Читать книгу Goblin Island - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Malcolm had to go off to college again by the early boat next morning. But a fortnight later he walked in unexpectedly during the afternoon.

The house seemed deserted. There was no one in the garden, or the hall, or the dining-room. Mother Hubbard was dozing in the kitchen. She was old and stout, and whenever she had nothing to do she went to sleep. So Malcolm stood at the foot of the stairs, and shouted, “Colquhoun ahoy! Is any one at home?”

“It’s Malcolm!” and Boy Blue and Red Riding Hood came running out of Jill’s bedroom.

“Where’s everybody? Where’s Peggy? What’s the meaning of this unusual peace and quietness?”

“Jack and Jill and Cigarette are on Innis Beg——”

“Ah! that accounts for it!”

“They generally are over there just now. Peggy’s busy turning out drawers, and we’re helping.”

“Sheila’s helping. I’m watching,” Boy Blue corrected frankly.

They found Peggy sitting on the floor with an open drawer before her, and piles of clothing all around.

“It is such hard work, Malcolm!” she sighed. “I’m very glad to see you! I’m just ready for a rest and talk.”

“But, my dear girl, what are you doing?”

“Turning out drawers, and deciding what we will need on Innis Beg, and what must be packed up and left behind. All the drawers and cupboards and shelves have to be left empty, you know. Sheila, put these on my bed, please. Robin, you can carry those.”

“Sheila will take them in a minute. I’m busy,” said Boy Blue, diving into Malcolm’s pockets.

“There’s nothing for you to-day, young man. Too much Edinburgh rock isn’t good for wee boys. Next time it will be Sheila that will get a present, if she does all the work. Yes, there’s something in there, but it’s not for you. Don’t Jack and Jill help, Peggy?”

“When they can, but there’s so much they can’t do. Jack’s always ready when I tell him just what I want and how I want it done, but it’s often easier to do it myself. What’s brought you home to-day?”

“News,” smiled Malcolm.

“Oh, what?”

“Jack and Jill will want to hear, but they won’t know Malcolm’s come,” said Sheila. “Shall I run down to the shore and wave for them, Peggy?”

But Jack and Jill had watched the little steamer from their oak tree on Innis Beg. She had to pass between them and Strongarra, and the passage was so narrow that they could have thrown an acorn on to the deck. So they had recognised Malcolm on the bridge talking to the captain, and had hurried home to meet him. They were delayed by Cigarette, who was searching for rabbits and refused to be caught and carried into the boat, or they would have reached the house first.

They rushed upstairs to greet their brother, and at sight of Cigarette Malcolm felt in his pocket.

“Master Cigarette Colquhoun! Prize for bad behaviour, biting, and barking,” and he held out a pipe. “A new one all to yourself. Now, don’t bite mine any more. I prefer to bite it myself.”

Jack gave a shout of approval. But Cigarette just smelt the pipe, then turned away in disgust, and Jill cried indignantly, “Well, he iss an ungrateful dog! Cigarette, I’m fair ashamed of you!”

“I wonder why he won’t have it?” Sheila pondered, and Jill looked puzzled for a moment.

“I know! How ferry silly of you, Malcolm! It doesn’t smell of smoke, because it iss quite new. It’s the smoky smell he likes.”

“Think so? Then I suppose I must smoke it for him for a day or two. Can you put me up over Sunday, Peg?”

“Why, of course! Now, if these noisy weans will be quiet, perhaps you will tell us your news. Has Mr. Sinclair found some one to take the house?”

“That’s it. I heard from him this morning, and came to tell you at once.”

“Oh!—It hasn’t taken him very long. And who is it, Malcolm? Are they nice people? And when do they want to come in?”

“His name’s Donald Maxwell, and he’s an author. I believe he’s written several books. Do you know any of them?”

“I—don’t—think so. Oh, yes! I knew I’d seen his name. I read some stories of his in a magazine, when I was at school in Edinburgh. Such pretty little stories they were! We all fell in love with them, and wished there were more. He must be splendid! Is he married, Malcolm? Has he a family?”

“He’s a widower with one daughter. I don’t know her age. Sinclair has done business with him for years. They live in London, but they often spend the summer in Scotland, and he has had to find them a house several times. He wrote to them about this place, and has heard they will be willing to take it. They’d like to come in in a fortnight.”

“A fortnight!” Peggy cried in despair. “I can’t be ready! There’s ever so much to do, and the cottage isn’t nearly ready for us.”

“The painting and whitewashing are done,” Jill said eagerly.

“But think of all there is to do here!”

“I don’t see that there iss so ferry much to do.”

“I don’t suppose you do,” Peggy sighed. “But I do. You’ll all have to help. We’ll do our best, Malcolm, but it’s very short notice. Are they coming to see the house?”

“No, they’ll take Sinclair’s word for it that it’s all right. He’s done it for them before, you know, and it’s a long way to come from London.”

“I suppose so. Well, since you are here, you can help me to decide about the furniture, Malcolm. And do you think you can come again to help with the flitting? All the things must go by boat, you know. It will be a dreadful business.”

“Fun!” said Jack.

“And think of taking over the cow and the cocks and hens in a small boat!”

Malcolm laughed. “I’ll help. But do you really mean to take the cow, Peg? Who will look after her?”

“Mother Hubbard’s Sandy,” said Peggy.

“But where is he to live? There’s no room for him on Innis Beg.”

“Oh, he’ll live here as usual, and come over to us every two or three days to do some things we can’t do. One of us will milk the cow——”

“Me, Peggy! Oh, do let me!” cried Jill.

“Poor cow!” laughed Jack.

“But Sandy will clean out the byre and hen-house, and scrub the stairs and the step, and clean the windows. Mother Hubbard and I will be too busy.”

“Busy or not, you’re not going to do that sort of work. If Peggy even offers to clean the windows, Jack, you’re to telegraph to me at once, and I’ll never leave her alone again.”

Peggy laughed. “Oh, I don’t intend to. Mother Hubbard’s Sandy will do all that.”

The small boy was always called Mother Hubbard’s Sandy, because Mother Hubbard was his grandmother. He lived at Strongarra in a cottage near the stables with his father, Big Sandy, and between them they looked after the carriage and pony trap, and took care of the horse and pony. When Peggy drove out in state to call on some of the strangers who very occasionally visited the neighbourhood in summer, Big Sandy put on his livery and drove her in the carriage. But it was Wee Sandy and the pony trap who carried them all along the shore of the lake for picnics. When Big Sandy was not required as coachman, he worked in the garden, and Wee Sandy helped Mother Hubbard in the kitchen. Mother Hubbard’s Sandy was a great friend of Jack and Jill’s, and was their devoted slave, and followed in any mischief they proposed.

The moving of the furniture was certainly a difficult matter, but with Malcolm’s help was safely managed. Peggy begged for a few days over the fortnight, and she and Mother Hubbard and Sandy worked from morning till night. Sheila helped when she could, and when she could do nothing else she devoted herself to Boy Blue and Cigarette, and kept them out of the way. Even Jack and Jill did what they could. They did not like work of any kind, but they could not see Peggy looking tired and worried and not offer to help. Jack said it was all hands to the pumps, and made Jill do her share.

The cottage had been cleaned and scrubbed and painted, and the walls hung with fresh, pretty papers which Malcolm had sent from town. The garden had been dug up and put in order, and vegetables and a few favourite plants from Strongarra had been planted in place of the untidy shrubs. The grass of the tiny lawn had been cut and rolled by Jack and Jill, and the paths carefully weeded. The byre had been whitewashed and was ready for the cow, the hen-house for the cocks and hens, and the kennel for Cigarette. The upper and lower ends of the island were left in their wild state, for here were groups of firs and rowans and birches, and masses of rock, and tiny hidden corners for picnics, gay with primroses and green with bracken and heather. Innis Beg looked promising as a dwelling-place.

The moving of the furniture presented certain difficulties. The distance from Strongarra to the island was not great, but there was no boat in Lios that could carry some of the necessary things. The cottage was to be very simply furnished, but certain things could not be done without.

Peggy insisted that the nursery piano must go. The drawing-room one must be left for the Maxwells, but the old one could easily be spared.

“Oh, we don’t need the piano!” Jill cried, when she heard this. “We could do without it ferry well indeed.”

“That we couldn’t! Not for three or four months. Not if I know it,” Peggy said with spirit.

“You’re just taking it so that you can make me practise,” Jill grumbled.

“Indeed I’m not! I have a much nicer reason, but you shan’t hear it just now. I could not possibly do without music for three or four months.”

“There iss your banjo. What more do you want?”

“I want the piano, so that you can play my accompaniments, Jill,” said Peggy, and Jill went off disconsolately. She hated practising, and only the thought of playing Peggy’s accompaniments kept her to it.

“There do seem a lot of trunks, Peg,” said Malcolm. “Are you sure you’ll need all those clothes?”

“No, my dear, I’m not. But we may need them, and we must be prepared. To-day is fine, but to-morrow will probably be wet, and Monday may be cold enough for winter things again. You know the children never stay indoors for rain or mist.—I’m sure I don’t want them to. They’d be in the house half the time.—But they must have dry things to put on when they come in. They wouldn’t like to have to go to bed every time they got wet! I don’t think I’m taking more than we’re likely to need.”

“Well, you’ve looked after them for two years, Peg. You should know.”

Peggy nodded. “I think I do.”

The piano, the trunks, and various other articles could not be carried across the strait in the frail rowing-boats of Strongarra. So after much discussion a great ferry boat was borrowed from Dunreoch up the loch, and made to do duty as a furniture van. Malcolm came from town to help and superintend, and every one had a very busy day.

So busy were they indeed that by the evening they were all both tired and cross. The furniture had been moved to Innis Beg in the forenoon, and the afternoon had been spent in putting the cottage in order. By tea-time the rooms were at any rate tidy enough to be lived in till Monday, though there was still much arranging of books and pictures to be done.

But they had worked so hard that they were all very tired, and even Peggy had very little patience left and scarcely tried to keep order round the tea-table.

So Jack and Jill quarrelled—a very unusual thing—and blamed one another for trifles. Boy Blue, who had done less work than any one, thumped on the table with his mug, kicked the legs of his chair, and talked and sang all the time. Sheila scolded him, for she had been running errands all day, and was tired too. Jill talked even more like a Highlander than usual, and Jack threatened to box her ears for worrying Peggy. Malcolm scolded them all in turn, and Peggy poured out endless cups of tea and listened to the noise and clamour in a kind of despair.

Even Cigarette helped to increase the uproar. He had been in distress all day, for his pipe, his own particular pipe, which Malcolm had smoked till it smelt delightfully, had disappeared in the confusion of the flitting. As a matter of fact, it was safe in Jack’s pocket, but Cigarette did not know that. He poked anxiously in corners, nosed round baskets and boxes, and met every one with a questioning yelp, which seemed to say, “Please, have you seen my pipe?”

During tea-time it occurred to him that it was probably on the mantel-piece, since Malcolm always laid his there. So he sat for a time on the hearth-rug, gazing wistfully upwards. Then, losing patience, he jumped into the air, and repeated the performance again and again, hoping each time to jump so high that he could see if the pipe lay on the shelf. Each time he jumped he gave a yelp to encourage himself, but never managed to spring quite high enough. The children were too busy scolding one another to notice him, and Peggy was too tired and too hard at work with the tea-pot.

Sheila always sat next to the tea-pot, with Robin on her other side, so that she could spread his bread-and-jam. So she was close to Peggy, and only Peggy heard her sigh, while the noise was at its height,

“Oh, dear! I wish we hadn’t come to this horrid wee house!”

This would never do! The child looked tired and miserable, and they all wanted something to cheer them up. Peggy resolutely put away thoughts of headache and a quiet restful evening, and stood up, rapping on the table for silence with the handle of her knife.

“Boy Blue, please be quiet one moment! Can you make that dog be still, Malcolm? Jack and Jill and Sheila, I know you are all tired. We have done a lot of work to-day, and we ought to be feeling pleased with ourselves. Just at present we are too tired for that, but I think if we had some fun before bed-time we might feel better. As soon as I have had some tea—I’ve only had one cup, because you are all so thirsty, and so you ought to be too—as soon as I’ve finished, we’ll go out and sit on the beach and have sing-song.”

“What’s—that?” asked Jack.

“Whateffer iss it?” cried Jill, and Boy Blue demanded, “Sing what song?”

“Well done, Peggy!” said Malcolm.

“We’ll sing all the songs in Malcolm’s song-book—the songs they sing at college. We’ll choose the very silliest ones we know, and they’ll make us laugh, and then we shall all feel better——”

“Polly-wolly-doodle?” asked Boy Blue eagerly.

“Macpherson?” cried Jill.

“Solomon Levi?” asked Jack.

“Upidee?” said Sheila, beginning to laugh already.

“Every one of them, and as many more as you like. I’ll bring the banjo, and Malcolm will keep time. Now, if you’ll all go outside and choose the songs, I’ll finish my tea. Please take Cigarette with you.”

“You silly old boy!” said Jack. “I’ve got your pipe. Come away!”

He showed it for a moment, and Cigarette, with a yelp of joy, made a dash for it. Jack ran out of the house and down to the beach, with the dog barking at his heels, and Jill and the little ones close behind.

“What a stroke of genius, Peg!” Malcolm exclaimed. “But can you stand it? Think of the row! You’ll have a splitting headache.”

“I believe I have a little one already. But they were so miserable, Malcolm! They’ll feel ever so much better after some singing. I shall propose it every time they get cross.”

When they reached the shore, Peggy carrying her banjo, Cigarette was lying under the great oak tree, with his pipe between his paws. But at sight of Peggy and Malcolm he picked it up and sat with it sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his head on one side, and a look on his face which said plainly, “Did you ever see such a clever dog?”

Peggy was greeted with cries for “Polly-wolly-doodle,” for it was a special favourite. Then one after another the songs they liked were called for. It did not matter that in many cases the words had very little meaning. The tunes were lively, the choruses noisy, and they knew them by heart. Some, Jack and Jill insisted on singing through a second time, and Peggy, whose only wish just now was to please them, raised no objections and did not hint that it was possible to grow tired of them.

But after a while she led them, by way of “Nelly Bly” and “Poor old Joe,” to plantation songs, which were more to her taste and more suited to the banjo. And Cigarette sat throughout the performance with his pipe between his paws until some one looked at him, when he immediately picked it up in his mouth, and sat looking as conceited as a dog well could.

At last Peggy brought the proceedings to a close with “Good-night, ladies! We’re going to leave you now,” and Mother Hubbard came hurrying to carry off Boy Blue.

“It iss long past seffen o’clock,” she said severely, “and such a noise you will all be making! In Lios they will be saying we are all crazy.”

“I hope they couldn’t hear in Lios,” Peggy said, laughing. “Good-night, Boy Blue.”

“Sheila, you come too! I want you,” Robin cried, and Sheila obligingly went with him into the cottage.

“Why does Boy Blue always want Sheila while he iss going to bed?” asked Jill, and Jack laughed.

“It’s because Mother Hubbard tells goblin stories, and he feels as if Sheila was some protection. I wonder she goes every night.”

“I don’t like Mother Hubbard’s stories after it iss dark,” Jill said seriously. “In the day-time they are fun, but if I hear them at night, I keep looking over my shoulder for ghosts and witches and black cats. Jack, iss it likely we shall hear the Goblin at night, do you think?” and she looked nervously across at Goblin Island. “We are nearer to him than we were at Strongarra.”

“No! I don’t think it’s at all likely,” Jack said stoutly.

“Well, I’m glad I’m going to sleep in the kitchen with Mother Hubbard.”

“Pooh! You’re a silly girl.”

“Put away the banjo, Peg,” said Malcolm, when Boy Blue had gone, “and come into the house and rest. You’re dead beat. You shall have your breakfast in bed to-morrow.”

“Indeed I won’t! On Sunday too! What next? I suppose you must go off again on Monday, Malcolm?”

“Rather! By the early morning boat, if you can manage it, Peg. It means breakfast soon after seven, but you mustn’t get up so soon. Mother Hubbard will see I have some porridge.”

“Isn’t it likely! We’ll row you over to Lios.”

“I’m afraid I won’t get down to see you again for a while, unless you have to send for me. I’ve been neglecting college shamefully lately. I’ll have to work in earnest now.”

“Yes, you must. But you’ll find time to write?”

“Of course. And you must let me know what you think of the Maxwells.”

“When is it they are coming, Malcolm?”

“Tuesday or Wednesday, Sinclair said.”

“We’ll write as soon as we have anything to tell you. I do hope we’ll like them.”

“Come up into the tree, Jill,” said Jack.

“You said you meant to hate them?” he asked, when they were each settled comfortably astride a branch.

“Who? How you do jump into the middle of things, to be sure!”

“These Maxwells who are coming to Strongarra.”

“I do hate them already, as hard as effer I can.”

Jack laughed. “All right. I was going to propose this.—Let’s declare war on them. They’ve committed an unfriendly act by coming to live in our house, so they must be enemies. We’ll declare a feud, and——”

Jill laughed, and began to sing one of the songs they had just been singing, a great favourite of hers.

“ ‘Oh! Fhairshon swore a feud

Against ta clan Mac-Tavish,

March’d into their land

To murder and to ravish;

For he did resolve

To extirpate ta fipers,

With four-and-twenty men,

And five-and-thirty pipers.’ ”

“Yes, that’s it. They are the enemy, and we’ll treat them as enemies. We’ll have nothing to do with them. We’ll go over at night and spy on them—we’ll peep through the windows and watch them—Mother Hubbard’s Sandy will tell us all about them—we’ll frighten them till they think the house is haunted—if they leave things lying about the garden we’ll steal them. All’s fair in love and war, you know. What do you say?”

“Fine!” cried Jill, her eyes sparkling. “How did you think of it all?”

“Oh, I just—just thought of it, you know. I think we’ll get some fun out of it.”

“But,” said Jill thoughtfully, “we must be careful. You know how the feud ended:

‘In this ferry way

Tied ta faliant Fhairshon,

Who was always thought

A most superior person.’ ”

“I know. Oh, we’ll manage better than Fhairshon did,” Jack said, laughing.