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The People of Pudding Hill
No. 2.
All Rights Reserved.
Mr. Tom's Airy Adventure.

(By Shiela Russell. )

One fine morning Mr. Tom was sunning himself upon the verandah of the cottage on Pudding Hill, and felt that it was good to be alive. “Adventurous is what I feel,” he said to himself, carefully polishing his shirt front. “It must be the Spring” But when his shirt polishing was done, instead of being adventurous he stretched himself out and lay idling, watching Mr. and Mrs. Sparrowdene, who had collected their young family upon the roof and were teaching them to fly.

“Now this is the way to do it,” Mr. Sparrowdene would cry, as he jumped into the air and flew round in a circle, and Mrs. Sparrowdene would give each little bird a push after him. At first the babies were very frightened, but soon they were chirruping with excitement as one after the other they jumped and found they could stay up in the air.

“It looks quite easy to me,” thought Mr. Tom, and as he watched, wondered whether it would be possible for him to fly, and the more he wondered, the more he longed to be able to do so.

“After all,” said he to himself, “I don't know but what I can't, I've never tried certainly, but that doesn't say …”

He paused while Mrs. Sparrowdene began scolding one of her sons who, instead of sailing smoothly through the air, was bouncing up and down as though he were jumping on a spring mattress.

“In fact, I feel quite sure I could do it better than that young bird,” he added.

The sun was growing hotter, Mr. Tom's head began to nod and just for a moment he closed his eyes. Presently, without quite knowing how he had got there, he found himself on the roof, close to where the Sparrowdenes were gathered. For a moment he stood watching them, and then, quietly crept round to the other side of the chimney pots to where he knew they could not see him.

“Now,” said Mr. Tom, “I'm going to fly.”

He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. It seemed a very long way down to the garden, and for a moment he wished he was back on the verandah, but his mind was made up.

“If Harold Sparrowdene can do it,” said he, “I can,” and shutting his eyes tight he jumped off the roof.

Nothing happened. He had half expected to feel himself floating in the air like a balloon.

Mr. Tom was thrilled, “I'm levitating,” he cried joyfully, you remember he was very fond of using long words, then, recalling how the Sparrowdenes used their wings he began waving his legs up and down like paddles. At first he found it a little difficult to move each leg at the right time, and could do no more than go round and round. Presently, however, becoming more used to it, he began sailing along in fine style. His tail stuck up straight behind him, and he found that by moving it to one side or the other it acted like a rudder and he could steer himself in any direction he liked.

He flew round the chimney pots and in amongst the Sparrowdenes who scattered in all directions, terrified at the sight of what they thought must be some strange bird.

“Don't be alarmed,” Mr. Tom called to them, “it's only me, I've learnt to fly!“—and with a whisk of his tail he flapped off towards Johnny Black whom he spied singing lustily on the top of a tree.

“Look at me flying!” he cried, and poor Johnny got such a fright that he fell out of the tree and could never afterwards remember what song it was he had been singing.

As Mr. Tom continued on his way, all the People of Pudding Hill came out to watch hi m. Seeing this he grew bolder, and began to swoop and circle and dive, while his friends cried out in admiration at each new trick. Only the Field Mice jeered at him.

“See if you can loop the loop,” they squeaked, hoping, of course, that if he tried he would fall down and hurt himself.

Joe, the Morepork, awakened out of his mid-day sleep by all this excitement, angrily demanded to know what it was about.

“I'm flying,” called Mr. Tom. “I can go this way and that way,” as he made his tail steer him first one side and then the other of Joe.

“Well, do you mind not doing it? You make me feel quite giddy.” Joe was so cross that he forgot to be surprised.

“I've never heard such nonsense,” he muttered, “a cat flying! What next I should like to know.”

But Peter Possum, who, as you know, lived lower down the same tree, was full of admiration for Mr. Tom.

“Come down here,” he called, “and show me how to do it.”

So, Mr. Tom who, truth to tell, was getting a little tired, sailed down and settled on a branch beside Peter. For awhile he sat and listened to Peter Possum telling him how wonderful he was, and as he listened he began to think that he must be a very wonderful person indeed.

“Probably I'm the only cat in the world who can fly,” he said, “the only cat who ever could or will. Of course, I shall have to go away. I shall travel round the world and become famous. People will write books about me, and page 38 page 39 perhaps make up a song or two. Something like this:

“There was a very noble Cat, Whose name was Mr. Tom, One day he climbed upon the roof And flew just like a …

“What rhymes with Tom?” he asked. “Bomb!” said Joe from above. “Bombs burst, you know, when they fall.”

“I wasn't talking to you,” said Mr. Tom loftily.

“Oh, look Tom,” cried Peter Possum, “there's Miss Amelia down in the garden, she hasn't seen you yet.”

“I'll swoop down and astonish her!” said Mr. Tom standing up.

“Don't forget pride comes before a fall,” he heard Joe cackle as he launched himself into the air.

For a moment he lay, thinking he must be quite dead. Then he sat up slowly, holding his head between his paws, and found himself in the middle of the gravel path below the verandah.

No Miss Amelia was in sight. Johnny Black was singing from the top of his tree, and up on the roof Mrs. Sparrowdene was saying:

“Now, once more children, follow your father.”

“Have I been flying or have I been dreaming?” moaned Mr. Tom.

Just then Miss Amelia came round the corner and sat down at his side. For a moment she watched the Sparrowdenes flying round, then, “Wouldn't it be nice to be able to fly on a beautiful morning like this, Mr. Tom?” she asked.

Mr. Tom groaned and rubbed his head.

“I have been flying,” he answered. Miss Amelia looked at him in astonishment, and he proceeded to tell her all about his adventures in the air.

“Why, dear me,” she said when he had finished, “you must have been dreaming. I know you went to sleep and fell off the verandah rail.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Tom, “that must have been what happened.”

They were both silent for a little while, then Miss Amelia said in her kind way that made all the Animals so fond of her:

“Well, I am glad you haven't hurt yourself. Let us walk round to the back door and see if there is any milk.”

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