Enid Blyton in February
I think I told you how very successful our last Competition was — the Handwriting one — and how much I enjoyed judging the really excellent entries. I decided that I really must have more of these competitions, so each term this year I shall hold one for you. The first one, for this term, is one that all of you can go in for — because all you have to do is to decide what work you do best, and send in a specimen of that. You may write badly, draw badly, paint badly — but on the other hand you may be quite superlative at map-drawing. You may not be able to write a poem or an essay — but you may be good at knitting or sewing! You will find all the details on page 13 and I want you to read them very carefully, because there isn't a single reader of this magazine who can say, "Oh dear — I can't go in for this competition!" Everyone is good at something, so just sit back and think what you are good at.
Where are the snail's eyes? Can you see them? Wait until it creeps out of its shell, and then look at the two pairs of "horns" on its head. The smaller pair are feelers. The larger pair carry the eyes — right at the very tip! Look carefully and you will see them there. They are not very good eyes, because the snail does not really need excellent eyesight, for, as we have said before, it comes out mostly at night.
It takes great care of its two eyes, however. If danger is about, the snail hides away its tiny eyes. Where does it put them? It turns its big pair of "horns" outside-in and stows its eyes at the bottom! How does it do that? Well, you can easily see what I mean by taking a glove-finger, putting a big pin in at the tip so that the pinhead represents the eye — then put your thumb and finger inside the glove, take hold of the end of the pin and pull. The finger turns inside-out — or, rather, outside-in — and the pin-head goes to the bottom. That is what happens to the snail's eyes when it "puts its horns in." Touch the horns and watch them roll inwards, and you will see exactly what I mean.
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TREES IN WINTER Elm and chestnut and beech and lime
But holly and fir and cedar and pine
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"MOTHER! MOTHER! Where are you?" called Francis. "Do come here a minute. I've found the very first snowdrop out in the garden."
His mother came out of the back door, drying her hands on a cloth. "Oh, Francis — did you have to call me just when I was so busy washing up?
"Yes, I did, Mother," said the boy. "You're always busy, anyway, so it wouldn't matter when I called you. I wish you weren't so busy. Fancy not even having time to look at a snowdrop! See, there it is!"
His mother looked down and saw the tiny white flower with its pretty drooping head. It grew in a mass of tangled grass, in a corner of the garden. She bent down and shook it gently.
"I know why you do that!" said Francis. "I knew you would. It's lucky to ring the bell of the first snowdrop you see in the New Year, isn't it?"
His mother laughed. "That's what country folk say, Francis — and goodness knows we could do with a little good luck!"
The sunlight gold was emptied into the old well, and at once the water gleamed brightly. Anything dipped into it became a shining orange-gold, beautiful to see. The Prince was delighted. He called the kind blackbirds to him and spoke to them.
"You have helped me," he said, "and now I will reward you. All birds like to be beautiful in the spring-time and wear gay feathers — but you are black and cannot beautify yourselves. Still, you may make your big beaks lovely to see — so when the spring-time comes near, blackbirds, fly to this well and dip your beaks into the golden water. Then you will have bright, shining beaks of orange-gold.
And every year since then the blackbirds have flown in spring-time to the secret golden well, and have come back to us with shining golden beaks. They are getting them now — have you noticed?
Yes, indeed — where was Jo? Some one had lifted him right off the ladder, up into the Land of Ice and Snow! And there, strangely enough, the moon and sun were in the sky at the same time, one at one side and the other opposite, both shining with a pale light.
Jo shivered, for it was very cold. He looked to see what had lifted him off the ladder, and he saw in front of him a big strange creature — a snowman! He was just like the snowmen Jo had so often made in the wintertime — round and fat and white, with an old hat on his head and a pipe in his mouth.
"This is luck!" said the Snowman, in a soft, snowy sort of voice. "I've been standing by that hole for days, waiting for a seal to come up — and you came!
"Oh," said Jo, remembering that seals came up to breathe through holes in the ice. "That wasn't a water-hole — that was the hole that led down the Faraway Tree. I want to go back, please."
"The hole has closed up," said the Snowman.
Jo looked — and to his great dismay he saw that a thick layer of ice had formed over the hole — so thick that he knew perfectly well he could never break through it.