Читать книгу House-at-the-Corner - Enid blyton - Страница 7

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Aunt Grace enjoyed being at the House-at-the-Corner. It was a lively house, with something always going on. Mr. Farrell was a surgeon, and went off every day to his hospital and private patients. He drove off in his big car, a quiet, kindly-faced man, absorbed in his work of bringing health and happiness back to as many people as he could.

He was Aunt Grace’s nephew, and she loved him and was proud of him. She had helped him when he was young and had not had much money to make his way, and he loved the old lady, and always made her welcome.

“You may laugh at Aunt Grace,” he sometimes said to his wife, when she grumbled at having to have the old lady to stay, “and you may think she’s a tiresome nuisance, with her parrot and her fussy ways and sharp tongue—but she’s got a heart of gold and I shall never forget how kind and generous she was to me when I was struggling to get on in my work!”

“I wish her heart of gold would show a bit more, then,” said Mrs. Farrell. “She’s really too sharp-tongued with Pam for anything! Pam’s almost grown up now and she won’t stand being ticked off like a child. And Aunt Grace isn’t above telling me a few things too!”

John Farrell smiled at his pretty, indignant wife. She was so like Pam—sweet to look at, quick in her ways—but she, too, found it difficult to be tidy and responsible and methodical. She was quite lost if her husband ever went away for a while and left her to manage things.

“I’ve spoilt her,” thought her husband. “And now she’s spoiling Pam. But Lucy isn’t selfish like Pam, thank goodness. Pam is getting hard and wilful. And what shall I do with that monkey of a Tony? I’ll give him a chance to turn over a new leaf when he goes into a higher form. If he doesn’t I shall have to have a talk with the headmaster.”

Then he began to think about his work again. He loved every minute of it. He had hoped that Tony might like to be a doctor or a surgeon too, but he saw that the boy was far too irresponsible ever to be trusted with people’s lives. Lizzie now—if she had been a boy—but she wasn’t. He looked at his watch. Time for him to go to the hospital—ah, there was Aunt Grace, putting Sukie’s cage into the sun.

“Hallo, Aunt Grace,” he said, and went out to talk to her for a minute. “I hope you and Sukie are happy here.”

“We are,” said Aunt Grace, smiling up at her tall, dark-haired nephew. Little bits of grey showed at his temples now, and it suited him, she thought. That was one of the best things she had ever done in her life—helping John when he was young! She was proud of him and fond of him.

“There’s always something going on here,” said Aunt Grace, filling Sukie’s pan with water. “Pam playing the piano. Tony making somebody laugh. Lizzie doing the flowers, the twins shouting about the garden, Greta singing one of her Austrian songs, the hens cackling because they have laid eggs, the bees buzzing in and out of the hives in the garden, Lucy calling somebody, you driving up in your car ... oh, it’s a lively house, and I’m very happy here.”

“Good,” said her nephew, and he gave his old aunt a quick squeeze. “Well, old lady, you helped to make it all, you know—if you hadn’t helped me as you did, I couldn’t have become a busy surgeon, I couldn’t have married Lucy and bought back our old house—the children wouldn’t be here—it’s all your doing, really!”

Aunt Grace turned away to hide the sudden tears that came to her eyes. All her doing! Well, that was something, anyway. She had made so many silly mistakes in her life, it was good to hear of something worth-while she had done. Dear old John—he knew the meaning of gratitude, and so few people did.

“I’m glad you’re doing well, John,” she said, giving Sukie a good supply of the sunflower seeds she loved. “Making enough money to keep your large family happy and well provided for! Pam going to college, and Tony too later on, I suppose, and ...”

“John, haven’t you gone yet?” cried Mrs. Farrell, from the window. “It’s past ten o’clock. You’ll be late!”

“So I shall,” said Mr. Farrell, and smiled at Aunt Grace. “Keeping me talking here! See you at lunch-time!”

Off he went in his big car. The sun shone down warmly. The bees buzzed in and out of the hives that old Frost kept at the bottom of the garden. He had shown the twins the insides, and had taught them all he knew about bees. They had been stung, but didn’t seem to mind. They knew all about the hens too, and had wanted to keep ducks as well, if Frost would only dig a small pond for them.

“No, really, hens are quite enough,” their mother said. “Why you want to mess about with hens and ducks and bees I can’t imagine! Still, it keeps you out of mischief, I suppose.”

The twins were sad at having to go to different schools. If only they could go to a school that took both boys and girls! But there wasn’t one in Rivers-End, their town.

Then, one day when they had gone to see their great friend, Michael Best, the son of the Rector, he had told them something that excited them very much.

“Why don’t you ask your father if you can go to boarding-school?” he said. “There are co-ed schools, you know, that take both boys and girls together—fine for twins like you!”

“Co-ed—whatever does that mean?” asked Delia. “What a funny name.”

“It means co-education, boys and girls together being educated,” explained Michael. “But perhaps your parents don’t believe in boarding-school?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Delia. “Pam and Lizzie never wanted to go, and Mother always says she couldn’t bear to let Tony leave her even for a week. But I’d love to go with David—we shouldn’t feel a bit lost or lonely there if we had each other—but I’d want to go to a school that let us keep pets and things, and gave us a garden of our own.”

“You want to go to Whyteleafe School then!” said Michael. “That’s a fine school—you have your own pets there, they keep hens and ducks and bees—turkeys too now, I believe the children manage the school garden themselves. They grow all their vegetables and fruit and flowers. There are horses to ride too—but the children look after them themselves.”

David and Delia began to glow. This sounded perfectly wonderful! “Michael! If only we could go! We’re so tired of always being ‘the babies’ at home, and of getting into Pam’s way, or Tony’s. Do they do lessons at this school, though? Daddy wouldn’t let us go if they didn’t.”

“Idiot! Of course they do!” said Michael, laughing. “They work jolly hard. And they have a sort of School Parliament, you know—have a meeting every week, and make their own rules, and mete out their own punishments and rewards. It’s jolly sensible. You’d like it.”

David and Delia looked at one another. Each thought the same. “We’ll ask Daddy about it at once!”

“We’d better get the—the—what do you call it—paper about the school,” said David.

“The prospectus,” said Michael. “Yes—you get that, and read up all about the school and find out how much the fees are and everything. Then you’ll be ready to talk it over with your father and mother—nothing like having everything at your finger-tips! I’ll write and get the prospectus for you if you like. Of course, the school may be too expensive. Your father’s got a lot of you to educate, you know!”

“Yes. Well, we won’t ask to go if it’s too expensive,” said Delia. “But we could find out. Thanks awfully, Michael. You really are a fine friend to have!”

Michael grinned. He was fifteen, much older than the twins, but he thought a lot of them. He was the only child of the Rector, and a very fine boy. In the holidays he held a Sunday Class for anyone who liked to come, and the twins went each Sunday.

Michael had a serious side to him a jolly side too. He meant to go into the Church like his father when he was older. “You see, I’m a bit like your father,” he explained to the twins. “He can’t be happy unless he is curing diseased and deformed bodies, and bringing back health and happiness to them. Well, I shan’t be happy unless I can cure diseased and deformed minds. Your father’s a doctor who mends bodies. I shall be a doctor who mends souls.”

“I shall come to you if ever my soul wants mending,” promised Delia, solemnly. “How will you mend it? How do souls get mended?”

“I shouldn’t think your soul will give you much trouble, Delia,” said Michael, looking down at the serious, kind little face turned up to him. “Not if you go on as you have begun, anyway. Now, let’s go exploring, shall we, and see how many birds we can spot to-day.”

Michael was as keen on Nature as the twins were. No one else in Rivers-End knew as much as Michael and the twins about birds and flowers and animals. When the twins disappeared for whole days in the holidays, their mother always knew where they were—at the Rectory with Michael, or roaming the woods and hills with him—having tea with Mrs. Best, the Rector’s wife, or looking through the Rector’s old books.

“They’re not a bit like ordinary children,” she complained to Aunt Grace. “They don’t play the ordinary games, or ask their friends here to play, they’re always studying some horrid creature or other—a hedgehog or a mole, or some caterpillar or worm! And whenever I ask them about what they are doing, they just shut up and look obstinate. Really, they might hardly belong to the family at all!”

“Lucy, they’re not likely to tell you much about their beloved ‘creatures’ if you think those creatures horrid and disgusting,” said Aunt Grace, her knitting needles going in and out with vigour. “They know you disapprove of their liking for out-of-doors things, so naturally they won’t tell you anything. Also, they are twins, and have each other as constant companions—they don’t need other children as Tony and Pam do.”

Tony was there, listening. “I can’t think why the twins are so friendly with that priggish Best boy,” he said. “Going to his Sunday Class, and half-living at the Rectory in the hols.! They’ll be turning into pious little prigs themselves next.”

“Oh, no they won’t,” said Aunt Grace, who was fond of the twins, and amused with their determined, solemn ways. “Just because they are really serious about things they do doesn’t mean they will be prigs. It would do you good, Tony, to be serious about something occasionally—your work for instance! People who can never take anything seriously aren’t much good in the world.”

“Oh, Tony will work hard as soon as he gets out of that silly Mr. Blinky’s class,” said Mrs. Farrell, anxious to defend Tony. “You can’t blame a high-spirited boy for making fun of a master who doesn’t know how to keep order in his class.”

“Well, I do blame him,” said Aunt Grace, unable to keep her tongue still once she had started. “You’ll be sorry, Lucy, you let him behave like this at this age! It will be too late, when he does make up his mind to use his brains in the proper way!”

“Aunt Grace, I can use my brains better than any boy in my class if I want to,” said Tony, stung by the outspoken things Aunt Grace was saying. “And I’d rather be myself than a prig like Michael Best—running a Sunday Class and being scout-master, and organizing sports for the village boys. Pooh!”

“I’m not going to argue with a small boy like you, Tony,” said Aunt Grace, trying hard to keep her temper. “But I should just like you to know that Michael Best has got his School Certificate already—got it last year, in fact—that he is captain of his games at school—and that he won the scholarship he wanted with higher marks than any boy has ever won! How you can call a boy like that a prig beats me! It would be a good thing if you went and helped him with the scouts in the village. I think ...”

But Tony was gone, banging the door rudely behind him. Mrs. Farrell looked upset. Aunt Grace knitted furiously, feeling angry with herself for losing her temper.

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she said at last. “Sorry for upsetting you, I mean. Perhaps you are right—Tony will make a great effort when he goes into a higher form, and will show us all what he can really do when he tries.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Mrs. Farrell, earnestly. “Look at Pam—always top of her form. And Tony has just as good brains, you know. All the same—I think you’re right about Michael Best—he isn’t a prig. He’s just a—a ...”

“A fine natural boy, using his strength of mind and body to do his best in every way,” said Aunt Grace. “And he’s the best friend those twins of yours could have! It’s a pity he isn’t Tony’s friend as well.”

No more was said. Aunt Grace forgot her burst of temper. Mrs. Farrell thought of something else. Only Tony remembered and was angry. How dare Aunt Grace find fault with him like that? Horrid, interfering old woman!