‘What gorgeous good luck!’ breathed John. Only just in time he closed his fist round the ring.
Major Skeffington had drifted away, and Mrs Witherspoon turned and held out the money for the tea. As she did so, she saw the bare finger which the ring should have circled. One look at John’s triumphantly grinning face told her what had happened.
‘You sly deceitful boy! Or is this some magic of yours?’ she said, turning to Rosemary.
‘Good gracious, no. I can’t do magic,’ said Rosemary. ‘I expect it’s because, now your finger isn’t old and knobbly any more, the ring slipped off into your glove.’
‘Give me back the ring!’ Mrs Witherspoon hissed, turning furiously on John.
‘No!’ said John. ‘I won’t. It isn’t yours!’
Then Mrs Witherspoon pounced, but he was too quick for her. He turned and fled, and with a clatter of high heels she ran after him. When Rosemary had found somewhere to put the biscuits and the tea, now largely slopped in the saucer, she followed as fast as she could, with Dumpsie, a small dark shadow at her heels. The few customers strolling about looked up with surprise as John dodged round them. Once he nearly collided with Uncle Zack, who was so wrapped up in his worried thoughts that he hardly noticed.
Down the stairs raced John, and out into the garden, with Mrs Witherspoon close behind. Indoors they had been fairly evenly matched, but outside she was handicapped by her high heels on the soft rain-sodden ground. On they ran, dodging and doubling behind shrubs and bushes, and as he panted on John said to himself: ‘I’ve got the Golden Gew-Gaw ... now I can wish something ... really useful! I can’t bear ... Uncle Zack looking so miserable. If only ... I was better at rhymes,’ he went on. ‘Uncle, carbuncle ... that won’t do! Wish, fish, bish ... no good either. I hope it won’t ... be me that makes a bish!’
Now, anyone who has tried to make up a rhyming Wishing Magic in the rain, while dodging an angry young witch round dripping rhododendron bushes, will realize what a difficult job John had set himself; but he was determined to do it. He thought and thought as he darted from bush to bush. Rosemary and Dumpsie, who were doing their best to catch up, suddenly saw him disappear behind a particularly shadowy shrub.
Mrs Witherspoon stood crouched, knees bent, fingers spread, ready for him to reappear, which he did, unexpectedly, several bushes away. As she turned to face him she lost one of her high-heeled shoes in Uncle Zack’s favourite rose-bed. While she stooped to rescue it, John threw up his arms with the crimson stone of the ring glowing on his finger, and sang out in a loud, clear voice:
‘I wish at once that everyone
For miles and miles and miles,
Shall come on foot or bus or car ...’
Here he paused, frowning hard.
‘By road and over stiles,’ he went on.
‘And buy and buy from Uncle’s shop ...’
At this point he dried up completely, standing white-faced, with screwed-up eyes.
‘Till all is sold, then they can stop!’ yelled Rosemary, from the shadow of the tool-shed.
‘Till all is sold, then they can stop!’ repeated John gratefully.
Then he turned, and clutching the ring in his fist once more dashed for the house. Mrs Witherspoon, who had kicked off her other shoe, was gaining on him now. John’s breath was coming in gasps.
‘Rosie! Rosie! ... Stop her if you can ...’ he panted. ‘For the sake of the Golden Gew-Gaw!’ But Rosemary was too far behind to do anything. It was Dumpsie who came to the rescue. Just as Mrs Witherspoon stretched out her hand to grip John by the shoulder, the little cat dashed between her feet so that she stumbled and fell on her knees on the wet grass.
‘Oh well done, Dumpsie!’ said Rosemary. All three dashed into the house, and slammed and bolted the door behind them.
At the top of the stairs they met Uncle Zack. Now he was smiling from ear to ear.
‘Go and help Mrs Bodkin, you two! Customers suddenly started pouring in only a few minutes ago. The drive is black with people! Extraordinary!’
‘You go and help, Rosie,’ said John, ‘and I’ll join you in a minute. I’m going to hide this blessed ring in my bedroom, then even if Mrs Witherspoon comes and searches me she won’t find it.’ He raced upstairs, and pushed the Golden Gew-Gaw under his pillow.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in such a flurry of handing round cups of tea, such a running backwards and forwards with cups to be washed and refilled, that there was no time to think of anything else. Realizing that they were rushed off their feet, Miss Dibdin offered to help. With sleeves rolled up, she stood at the sink in a cloud of steam, washing up a stream of tea-cups, while Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin dried, and Mrs Bodkin poured out.
Presently the drive was filled with customers going the other way, carrying copper kettles, candlesticks, footstools and china; staggering under the weight of chairs and tables; helping one another to take away beds and cupboards and chests of drawers. In ten minutes, the collection of china ornaments with the label ‘All In This Tray Six Pence’ had been cleared by the children, of whom there were dozens. No one went away empty-handed. Uncle Zack made out bills in a happy trance, and Mr Sprules took the money and gave change.
‘I never saw anything like it,’ said Mrs Bodkin when the rush was over. ‘The whole village was here, as well as crowds I’ve never set eyes on, and all buying as if they’d gone mad!’
‘Incredible!’ said Uncle Zack.
‘Remarkable!’ said Mr Sprules.
‘There was Mrs Bucket from the bakery, says she’s bought a four-post bed, and her with a house as big as a match-box! And old Mr Grimes, who’s not left his bed for nine months, here in his pyjamas! Said he didn’t know why but he suddenly felt he’d got to come. Bought a grandfather clock and carried it off over his shoulder. Said he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for years!’
‘And the road-man,’ said Rosemary. ‘When I took him his biscuits, he showed me a funny sort of cup he’d bought, with a ledge to rest his moustache on when he drinks his tea, so that he shan’t get it wet ... his moustache, I mean. He’s as pleased as Punch with it!’
‘He told me some chaps are coming tomorrow to replace the cat’s eyes by the railway bridge,’ said John.
‘There isn’t a thing left in the shop,’ said Uncle Zack. ‘I’m sorry they had to go, all my treasures, but it had to be. I think we can say it’s been a thoroughly successful day! Thanks to all my gallant helpers!’ He turned to Miss Dibdin. ‘It was so kind of you to give a hand with the washing-up.’
‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘It has done me a very good turn. I have arranged to go into lodgings with Mrs Bodkin’s married cousin while I am house-hunting, which is really what I came to Highdown to do. I shall move in tomorrow morning.’
‘You know,’ said John later that evening, ‘I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable about Miss Dibdin not being told that her parcel really did come. We’ve been behaving as though it was our property, and it’s really hers. Do you think we ought to tell her about the purple cracker and all the rest of it, now she’s so much more sensible?’
They had gone to look at the empty showrooms, and their footsteps echoed eerily on the bare boards.
‘As a matter of fact, I did begin to tell her,’ said Rosemary, going rather red. ‘It just sort of ... slipped out, while she was washing up this afternoon.’ She went on quickly, interrupting John’s exclamation of dismay. ‘Oh it’s all right! She wouldn’t listen. Said that now she had given the whole thing up she didn’t want to hear about the parcel. I’m sorry. I know I’m always saying things when I ought to shut up, but they sort of slip out. I can’t help it somehow. We’re so different, you and me. I think you were super brave when you tackled Mrs Witherspoon about the ring. I couldn’t have done that. I was scared stiff.’