The Indian in the Cupboard Trilogy
Three bestselling stories about Omri, and his friend Patrick, who turns his plastic Red Indian, Little Bull, into a real miniature person.The Indian in the CupboardWho’d want a boring little plastic Red Indian as a birthday present? Omri doesn’t – until his brother gives him a very special cupboard which can make the Indian come alive…Return of the IndianOmri is unexpectedly reminded of his beloved Red Indian, and can’t resist making sure he’s still all right. But when he opens the cupboard door Little Bull is wounded, nearly dead, and Omri must find help.The Secret of the IndianOmri’s friend Patrick goes back in time to the Wild West, and keeping the secret safe becomes even more difficult for Omri…
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LYNNE REID BANKS
THE INDIAN IN THE CUPBOARD
TRILOGY
THE INDIAN IN THE CUPBOARDRETURN OF THE INDIANSECRET OF THE INDIAN
These novels are entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in them are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollins Children’s Books
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
This three-in-one edition first published by Collins 1993
Text copyright © Lynne Reid Banks 1981, 1986, 1989
Lynne Reid Banks asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN:9780006749523
Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780007405022 Version: 2016–10–28
For Omri – Who else?
It was not that Omri didn’t appreciate Patrick’s birthday present to him. Far from it. He was really very grateful – sort of. It was, without a doubt, very kind of Patrick to give Omri anything at all, let alone a secondhand plastic Red Indian which he himself had finished with.
The trouble was, though, that Omri was getting a little fed up with small plastic figures, of which he had loads. Biscuit-tinsful, probably three or four if they were all put away at the same time, which they never were because most of the time they were scattered about in the bathroom, the loft, the kitchen, the breakfast-room, not to mention Omri’s bedroom and the garden. The compost heap was full of soldiers which, over several autumns, had been raked up with the leaves by Omri’s mother, who was rather careless about such things.
Omri and Patrick had spent many hours together playing with their joint collections of plastic toys. But now they’d had about enough of them, at least for the moment, and that was why, when Patrick brought his present to school on Omri’s birthday, Omri was disappointed. He tried not to show it, but he was.
“Do you really like him?” asked Patrick as Omri stood silently with the Indian in his hand.
“Yes, he’s fantastic,” said Omri in only a slightly flattish voice. “I haven’t got an Indian.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t got any cowboys either.”
“Nor have I. That’s why I couldn’t play anything with him.”
Omri opened his mouth to say, “I won’t be able to either,” but, thinking that might hurt Patrick’s feelings, he said nothing, put the Indian in his pocket and forgot about it.
After school there was a family tea, and all the excitement of his presents from his parents and his two older brothers. He was given his dearest wish – a skateboard complete with kick-board and cryptonic wheels from his mum and dad, and from his eldest brother, Adiel, a helmet. Gillon, his other brother, hadn’t bought him anything because he had no money (his pocket-money had been stopped some time ago in connection with a very unfortunate accident involving their father’s bicycle). So when Gillon’s turn came to give Omri a present, Omri was very surprised when a large parcel was put before him, untidily wrapped in brown paper and string.
