Mrs Thistlewick rose from her chair, the old carpet slipper still in her hand.
“Now, I am going to teach you five a lesson that I sincerely hope you will remember.”
The youngsters looked thoroughly apprehensive.
She pointed towards the hearth.
“Peter Collins. Step forward.”
Peter did so reluctantly.
“Do you know what happens to boys who tell fibs?”
“No, madam.”
“They grow donkey’s ears.”
Peter blinked.
“Donkey’s ears?”
“Precisely.”
Mrs Thistlewick tapped the floor three times with her walking stick.
There was a flash of green light.
And suddenly Peter felt something peculiar happening to his head.
Two enormous furry ears sprang up through his hair.
Susan screamed.
Michael burst into laughter.
But his laughter was short-lived.
“Michael Harris!” snapped Mrs Thistlewick.
She pointed the carpet slipper at him.
“Children who laugh at other people’s misfortunes sometimes find themselves in a rather awkward position.”
There was another flash.
Michael opened his mouth to speak.
But instead of words came a tremendous croak.
“RIBBIT!”
Billy doubled over with laughter.
Then Mrs Thistlewick looked at him.
“William Watkins. I don’t think we need to discuss the consequences of laughing at your friends, do we?”
Billy immediately clapped both hands over his mouth.
Mrs Thistlewick smiled.
“Very sensible.”
She returned to her armchair and rested the slipper across her knees.
“Now, there will be no running away and no more fibbing. Each of you is going to explain exactly what you did, apologise properly, and put right the mess you’ve made.”
“But it’s dark outside!” protested Peter, his donkey’s ears twitching.
“Then you had better work quickly.”
Mrs Thistlewick pointed at the door.
“There’s a broom in the passage, a bucket beneath the sink, and a dustpan behind the coal scuttle.”
Within minutes, the five youngsters were hard at work.
Peter swept the flour from the doorstep.
Michael, who still croaked whenever he attempted to speak, collected the leaves from the passage.
Billy cleaned the gate.
Susan and Margaret tidied the garden path.
All the while, seven black cats watched from the garden wall.
And Mrs Thistlewick sat beside the fire, keeping the old rubber-soled slipper within easy reach.
“Dear me,” she remarked to Sebastian. “Children do work remarkably well when they discover that somebody is keeping an eye on them.”
Sebastian purred.
