“Coo-roo! Coo-roo!
We told you so!”
cried the Plasticine doves from their branch.
“Children?” said Jane, with a puzzled frown. She was sure she had made no children.
“Three fine boys,” Mr Mo said proudly. “Surely you two have heard of them! Hi!” he shouted, cupping his hands. “Eenie, Meenie, Mynie – where are you?”
Jane and Michael stared at each other and then at Mr Mo.
“Oh, of course we’ve heard of them,” agreed Michael.
“‘Eenie, Meenie, Mynie Mo,
Catch an Indian by the—’
But I thought they were only words in a game.”
Mr Mo smiled a teasing smile.
“Take my advice, my dear young friend, and don’t do too much thinking. Bad for the appetite. Bad for the brain. The more you think, the less you know, as my dear – er – first wife used to say. But I can’t spend all day chattering, much as I enjoy it!” He plucked a dandelion ball and blew the seeds on the air.
“Goodness, yes, it’s four o’clock. And I’ve got a job to do.”
He took from his tool-bag a piece of wood and began to polish it with his apron.
“What kind of work do you do?” asked Michael.
“Can’t you read?” cried the chubby man, waving towards the summer-house.
They turned to Jane’s little shelter of twigs and saw to their surprise that it had grown larger. The sticks were solid logs of wood and instead of the airy space between them there were now white walls and curtained windows. Above them rose a new thatched roof, and a sturdy chimney puffed forth smoke. The entrance was closed by a red front door bearing a white placard.
S. MO (it said)
BUILDER
AND
CARPENTER
“But I didn’t build the house like that! Who altered it?” Jane demanded.
“I did, of course.” Mr Mo grinned. “Couldn’t live in it as it was – far too damp and draughty. What did you say – you built my house?” He chuckled at the mere idea. “A little wisp of a lass like you, not as high as my elbow!”
This was really too much for Jane.
“It’s you who are little,” she protested. “I made you of straw and Plasticine! You’re not as big as my thumb!”
“Ha, ha! That’s a good one. Made me of hay while the sun shone – is that what you’re telling me? Straw, indeed!” laughed Mr Mo. “You’re just like my children – always dreaming. And wonderful dreams they are!”
He gave her head a little pat. And as he did so she realised that she was not, indeed, as high as his elbow. Beneath the branch of yellow blossoms Mr Mo towered above her. The lawns that she herself had plucked now stretched to a distant woodland. And beyond that nothing could she see. The big Park had entirely disappeared, as the world outside disappears when we cross the threshold of home.
She looked up. The bumble-bee seemed like a moving cloud. The shimmering fly that darted past was about the size of a starling and the ant that gave her a bright black stare was nearly as high as her ankle.
What had happened? Had Mr Mo grown taller, or was it that she herself had dwindled? It was Michael who answered the question.
“Jane! Jane!” he cried. “We’re in your Park. I thought it was just a tiny patch, but now it’s as big as the world!”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Mr Mo observed. “It only stretches as far as the forest, but it’s big enough for us.”
Michael turned, at his words, towards the woodland. It was dense and wild and mysterious, and some of the trees had giant blooms.
“Daisies the size of umbrellas!” he gasped. “And bluebells large enough to bathe in!”
“Yes, it’s a wonderful wood,” Mr Mo agreed, eyeing the forest with a carpenter’s eye. “My – er – second wife wants me to cut it down and sell it to make my fortune. But this is a Park for Poor People. What would I do with a fortune? My own idea – but that was before the wedding, of course – was to build a little Fun Fair—”
“I thought of that too,” Jane broke in, smiling.
“Well, happy minds think alike, you know! What do you say to a Merry-Go-Round? A Coconut-shy, and some Swinging-boats? And free to all, friends and strangers alike? Hurrah, I knew you’d agree with me!” He clapped his hands excitedly. But suddenly the eager look died away from his face.
“Oh, it’s no good planning,” he went on sadly. “She doesn’t approve of Fun Fairs – too frivolous and no money in them. What a terrible mistake I’ve made – married in haste to repent at leisure! But it’s no good crying over spilt milk!”
Mr Mo’s eyes brimmed up with tears, and Jane was just about to offer him her handkerchief when a clatter of feet sounded on the lawn and his face suddenly brightened.
“Papa!” cried a trio of squeaky voices. And three little figures sprang over the path and flung themselves into his arms. They were all alike, as peas in a pod; and the image of their father.
“Papa, we caught an Indian! We caught him by the toe, Papa! But he hollered, Papa, so we let him go!”
“Quite right, my lads!” smiled Mr Mo. “He’ll be happier in the forest.”
“Indians?” Michael’s eyes widened. “Among those daisy-trees?”
“He was looking for a squaw, Papa, to take care of his wigwam.”
“Well, I hope he finds one,” said Mr Mo. “Oh, yes, of course there are Indians! And goodness only knows what else. Quite like a jungle, you might say. We never go very far in, you know. Much too dangerous. But – let me introduce my sons. This is Eenie, this is Meenie, and this is Mynie!”
Three pairs of blue eyes twinkled, three pointed noses turned up to the sky, and three round faces grinned.
“And these. . .” said Mr Mo, turning. Then he chuckled and flung up his hands. “Well! Here we are, old friends already, and I don’t even know your names!”
They told him, shaking hands with his children.
“Banks? Not the Banks of Cherry Tree Lane? Why, I’m doing a job for you!” Mr Mo rummaged in his tool-bag.
“What kind of job?” demanded Michael.
“It’s a new – ah, there you are, Mrs Hickory!”
Mr Mo turned and waved a greeting as a dumpy little feminine figure came hurrying towards them. Two dimples twinkled in her cheeks, two rosy babies bounced in her arms, and she carried in her loop-up apron a large, bulky object.
“But she had no children!” said Jane to herself, as she stared at the two fat babies.
“We’ve brought you a present, Mr Mo!” Mrs Hickory blushed and opened her apron. “I found this lovely loaf on the lawn – somebody dropped it, I expect. My twins – this is Dickory, this is Dock,” she explained to the astonished children – “are far too young to eat fresh bread. So here it is for the breakfast!”
“That’s not a loaf, it’s a sponge-cake crumb. I dropped it myself,” said Michael. But he could not help feeling that the crumb was a good deal larger than he remembered it.
“Tee-hee!”
Mrs Hickory giggled shyly and her dimples went in and out. You could see she thought he was joking and that she liked being joked with.