’

‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘there were other boxes that I might have bought. Boxes full of rien. I suppose you will say that is nothing too.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Judy. ‘It is nothing in France.’

Mrs Rabbit patted her paw nervously on the ground. She was beginning to feel impatient. ‘We do not seem to be getting very much further,’ she observed.

‘Wait a minute!’ There was a note of excitement in Judy’s voice. ‘I believe I’m beginning to understand. You see …’

However, Mrs Rabbit was still so nervous and upset that she did not listen. ‘All this talk about France and Germany … where does it get us?’ She took up the scrap of coloured paper, sniffed it, and threw it away again. ‘You say that nichts is nothing in Germany. But from what I have heard about that country, things that are nothing in Germany are often something in other countries. Even … even Scraps of Paper.’ She sniffed, very rapidly. ‘I read that in a history book.’

‘You are quite right. And you are a very clever rabbit.’ Judy put her hand gently on Mrs Rabbit’s paw. She felt the sympathy returning between them; the paw was soft and yielding, and answered to the pressure of her fingers. ‘But dear Mrs Rabbit, you must listen a minute. I have something very serious to tell you. And something very … very bad.’

Whereupon she proceeded to explain.

When Mrs Rabbit at last understood, and had learned the full extent of Sam’s wickedness, her first impulse was to rush violently through the wood, stamping her feet in the secret S O S which summons all the rabbits from their burrows in time of danger and crisis. But she soon realized that this would be a mistake. She would never have the courage to tell them what a fool she had been. Besides, what could they do? If Sam was so wicked that he would cheat animals, he might be so wicked that he would kill them too; he might even have a gun.

‘What can any of us do?’ she moaned.

Judy knew what she herself could do. Underneath her blouse she wore a silver locket. She was very fond of it, and it was the only piece of jewellery she had ever possessed. But Mrs Rabbit’s need was greater than her own, so with a little sigh, for she really was very fond of it, she unfastened it, and hung it round Mrs Rabbit’s neck.

‘Oh, I couldn’t take it,’ breathed Mrs Rabbit, staring in wonder at the locket.

‘Yes, you could,’ said Judy. ‘And you can say that it was what you found in the box. Look, we will actually put it in the box for a minute, and then you will not be telling a lie.’

‘But … but it’s so beautiful.’

And indeed, in the light of the rising moon, it sparkled like frost.

‘It is rather pretty,’ agreed Judy. ‘So you’d better hurry home with it at once before I change my mind.’

Mrs Rabbit jumped up and down, giving little furry kisses to Judy’s hand. Then with a final ‘Thank you – oh, thank you!’ she gathered up the box and the paper and ran into the night.

Judy watched Mrs Rabbit’s tail bobbing through the long grass till it was finally out of sight. Then she too turned for home.

But as she walked her heart was heavy, and she shook her head. ‘Something must be done,’ she said to herself. ‘Something must certainly be done.’

Chapter Four
THE STRUGGLE BEGINS

‘YES,’ AGREED MRS JUDY, on the following morning, when she had heard the whole story, ‘something must certainly be done.’

It was nearly twelve o’clock, and not a single animal had come near The Shop Under the Willow Tree. Not that they were not still very fond of Mrs Judy, but Sam had been so clever with his advertisements and his smart talk that they all thought that they could buy much better things at The Shop in the Ford.

Besides, Mrs Rabbit had been so proud of her beautiful locket that she had been scampering through the wood ever since breakfast, showing it to all the other animals, who thought it was a wonderful bargain. And so Judy’s kind action had only served to injure Judy herself. Which is often the way of kind actions, though that should not prevent us from performing as many of them as we can.

‘We shall be ruined,’ sighed Mrs Judy.

Judy smiled bravely. ‘No, we shall think of something. Perhaps Sam is right when he says we are not modern.’

Mrs Judy snorted. ‘Modern! Of course we’re not modern. What’s the point of being modern? What’s better in the world today than it was yesterday?’

Judy could think of no answer.

‘Well,’ said Judy, changing the subject, ‘what we have to do is to persuade the animals to buy more.’

‘Buy more what?’

‘More anything. And I really think we ought to go all round the shop now, at this very minute, and see if there isn’t anything we can improve.’

*

‘Let’s begin with the Nest Department,’ suggested Judy.

The Nest Department lay under the shelter of a very old and twisted branch of the Tree that had fallen to the ground so many years ago that most of the bark was crumbling to pieces. The nests were arranged in neat piles, and each pile was labelled. Like this:

Nests. Top bough

Nests. Middle and lower boughs

Nests. Hedge

Nests. Eaves

Nests. Cuckoo-proof and Cat-burglar-proof

Nests. Ground floor

There was also a little catalogue hanging on a twig, with a label on the cover, bearing the words, ‘Nests, sites for …’

Judy had taken a great deal of trouble over these nests, and at first they had been a great success, because she had been able to supply the demand of almost any bird in the wood. Judy had only to go to the pile, find the right nest, and then turn to the catalogue to see what branches were ‘to let’. The index of the catalogue began with Acacias (white) and ended with Willows (weeping), and in a few moments she had found what was wanted.

But now, Judy was bound to admit, the nests did look rather dilapidated. She had been so busy in other departments that she had not had time to attend to them, and many of them were falling to pieces.

‘No self-respecting bird would buy any of these,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Lots of them have holes in the floor so that the eggs would fall out.’

‘Oh dear! So they have!’ Judy picked one of them and turned it over in her hands. Then she had an idea. ‘Supposing I made some beautiful new ones, with a partition down the middle? Then we could put in a lovely advertisement: “Ultra-Modern Two-roomed Nests. Exclusive.”’

‘With central heating, I suppose,’ sniffed Mrs Judy sarcastically.

‘I don’t think we could quite run to that,’ replied Judy. ‘But I do think the two-roomed idea is a good one.’

Mrs Judy shook her head. ‘It’s downright pampering.’

‘But Grannie, we must move with the times.’

‘Very well. Have it your own way.’

*

Their next visit was to the Novelty Department, which was really Judy’s favourite. As they walked through it, she became so interested, and had so many new ideas, that for a time she forgot her troubles. She even forgot the wickedness of Sam.

There were all sorts of shelves and niches and pigeonholes, containing the strangest and most exciting objects, all at the most reasonable prices. For instance, if you had been looking over Judy’s shoulder, on that sunny morning, the first thing you would have noticed would have been a tiny hole labelled:

PORCUPINES – NEW QUILLS

And if you had pushed your finger into the hole, you would have pulled it out again very quickly, for it was stuffed full of the sharpest quills you can imagine. Mrs Porcupine used to say that she only wished she could meet a human when she was wearing them; she’d teach him a lesson!

Judy paused in front of a row of pale blue bottles labelled:

GARGLE FOR NIGHTINGALES

‘We haven’t sold much of this lately,’ she said, ‘although the nightingales have been giving concerts every evening. Do you think it’s too expensive?’

‘Can’t make it a penny cheaper,’ retorted Mrs Judy. ‘It takes ages to make. First I have to get a water lily and pour in an acornful of apple juice. Then I have to add thirty drops of liquid honey and the juice of nine nasturtium seeds. Then I have to collect three dew-drops off the petals of a yellow rose and drop them in, one by one, stirring it all the time with a corn-stalk. That takes time, I can tell you, apart from all the poetry I have to say.’

In a sing-song voice Mrs Judy repeated the following poem:

Here’s honey for the honey in your throat

To make it sweeter still.

Here’s dew as pure as every golden note,

Here’s magic – drink your fill.

Then to the starlight let your music float

But first – please pay the bill!

‘It’s very pretty indeed,’ said Judy. ‘And I don’t think the gargle is at all too expensive, not with the poem. But perhaps there are some things we might make cheaper. What about this Blackbeetle Polish?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Judy. ‘We can charge less for that. It’s only coal dust and olive oil.’

‘And then there’s the Ladybird Lacquer.’

‘We can’t charge less for that because it takes a thousand poppy petals to make a single drop.’

‘Couldn’t we make it not quite so strong?’

‘If we did, it would come out pink, and there’d be a scandal. Imagine a pink ladybird!’

‘It might be rather pretty,’ suggested Judy.

‘It might, but the ladybirds wouldn’t think so. They’re such snobs; they’d say it was “unladybirdlike”. And when they say anything’s “unladybirdlike”, that’s an end of it.’

‘What about the Food Department?’ asked Judy.

‘We can’t cut prices much more than we have done already.’

‘Still, we might think of some new ideas. For instance, Mrs Moth came in yesterday, but she flew away without buying anything.’

‘She was always a fussy one,’ sniffed her grannie.

Judy reached for a box on which were painted the words:

MENUS FOR MOTHS

She opened the lid and drew out a number of pieces of cloth, cut into neat strips, and bearing attractive labels. For instance, there was a square of old grey silk labelled ‘Delicious!’ And there was a piece of blue serge labelled ‘Very Nutritious’. And there were several pieces of hearthrug labelled, ‘Try them … they’re Tasty!’

‘Mrs Moth said they none of them had any vitamins in them,’ sighed Judy.

‘Stuff and nonsense! What does she want with vitamins? Her mother brought up a whole family on half an old sock, and she never complained about vitamins.’

‘All the same, we have got to give the animals what they want. I think I’ll cut up my red silk handkerchief.’

‘It would be a shame. Besides, they might not like it.’

‘Oh yes they would. Mrs Moth saw it yesterday and said it made her feel quite hungry.’

‘Very well. Only mind you charge a proper price for it. And think of some extra special label.’

‘I shall put “Melts in the Mouth”,’ said Judy.

They went all round the department, making notes. Judy decided to do some more crystallized acorns, which were always so popular with the squirrels, and to get some more coconuts for the tits, and paint the outsides of the shells pink and blue.

‘And we’re running short of ants’ eggs,’ she said. ‘I must go out and buy a fresh stock.’

Her grannie stamped her stick on the ground. ‘Ants’ eggs!’ she exclaimed. ‘I knew there was something I had forgotten to tell you! You remember the ants under the damson tree?’

‘Of course. I’ve bought eggs from them for years.’

‘A nicer lot of ants I never knew. Hard working, sober, and most patriotic – quite devoted to their Queen. It is too terrible.’

‘But what has happened?’

‘Wait till I tell you. Some of them came round this morning – oh, in a dreadful state. Battered and bruised and carrying on as though there’d been an earthquake. And as far as they were concerned there had been an earthquake; that wicked Sam went round with a spade last night and dug them all up and carried away all their eggs.’

Judy could hardly believe her ears. ‘You mean – he stole them?’

‘Certainly he stole them. Not only that, he chopped half the nests to pieces. And when the ants said they’d have the law on him he only laughed and said that if they breathed a word to anybody he’d come and pour boiling water on them.’

‘Oh dear!’ cried Judy, almost in tears. ‘This can’t go on. We must do something. After all, there is a law in the wood.’

‘Yes, but it’s a law for animals, not for humans.’

‘It isn’t only the animals who will be ruined, it’s us. Look at the ants’ eggs, for instance. They used to be one of the most profitable things we sold. The goldfish were the richest fish in the stream and they never minded what they paid. And now Sam will be able to sell them for practically nothing. Is there nobody who can help us?’

‘If the worst comes to the worst,’ said Mrs Judy, ‘there is always the Tree.’

‘But what can the Tree do for us? It can’t give us anything.’

‘Hush, Judy! It can give us shelter.’

‘But that isn’t something that we can eat.’

Mrs Judy paid no heed; for a moment she seemed to have forgotten her grand-daughter. She was gazing up into the branches of the Tree, lost in a dream. ‘And it can give us Beauty,’ she said.

Judy felt like retorting that you couldn’t eat Beauty either, but there was something in the tone of her grannie’s voice that made her pause – something strange and solemn.

She said nothing, but followed her grannie’s eyes up into the topmost branches of the Tree. And as she gazed, there came a fresh, sweet breeze, that sighed through the boughs and set all the leaves to dance, twisting and turning, green and silver, and where the sunlight caught them, pure gold. They all seemed to be laughing and happy, as well they might; for what could be lovelier than the life of a leaf, high against the sky, with the wind as your brother and the sun as your friend, and the whisper of your companions all about you?

‘Beauty,’ whispered Grannie once again.

And the wind seemed to catch the word, and breathe it to the Tree, and the Tree sang it back in a thousand gentle voices … Beauty, Beauty, Beauty.

And suddenly Judy sat up and opened her eyes very wide and cried, ‘Grannie, I’ve got it.’

*

Mrs Judy blinked.

‘Got what, my child?’

‘I’ve got an idea. We’ll open a Beauty Parlour!’

‘Whatever put such an idea into your head?’

‘The Tree.’

‘I can’t believe the Tree said anything so foolish. The animals are quite beautiful enough already.’

‘Then why do we sell lacquer for ladybirds?’ asked Judy. ‘And if it comes to that, why do we sell Blackbeetle Polish?’

Mrs Judy frowned, for she was a very old lady, and she did not like to be contradicted. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s a matter of health.’

‘But Grannie, darling, that makes it better still. Beauty and Health. What could be better?’

‘We might open a Surgery,’ agreed Mrs Judy, grudgingly.

‘Why not both?’

‘It’ll mean a lot of work.’

‘But I could do all the Beauty Parlour. And I could help you in the Surgery, too.’

‘You couldn’t help with the Magic,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘That would all fall on me.’ She shook her head backwards and forwards. But Judy could see that she did not really mean it, for there was quite a bright sparkle in her eyes.

‘I shall have to read up a lot of old books,’ went on Mrs Judy. ‘And I shall have to polish my magic crystal and mend my magic wand.’

‘But Grannie, I didn’t even know you had a magic wand.’

‘Well, it’s rather old and cracked so I expect most of the magic has run out of it now,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Still, there’s no harm in trying. Deary me! We shall be busy for the next few days!’

Judy clapped her hands. ‘I’m so excited. Let’s begin now, this very minute. What is the first thing you would like me to do?’

Mrs Judy thought hard for a moment. ‘Well, my dear, I think that the first thing you should do is to say “Thank you” to the Tree for giving you such a good idea.’

‘Thank you,’ said Judy, rather shortly.

‘You must say it much more nicely than that,’ corrected Mrs Judy. ‘Say … “Thank you, Tree, for all that you have done for us, for your shelter and for your shade and for your wisdom.”’

So Judy said these words. And once again a little breeze sighed through the topmost branches, so that you would have sworn that the Tree had heard, and had bowed its head.

‘And now,’ cried Mrs Judy … ‘and now … to work!’

Chapter Five
BRUNO ESCAPES

MEANWHILE SAM WAS not being idle; his wicked little head was full of all sorts of crafty schemes for enticing the animals to The Shop in the Ford; and though we very much hope that he will meet with his deserts in the end, at the moment it must be admitted that he was having a great deal of success. The Shop in the Ford was crowded from dawn to dusk, and you could hardly hear yourself speak for the purring and the twittering and the squeaking and the grunting.

And it so happened that on the very morning that Judy and her grannie were planning their Beauty Parlour and Surgery, Sam had a tremendous stroke of luck. The luck came in the shape of a bear, by the name of Mr Bruno. He is going to play a big part in our story, so please listen very carefully.

If you had seen Mr Bruno, lumbering happily along on that sunny morning, you would certainly never have guessed that he was a bear with a Secret; you would have said he was just a nice comfortable middle-aged bear, with a shaggy coat of which he was very proud, and a Mrs Bruno of whom he was very fond, and three small Master Brunos, whom he was bringing up to be good citizens of the wood.

‘What a happy person!’ you would have said. ‘With a freehold cave and a quantity of honey stored away for the winter and a loving family to look after him – what more could he want?’

But he was not a happy person at all – not really, because of his Secret. Sometimes he forgot his Secret for a while, and would dance and play and make the most amiable growls; and then suddenly he would remember it again, and stop dancing and playing, and wander off alone, to sit down under a tree and weep.

It was such an awful secret that, if we tell it to you, we hope you will keep it to yourselves.

We will tell you at once, in order to get it over.

This was Bruno’s secret:

HE HAD ESCAPED FROM A CIRCUS.

It was years and years ago, and you may be surprised that he had not forgotten it. But when you have heard his story, you will understand.

THE STORY OF BRUNO

Bruno was four years old when he escaped. Even in those days he was a big bear but he was very thin; they always kept him half-starved so that he should not grow strong enough to bite; and it was only because he had such a thick coat that you did not see his bones sticking out.

He could not remember anything about his parents, because he had been stolen from them when he was a baby. All he knew about life was his cage and the circus. His cage was so small that he had to twist his neck to get into it, and he always had cramp when he woke up in the morning. But the cage was better than the circus – oh, very much better! For in the circus he had to dance, even though his limbs were cramped, and jump through terrible flaming hoops which scorched his fur, and if he flinched or faltered, they prodded him with sharp sticks which made him bleed. The men with the sticks always had smiles on their faces, because they did not want the crowd to know how cruel they were. But though there were smiles on their faces there was sharp steel on the sticks, and if you are being beaten, it does not hurt any the less even if the man who beats you does it with a smile.

You see, it was a very wicked circus. Not all circuses are like that; there are many in which the animals are quite kindly treated. All the same, I think that they would much rather not be in circuses at all; they would rather be dancing by themselves under the green trees, and flying away where they wanted, into the blue sky.

It would be too long and sad a story to tell you all of Bruno’s life in the circus; all that you need know is how he escaped.

Although his keeper was always a little drunk at the end of the show, he usually managed to walk without stumbling. He used to prod Bruno into the cage and give him a final cut of the lash when he was inside, crying out ‘Pleasant dreams, you ugly beast, pleasant dreams!’ But this night there was no need for Bruno to crouch in the corner, covering his face with his paws, for the keeper was too drunk to lift the whip. He just slammed the door and staggered off. And before he was out of sight Bruno realized that he had forgotten to turn the key.

Bruno gasped, and stared at the door which was swinging on its hinges. One jump through that door, and he would be free. He blinked; he felt he must be dreaming … but no, he was wide awake. He took a step forward and then he paused, his heart thumping against his ribs. ‘Careful!’ he thought, ‘I must wait.’ The circus was still full of light and life and laughter; there were many people about; they would catch him before he had gone more than a few yards. Besides, he had a heavy iron chain round his wrist, which would clank and rattle and give him away.

So he lay down and pretended to be asleep. His throat was dry with excitement and his heart beat so fast that it hurt him; but he managed to stay very still.

But it seemed an eternity that he lay there, and every moment was filled with the fear that the keeper might remember, and come back to lock the door. Nobody came. One by one the lights of the circus were quenched, like coloured candles dying into the night, until there was no light but the moon.

*

All this time, Bruno had been trying to get his chain off. He gnawed at it with his teeth, he tugged at it with the claws of his left paw; all to no avail. He would willingly have cut off his arm to gain his freedom, but that was impossible.

Then he had an idea. It was a very brave idea, and it made him tremble to think of it, but it was the only thing to do, he would have to tie the chain to the cage and jump, knowing that the weight of his body would drag his paw through the iron ring. It would be agonizingly painful, it would scrape all the fur off, and it might break the bone, but it was worth going through any pain to escape.

Once he had thought of this plan he wasted no more time. He tied the chain fast to one of the strong iron bars; then he shuffled to the door and flung it open. For a moment he stood there trying to pluck up his courage for the jump. Everything was very quiet; now and then there was a growl from the lions’ cages and a neigh from the paddock where they kept the performing ponies, but there were no sounds of humans. There was only one danger now – that the pain of his paw, as it was dragged through the ring, would be so acute that he would cry out and would wake somebody up.

He took a deep breath. It was now or never. ‘Courage, Bruno,’ he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes.

He jumped.

There was one sharp cry; he could not possibly prevent it; he felt as though his paw, from the wrist down, had been plunged into boiling water, as though it were being crushed beneath heavy weights. But when he looked down he saw that the chain had gone; it had torn the fur away; his paw was bare and bleeding. And he did not cry out any more, he just lay there and sobbed beneath his breath, licking his paw very gently, till the pain grew a little less fierce and he felt he could begin to crawl away.

He crawled on his three legs, holding his bleeding paw close to his side, and always keeping to the shadow of the tents. Luck favoured him, for a cloud had drifted over the moon; before he reached the outskirts of the circus he was able to stand upright and run, over a field, through a little coppice, over another field, and finally on to a broad road.

He was free!

Now it so happened that the road on which he found himself was one of the main highways to the North; there was always a good deal of traffic on it; and you can imagine that the sight of a tall shaggy bear, with a bleeding paw, hurrying down the road in the middle of the night, was not one to which the lorry drivers were accustomed. And very soon the news began to spread abroad that there was a bear on the road; the police were called out; and before he knew where he was, he was flying for his life with a whole procession after him, made up of policemen with whistles and villagers with flashing torches and dogs with sharp teeth that glistened in the moonlight.

We need not take too long in describing that chase, though it seemed to him to go on for ever and ever. He was torn by brambles, drenched with the water of bogs into which he stumbled, famished and exhausted, but after a couple of hours he had run many miles, and he began to notice something strange about the country. It was growing wilder and wilder and yet – in some way that he could not explain – it was also growing more friendly. You see, he was on the slopes of the Magic Mountain, and nearing the outskirts of our wood. He was getting faint and dizzy, and as he could go no farther, he fell down, waiting for the worst.

He lay there panting and bleeding, staring with frightened eyes into the undergrowth, waiting for his pursuers to catch up with him. Once they came very close, a whole crowd of them, led by the keeper holding a torch high above his head; he could see the cruel lines on his face, lit by the torch, and could hear the hiss of the whip which he sent curling savagely into the shadows. But he lay so still that they did not notice him, and soon they turned aside, cursing. He saw the torch drifting farther and farther away, and heard the curses growing fainter and fainter, till at last there was darkness again and the wood was still. About an hour later he noticed a chain of lights far below in the valley, moving towards the south. They were the lights of the circus, making for the next town. At last he knew that he was safe. With a sob of thankfulness he dropped his head on his bleeding paw and fell asleep.

It was thus that they found him in the morning – stiff, cold and almost dead.

Chapter Six
MORE ABOUT BRUNO

MISS FOX, WHO WAS the first to find Bruno, had thought that he was really dead, and had scampered off to Mr Justice Owl, who always had to be told of these things before anybody else, because he was so very old and so very wise.

He summoned PC Monkey and they all went back to the spot where Bruno was lying, but by the time they had traversed it, the whole wood seemed to have learned what was happening. Through the sunlit branches there was a great fluttering of birds, all eager to learn about this new excitement; and over the grass, and under the bracken, and across the glades all sorts of animals hastened to the spot. They knew that Mr Justice Owl was on his way, so they did not go too near the body (they all thought that Bruno was dead, he lay so still); they formed a wide semicircle, and waited. There was a great deal of twittering and whispering, but they were very grave and reverent, for animals understand death much better than humans.

Mr Justice Owl fluttered his feathers, blinked, and closed his eyes. For a moment there was silence. Then, in his best legal voice, he demanded:

‘Where is the Body?’

He knew quite well where the body was because he was almost standing on it. But he felt that it would be more dignified to be led up to it.

‘Here, your Honour.’

Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes, blinked again, and regarded Bruno.

Then he took three steps forward, and paused. Surely his sharp eyes had detected a faint rise and fall beneath Bruno’s fur? He put his head down on Bruno’s chest. There was no doubt about it. The heart was beating.

Mr Justice Owl drew a deep breath. He looked first at PC Monkey, then all round the circle of the animals. And in ringing tones he proclaimed:

‘This is not a body. This bear is alive!’

There was an immediate sensation and a great buzz of twittering and chattering.

‘Silence!’ cried Mr Justice Owl.

They obeyed him at once.

He proceeded to issue orders. There was no time to waste. The animals hurried to and fro, bringing cool water from the brook to revive him, the leaves of the giant burdock to bind his bleeding paw, honey to give him strength, a cushion of moss to rest his head. While they were getting all these thing, Mr Justice Owl ordered Mr Peacock to spread his tail and wave it gently backwards and forwards over Bruno’s face … a task which Mr Peacock undertook with great pleasure, for he was very proud of his tail and liked to show it off.

So when Bruno at last came to, and opened his eyes, that was the first thing he saw – the stars on Mr Peacock’s tail waving above him, green, and gold and blue, and he thought that he had died and that they were the stars of heaven.

‘Thank you, Mr Peacock,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘You may desist.’

Mr Peacock slowly folded his tail. It was like somebody shutting a paint-box or rolling up a precious canvas. And when the stars faded from Bruno’s eyes, and he saw all the animals sitting round, watching, he no longer thought he was in heaven; he knew that he was back on earth, and the animals seemed to him like the crowds who used to watch him in the circus. You see, he was delirious. He thought he was back in the Ring.

A great fear seized him. He knew that he ought not to be lying down; they always beat him when he lay down – not in front of the crowds, but after the performance, when he had been led away. He must get up quickly, or he would be beaten – he must get up and dance.

He tried to stagger to his feet. But he sank back again exhausted, on to the moss.

‘I can’t,’ he panted, ‘honestly I can’t … give me a minute … just another minute.’ And he covered his head with his paws to ward off the lash of the whip which he felt would come hissing through the air.

But no whip came. Instead he heard the kindly voice of Mr Justice Owl:

‘Calm yourself!’ he murmured. ‘Calm yourself! You are among friends.’

‘Friends?’ Mr Bruno was not quite sure what ‘friends’ were; he had never had any friends; but the word had a pleasant sound. Friends … they did not sound as though they were the sort of people who would whip you or starve you or lock you up.

‘Friends?’ he muttered, in a sort of daze.

‘Indeed,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘We are all friends; we wish to help you.’

His voice was so kind that Mr Bruno slowly took his paws away from his face. And at last his head cleared; he remembered his escape, he remembered coming to the wood, he remembered, above all, the strange feeling of kindness and comfort that he had known as he had plunged deeper and deeper into it, as though the very branches were there to protect him. And as soon as he remembered all those things he began to revive very quickly – he was able to sit up and drink some water and take a nibble of the honeycomb.

But Bruno’s troubles were by no means over. Mr Justice Owl, seeing that he was now well on the way to recovery, decided that he was well enough to answer a few questions. He liked the look of Bruno; he was prepared to welcome him to the wood, but first he would have to explain where he came from. They could not have mysteries in the wood … and, after all, the sudden appearance of a large bear in the early morning, seriously wounded, and lying in a bramble bush, was something of a mystery.

In grave tones Mr Justice Owl demanded:

‘Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?’

Bruno closed his eyes for a moment. He had been afraid that this would happen. However, he would have to go through with it; he might as well get it over.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Good!’ Mr Justice Owl preened himself. ‘Now, first of all – where have you come from?’

*

It was the question Bruno had been dreading.

He looked round him desperately, trying to think of a reply. They said they were ‘friends’, these animals, but he did not trust them – not yet. How could he trust the animals, seeing that he knew nothing of their nature? He only knew human nature, and he had every reason for distrusting that.

‘Where do I come from?’ he repeated. They were waiting for his answer. At all costs he must avoid telling them the truth; they might give him away.

Then he had an inspiration. He remembered the big paper placard that they used to hang over his cage when the circus went on the road. It had been a long time before he had been able to read it, because he had always been inside the cage, looking through the placard, so that he had been obliged to read it backwards, and even then only when the sun was shining on it. This was what he had read:

If you take this book to the looking-glass you will be able to read the words on the placard. You will not be surprised to know that it took Bruno a long time to understand them, considering that he had to read them backwards in a tiny cage, with no mirror to help him.

‘The steppes of Russia.’ The words floated through Bruno’s head – it was as though they were coming to his rescue. He had never been to Russia, but he knew that it was hundreds of miles away, and that none of the other animals would have been there either. Besides, he had learned a little about it because there had been a Russian dancer in the circus who had sometimes slept in a tent near his cage, and late at night he had heard her talking about her country, which seemed to be very vast and always covered with snow. He never quite understood what the steppes were; he thought they were a sort of staircase, and it seemed very odd to spend your life on a staircase. However, none of the other animals knew either, so it did not matter.

He took the plunge.

‘Where do I come from?’ he said. ‘I come from Russia.’

‘From Russia!’ There was a great rustling and panting and squeaking and twittering from the animals; this was indeed exciting.

‘From Russia?’ repeated Mr Justice Owl. He blinked, very wisely, at Bruno. To tell the truth, Mr Justice Owl knew even less about Russia than Bruno, but he had no intention of betraying his ignorance. From the way he blinked, you would have said that he knew it inside out.

‘What part of Russia?’ he enquired.

‘The steppes,’ gasped Bruno.

‘The steps?’ echoed Mr Justice Owl. There was a rather sharp note in his voice. He wondered if Bruno was trying to make a fool of him. What did he mean – the steps? The doorsteps? The steps leading up to the attic? He was about to rebuke Bruno, when he stopped short, and a melancholy ‘Too-wit, too-woe’ echoed from his beak.

For Bruno, exhausted by all he had gone through, had fallen into a dead faint.

Chapter Seven
BRUNO RECAPTURED

AND NOW WE can go on with our story, which we left on a bright sunny morning when Bruno was lumbering through the wood on his way to The Shop in the Ford.

Many years had passed since all the sad things which we have been recalling in the last two chapters, and today if you had seen Mr Bruno, you would have said that never in your life before had you met a bear so happy, so plump, and so prosperous; he had developed into one of the most respected citizens in the wood.

‘Top of the morning, Mr Bruno! … All the best, Mr Bruno! … My! Mr Bruno, you’re looking fine!’ Such were the cordial greetings that welcomed him, all along the way. Miss Fox gave an extra twitch to her brush when she saw him, and Mrs Hare gave a very gracious bow. And even Mr Peacock, who only spread his tail on very special occasions (except, of course, when he was by himself, standing by the edge of the lake watching his own reflection, which was so beautiful that sometimes he felt quite giddy and fell into the water), even Mr Peacock greeted Bruno by spreading his tail to its fullest extent.

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