The Fourth Pig by Naomi Mitchison Marina Warner Page B

Billy stripped off the Bank of England notes that made the lamp-shade and put them into their pockets, and then they followed Sasha Sable down some steps and round a corner and so to a little door that seemed to be made of ordinary wood instead of gold or silver. They opened it quite easily. “Good-bye, Sasha Sable,” said Minnie, and held out her arms.
    He jumped into them and nestled all soft against her neck and chin for a minute. “Good-bye, Minnie Mouse,” he said, “I must go back or she’ll miss me from the collar of her grand coat. But remember, when the time comes, if you want help in the witch’s house, there’ll always be me—or someone else.” And then he jumped down and scuttled off into the house, and they shut the door carefully after him.
    They ran down the path and through the shrubbery; the spiky nasty evergreens tried to catch at them, but all they did was to tear a hole in Billy’s coat, and then they were out in the road and standing under an ordinary street-lamp, and very sleepy. Billy’s finger was still bleeding where Sasha Sable had bitten him, and neither of them had a hanky to tie it up, but he sucked it and said he was all right, and was a bit nice to Minnie, because now she was tired and crying a little and saying she’d never get home.
    Still, they did get home all right, and not more than an hour later, for when they got down onto the main road again, what should they do but get a lift from a lorry that was going their way. Whether Sasha Sable had anything to do with that, I don’t know. Most likely he hadn’t; a lorry driver’ll always give you a lift if you ask him nicely and he isn’t being speeded up so that he daren’t stop—and his boss isn’t looking. When he put them down they’d only a quarter of an hour’s walk home, but all the same Mr. and Mrs. Jones were in an awful state when they got back. They’d been round to the police and the hospital and everything and both of them burst out crying and hugging them, especially Mrs. Jones, she felt that bad about having turned them out earlier on. She was as pleased as pie when Minnie gave her the work-basket, and then the kids remembered about the lamp-shade and turned out their pockets, and sure enough, there were the Bank-notes, fivers and tenners, so that Mr. and Mrs. Jones couldn’t hardly believe their eyes.
    Then Billy and Minnie tried to explain all about their adventures, but no one believed them, no more than you do, I’ll be bound. But all the same the Bank-notes were good enough. Only Mr. Jones, being a sensible man and not wanting it to get round to the P.A.C. man, took them over to his cousin who was an upholsterer in Walsall and he changed them for him, only taking a shilling in the pound which wasn’t too bad. And Mrs. Jones paid up all her bills, and they both began to hold up their heads again with the neighbours, and altogether things took a turn for the better, as you might say. It ended with Mr. Jones moving over to Walsall and getting a job in the upholstery line with his cousin. Only he missed the allotment.
    But how Billy and Minnie grew up, and how later on they went back to the witch’s house, and how they and their friends killed the old witch—for she was still going strong—and made things so that she could never come back again to Birmingham or anywhere else, that’s another story and I haven’t time to tell it you to-day.
    BIRMINGHAM AND THE ALLIES
    The Chinese fairies go by with a wavering graciousness
    Curtseying to those who pass the State examinations.
    Behind them the hoho birds droop from the classic rockeries,
    Filling the proud minds of the wild poets with bursts of plumes,
    Mozart liked wild strawberries with white wine in withy arbours,
    Handel liked sprigged muslin with high heels. There exist also
    Certain occurrences in the present, certain dispositions and persons:
    Things