Ninnyhammer Read online

“You told me to say if I needed help,” Peter said. “Well, I think it’s my father who needs help.”

  “Mis-ter Jack Frost,” said Ninnyhammer. “Money. Pe-ter’s daddy needs more money.”

  How does he know that? Peter wondered. Well, he knows everything, I suppose. How strange that people think he’s simple when he’s really so wise.

  “He was saying it was difficult to make ends meet,” Peter said.

  “Pe-ter not worry. Ninny-hammer help ends meet.”

  “How?”

  “Ma-gic,” said the wizard, and he set off for the nearby field, where Farmer Frost’s herd of short-horn cows was grazing.

  Watching from the bridge, Peter saw Ninny-hammer walk up to the nearest cow (who did not move away but stood quite still) and touch her with the magic wand. He was talking to her, Peter realized, though he could not hear the words.

  Then the wizard moved on, stopping to touch and talk to each cow in turn. All stood quite still, listening carefully, it seemed, to what was being said.

  Farmer Frost had twenty cows, and when Ninnyhammer had finished with the last of them, he turned and called to Peter, “More milk, more money!” Then he walked off over the hill and out of sight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Farmers are always grumbling about something or other. The weather’s too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry; the cows aren’t giving enough milk; the hens aren’t laying enough eggs. Farmer Frost had always been a good grumbler, but suddenly he seemed more pleased with life.

  “Something funny is going on, Sally,” he said to his wife at breakfast about a week later. “The cows are all giving quite a lot more milk. I recorded them yesterday and every cow’s yield had gone up. I can’t understand it.”

  “That’s strange, Jack,” said his wife. “My hens are laying like mad. I’m picking up almost twice as many eggs every day. I don’t know why.”

  I do, thought Peter. It’s my friend Ninnyhammer. More milk, more money; more eggs, more money. What next? I wonder.

  “And the weather’s been so good,” said Farmer Frost. “Nice and warm and just enough rain. Everything’s growing like mad. Come to think of it, things have been looking up ever since that old Ninnyhammer pointed his stick at me. Funny, that.” He smiled.

  Sally Frost smiled too.

  “Perhaps it is a magic wand,” she said, “like Peter said.”

  Peter smiled. But he did not say anything. That evening he went down to the footbridge and wasn’t surprised to see that his friend the wizard was already there, leaning on the handrail, wand in hand.

  Ninnyhammer greeted him with a broad smile. “Happy, Pe-ter?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. Thank you, Ninnyhammer,” Peter replied. He put out a hand. “Could I hold your wand just for a minute?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Ninnyhammer, holding it out.

  Peter took the wand. “It won’t work for me, will it?” he said.

  “Try it.”

  Holding the wand by its thicker end, Peter pointed the thin end at the rippling, chuckling stream. “Stop!” he said loudly.

  Nothing happened, except that from a nearby tree there came a loud laughing cry.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  The wizard smiled. “Woodpecker,” he said. “Thinks it funny.”

  “I’m silly,” said Peter. “Of course it only works for you. Father’s cows are giving more milk – that’s because you touched them with it, isn’t it?”

  Ninnyhammer nodded many times, as usual. “Touched hens too,” he said.

  “But how could you do that?”

  “Ma-gic,” said the wizard, grinning. “Come on, Pe-ter. We go see Father.” Farmer Frost was sweeping out his yard when he saw them coming. Peter, he could hear, was laughing at something the simpleton had said. I’m sure the old chap is a good man, he said to himself. I’m certain of it. Wish I knew what to call him – it doesn’t feel right to call him what everybody else does. Then suddenly he knew how he should address him.

  “Good morning, my friend,” he said when they reached him, and he put down his yard broom and held out his hand.

  Ninnyhammer shook it, holding his wand in his other hand and smiling a very broad smile. “Pe-ter friend to Ninny-hammer,” he said. “Pe-ter’s daddy too.” And, as he had before, he pointed the wand at the farmer and again Jack Frost suddenly felt happy and carefree.

  It’s something to do with this funny old chap, the farmer thought. No wonder Peter likes him so much. I’d like to buy him a drink. And he put a hand in his pocket.

  But even as he did so, Ninnyhammer said, “No thanks, Mis-ter Frost. Not need money.” And he looked at Peter and gave him a big wink. “Ninnyhammer go now,” he said. “Good-bye, Pe-ter. Goodbye, Mister Frost.” Then he turned and walked off, swinging his wand.

  The farmer picked up his broom. “He’s nice, your friend, isn’t he?” he said to his son.

  “He’s your friend too, Father. He said so,” replied Peter.

  Magic wand! thought Jack Frost as he began sweeping up the muck again. What a lot of nonsense! Cows giving more milk, hens laying more eggs – how could that have anything to do with old Ninnyhammer? Still, I’d quite like to do something for the old fellow. I’ve certainly felt better about everything since he’s been around the place – I’m sure I don’t know why.

  “Have a think, Sally,” he said to his wife when he went in for his tea. “What could I do for Peter’s friend?”

  “Ninnyhammer, you mean? Why don’t you give him some money, Jack. I shouldn’t think he’s got much.”

  “I was going to give him the price of a drink but he said he didn’t want it.”

  Sally Frost looked out of the window. It was beginning to rain hard. “I dare say he’d be glad of a roof over his head, especially in weather like this.”

  “Have him live with us, here in the farmhouse? You can’t mean that,” said Jack Frost, thinking of Ninnyhammer’s filthy old clothes and dirty boots.

  “No. But there are plenty of roofs around the farmyard. He could use the barn perhaps. He’d be in the dry and he could sleep on the straw. He’d be as snug as a bug in a rug.”

  “He might not like the idea.”

  “Ask him.”

  “Tell you what,” said Farmer Frost. “I’ll get Pete to ask him.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Peter could not bring himself to tell Ninnyhammer that he could shelter in the barn or one of the other farm buildings. Somehow he felt embarrassed offering him a barn to sleep in. He felt sure that Ninnyhammer had a magical home down in the ground with his fox family. Although he wouldn’t have much room there.

  For some weeks he did not go down to the bridge, but then a spell of heavy rain set in, and he kept saying, to himself, Surely even wizards must get soaked if they’ve no roof over their heads?

  “Seen old Ninnyhammer lately?” Peter’s father asked one morning.

  “No, Father.”

  “Poor old fellow. He must be wringing wet all day and night.”

  I’ve got to tell him, Peter thought. I’ve just got to.

  So next morning he set off down towards the bridge.

  It was a beautiful sunny morning, the sort that makes everyone feel pleased with life, especially after a wet spell.

  As he walked along, something happened that made Peter feel even happier. He looked up at the bank where the fox’s earth was, hoping for a glimpse of that bushy-tailed, prick-eared creature, and there, tumbling about in play just outside the mouth of the earth, were four fox cubs.

  Peter could hear the fierce little growls of their mock-fighting, and as he listened, he heard too the loud laughing cry of the woodpecker, the cawing of rooks, the cooing of wood-pigeons, the chattering of magpies and the “Chee-chee-cheeky!” call of the kingfisher, as though all the birds on the farm were celebrating the appearance of the cubs. He was so excited to see Ninnyhammer’s “family”!

  Finally, as Peter neared the bridge, he heard the cows mooing loudly. Looki
ng up the opposite slope, he saw Ninnyhammer coming down, wand in one hand while with the other he patted the muzzle of one of the cows, which was walking beside him like a dog.

  It was Buttercup, the leader of the herd. She fell back as the wizard reached the little bridge, and all the other cows joined her, still mooing loudly.

  Ninnyhammer turned and pointed his wand at the herd. “Quiet, please,” he said, and instantly they all fell silent, walked down to the stream and began to drink.

  “Good mor-ning, Pe-ter,” the wizard said.

  “Oh, it is a good morning, Ninnyhammer,” cried Peter. “The sun’s out, all the birds sound happy, and the cows do too. They like you – anyone can see that. And what d’you think I saw on the way down?”

  “Four fox cubs,” replied Ninnyhammer. “Playing in the sun. I knew they would come out today.”

  “The weather’s been awful lately, hasn’t it?” Peter said. But your clothes don’t look very wet, he thought. Perhaps you have got shelter somewhere. I must offer you shelter, though – Father told me to.

  “Would you like to walk back up to the farm with me?” he asked. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  A big grin spread over Ninnyhammer’s bearded face, and he nodded, many times.

  It’s almost as if he knows what I’m going to say, Peter thought. As they set off up the path, he wondered whether the fox cubs would still be out.

  “They will be,” said Ninnyhammer, as though Peter had spoken his thoughts out loud, and they were.

  At the sight of the wizard they stopped their rough-and-tumble and sat in a line, staring down at him. Peter thought he could see their little brushes waving, like puppies’ tails. It almost seemed as if they were smiling at Ninnyhammer.

  I hope Father’s in the yard, Peter said to himself. Then he can ask my friend if he’d like some shelter. But as they approached, he saw that the two big plough horses were not in the stable, and knew that he must go through with it alone.

  In the barn he turned to face the wizard. “Ninnyhammer,” he said, “I don’t want to seem rude, but if you’ve nowhere to shelter when it’s raining, you’d be very welcome to come in here.”

  “Mis-ter Frost say so?” asked Ninnyhammer.

  “Yes.”

  Ninnyhammer grinned even more widely. He pointed with his wand at the stack of straw that almost filled one half of the barn. “Sleep up there?” he said.

  “Yes,” answered Peter. “It’s not like having a proper bed, I know, but it’s better than being out in the rain.”

  Tucking his wand under one arm, Ninnyhammer began to climb the long ladder that stood against the straw-stack. When he reached the top, he looked down and said, “Pe-ter come up too?”

  Oh, crumbs, thought Peter! It’s an awfully long ladder and I don’t much like heights.

  “Come on, brave boy,” said the wizard and pointed his wand at Peter.

  Immediately Peter felt that of course he could go up the ladder, and he began to climb.

  As he reached the top, the wizard began to laugh loudly.

  “What’s funny?” Peter asked.

  For answer Ninnyhammer pointed to the straw at the top of the stack. Peter could see a hollow in it; a hollow the size of a big man; a hollow that someone had made to sleep in, out of the rain, in the warm.

  “Ninny-hammer’s bed,” said the wizard.

  “You’ve already been sleeping here!” Peter gasped. “All through this wet weather?”

  Ninnyhammer nodded and nodded. “Kind Mis-ter Frost,” he said. “Told Pe-ter, Ask your friend. Foxes kind to Ninny-hammer, but real home better. Thank you.”

  “But how did you know what Father said?” Peter asked.

  Ninnyhammer grinned. He pulled at his beard and raised his bushy eyebrows and waved his ivory wand.

  Peter smiled happily. “I know what you’re going to say,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Magic.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Guess what,” Peter said to his father that evening. “While you were out ploughing, I met Ninnyhammer.”

  “Oh, good,” said Farmer Frost. “Did you ask him if he fancied sleeping in the barn sometimes?”

  “Yes,” Peter replied.

  “And did he like the idea?”

  “Oh yes. He said it was very kind of you.”

  “I told you he’d be glad of a roof over his head,” Sally Frost said to her husband. “Poor old chap, he must have been soaking wet these last few nights. Now he’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug, like I said. Anyway, I’m half beginning to believe that he does bring us luck somehow. More eggs, more milk. What next?”

  “More piglets perhaps,” said Jack Frost. “Old Molly is due to farrow any time now. She’s never had more than eight in a litter but it wouldn’t surprise me if she had more – even twelve – if old Ninnyhammer tapped her with his stick.”

  “His magic wand, d’you mean, Father?” said Peter, and his parents smiled at one another.

  “Bedtime for you, Peter,” said his mother.

  “Can I just go up to the barn first?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “To say goodnight to Ninnyhammer.”

  “No, Pete,” said Farmer Frost. “The old chap might have gone to bed early now he’s got somewhere warm and dry to sleep.”

  I’ll go up there first thing in the morning, Peter thought as he lay in bed. I hope Molly doesn’t farrow tonight though. Then he went to sleep and dreamed that he was out walking on the farm with Ninnyhammer when the wizard pointed his wand at something and said, “Pot of gold.”

  Peter woke up very early the next morning, even before his father had gone out to bring the cows in for milking. He got dressed and went straight over to Molly’s sty and peeped in. The old sow was lying on her side. She gave a sleepy grunt but did not get up.

  She looks enormous, Peter thought. I wouldn’t be surprised if she does have twelve babies. Which she will if I get Ninnyhammer to help.

  He went into the barn and stood at the foot of the long ladder and called very softly, “Ninnyhammer? Are you asleep?”

  The only answer from above was a loud snore.

  Peter waited a bit and then repeated his question, rather more loudly. The snoring stopped, and a few moments later a big bearded face peered over the top of the stack and grinned down at him.

  “Ninny-hammer was asleep,” the wizard said.

  “Oh, sorry,” said Peter. “You know, I had a funny dream about you last night. You pointed your wand at something and said … well, it sounded like ‘Pot of gold.’ What could that have meant?”

  “Rain-bow,” said the wizard.

  “Rainbow?”

  “Ask Father.”

  “Oh. Look, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What Pe-ter want?”

  “Well, you know our sow Molly – in the sty down at the bottom of the yard?”

  Ninnyhammer nodded many times, as usual.

  “Well, she’s due any time now, and I wondered – d’you think you could tap her tummy with your wand?”

  Down the ladder came the wizard, nodding and grinning, and they walked down to the pigsty together.

  Molly got up as they entered, and Ninnyhammer began to scratch her back with the thicker end of his wand. The sow stood snuffling and grunting softly with what sounded like great pleasure.

  “All animals like you, don’t they?” Peter said.

  “Ninny-hammer like all ani-mals,” replied the wizard.

  “Please,” Peter said, “can you tap her tummy with your wand? Maybe then she’ll have as many piglets as you give her taps. She’s never had more than eight, but Father thinks you could make her have twelve.”

  “Mis-ter Frost believe in ma-gic?”

  “Not yet. But perhaps he will do one day.”

  Ninnyhammer stopped scratching the sow’s back and very gently began to tap the side of her big belly. Each time, the sow grunted softly, and after twelve grunts sh
e turned away and went back to lie on her bed of straw.

  At that moment Farmer Frost came into the yard, on his way to bring his cows in for milking.

  “Good morning, my friend,” he said to Ninnyhammer. “I trust you slept well?”

  After much nodding the wizard said, “Ninnyhammer thank Mis-ter Frost.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said the farmer.

  He looked over the wall of the pigsty. “She shouldn’t be long now,” he said.

  “To-night,” said Ninnyhammer.

  “Oh, really? Next thing, you’ll be telling me how many piglets she’s going to have.”

  “Twelve,” said the wizard.

  The farmer smiled. “I hope you’re right, my friend,” he said, “but it’ll be a miracle if you are. The old girl’s never had more than eight.” And he walked off into the field beyond, calling, “Cow! Cow! Cow!”

  “Of course you’ll be right, Ninnyhammer,” Peter said. “And then I won’t be the only person in our family who believes in magic.”

  As soon as Peter woke next morning, very early again, he pulled on his clothes and his boots and ran down to the pigsty.

  Inside lay Molly, suckling twelve piglets.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “That Ninnyhammer …” said Jack Frost to his wife later that day, “He is a magician – a wizard – call it what you will. I’m sure of that now, Sally.”

  “Me too,” replied his wife. “He tells you that old Molly will have twelve piglets and she does. We’re very lucky to have him around, I think.”

  “Maybe Pete’s right about that stick the old chap carries; maybe it is a magic wand.”