Читать книгу Six Cousins Again - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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“Let’s all go over and see Holly Farm!” said Jane, on a fine December morning. “The Rokers have gone now. They went yesterday so it’s empty.”

“Yes, let’s!” said Roderick and Susan, delighted. Melisande nodded too. She felt excited at the thought of seeing their new home.

Jack and Cyril came by the window, and the others yelled to them. “We’re going over to see Holly Farm—the Rokers have gone. Are you coming too?”

The two boys opened the window wide enough to jump in. “What’s all the shouting about?” asked Jack.

“Haven’t you finished your Saturday jobs yet,” said Jane. “We’ve decided to go and look at Holly Farm.”

The six cousins began to talk at the tops of their voices. Jane and Jack were twins, getting on for sixteen. Susan was their little sister. She was twelve.

Melisande, Cyril and Roderick were their cousins. Cyril was sixteen, Melisande was fifteen, and Roderick was the youngest of the six cousins, even younger than Susan. They sat there, talking nineteen to the dozen, with Crackers, the black spaniel listening as if he understood every single word.

“We’ve been staying with you so long now that Mistletoe Farm seems like home,” said Melisande, looking round the cosy, rather untidy sitting-room. “I shall miss it.”

“Yes—it’s almost eight months since we came,” said Cyril, counting up. “Our house was burnt down then, and we came to you.”

They all sat silent for a few minutes, remembering that far-off April evening, when the telephone bell had shrilled out, and the news had flashed through. Susan especially remembered everything clearly. She never forgot anything!

“Jane went to the phone first,” she said, “then Mummy went, and we heard her saying she was horrified, and terribly sorry for you. We couldn’t think what had happened.”

“It seems a long time ago now,” said Melisande. “I don’t mind telling you we all three hated the idea of coming to stay with you—Mistletoe Farm seemed dreadful to us after lovely Three Towers.”

“Well, we didn’t want you either,” said Jane. “None of us did—except perhaps Mummy, but she’s always so sorry for people when things happen to them. I remember how I hated having to clear out a chest of drawers for you to put your clothes in, Melisande. I couldn’t bear the idea of sharing a room with you. Well, I still don’t like it, actually, but I’ve sort of got used to it.”

“And Roderick hated that little room up near the cistern,” said Susan. “You were afraid of the gurgles it made—do you remember, Roderick?”

“Gosh, yes—I must have been an idiot,” said Roderick. “I never even notice the noises the cistern makes now.”

“You’ll probably miss them when you get to Holly Farm,” said Jane, with a laugh. “I’m sure everything is absolutely up-to-date and well-behaved at Holly Farm—even the cistern! It seems funny to think you’ll be moving in so soon.”

“Yes—it’ll feel queer to be only three of us instead of six,” said Jack.

“Queer for us too,” said Cyril. “But after all, we’re not very far away. And if Dad can get us each a horse, we’ll be riding over pretty often.”

“It’s almost four miles by the road, but it’s only two-and-a-half by the fields,” said Susan. “That’s what Twigg the poacher told me, anyway. He says he’ll show me all the short cuts when you move.”

For eight months the six cousins had had to live at very close quarters indeed with one another.

Mistletoe Farm was certainly not meant for six children—it was hardly big enough for three! It had meant sharing rooms, living on top of one another, and being altogether very uncomfortable.

Added to that, the three Mistletoe Farm cousins were real country children, and the other three whose house had been burnt down, were real town-children, who turned up their noses at life in the country. So there had been quarrels and bickering and bad temper—but then somehow or other the corners had got knocked off, and now the six cousins were genuinely sorry to part.

“It’s jolly decent of your father to buy Holly Farm for my father, and set him up there,” said Cyril to Jack. “I guess Dad will be happy, running a farm himself. It’s what he always wanted to do, but he just had to live in a town because Mother hated the country.”

“She’ll still hate it, I expect,” said Susan. “But it’s her turn to do something she doesn’t like. Your father had years of living somewhere he hated.”

Jane gave her a nudge. Susan was always so tactless. Melisande frowned.

“Don’t talk like that about my mother,” she said to Susan. “I wouldn’t dream of saying things like that about your mother!”

“No, because she’s not like ...,” began Susan, and got another, sharper nudge from Jane. Now it was Susan’s turn to scowl. She never could understand why she couldn’t always say exactly what she was thinking. And she was thinking that her beautiful, well-groomed Aunt Rose would most certainly hate to live on a farm and run a farm-house! In fact Susan simply couldn’t imagine her doing it.

Aunt Rose, the mother of Cyril, Melisande and Roderick, was so different from Susan’s own hard-working, cheerful, sensible mother. Certainly Aunt Rose always dressed much better than Susan’s own mother, who was nearly always in overalls as she raced about the house doing the hundred and one jobs that were for ever waiting for her—and certainly Aunt Rose smelt nice and had pretty hair and walked almost as if she was floating on air.

But on the other hand Susan’s mother, according to Susan, was the best in the world—she was a mother, and in Susan’s opinion Aunt Rose wasn’t a real mother at all. Hadn’t she let all her three children live at Mistletoe Farm for eight months and only come to see them once? Susan opened her mouth to remind Melisande of this, and then shut it again. Jane would nudge her for the third time if she said anything more about mothers!

They all began to talk about Holly Farm. It had just come into the market at the right time. At first the children of Mistletoe Farm had been afraid that their father was going to buy it for their own mother, because Mistletoe Farm was old-fashioned, and very hard to work. But their mother had said no she couldn’t leave dear old Mistletoe Farm—and so Holly Farm had been bought for the cousins. Their father, brother to Susan’s father, was to run it, and his wife, Aunt Rose, was to come down from Scotland, where she had been staying; and so once more the family, split by the burning down of their old house, were to be together again.

“Holly Farm’s got electric light and gas,” said Roderick. “That’ll please Melisande—no more cleaning oil-lamps and filling them!”

“And it’s got a proper water-supply,” said Jane. “And Dad says the cows’ milking-shed is all tiled! Fancy cows having a place that’s tiled. Do you suppose they like it?”

“I don’t care if they like it or not,” said Melisande. “I shall like it. At least it will be easy to swill down and clean, and won’t smell as horrible at the cow-sheds here.”

“They don’t smell horrible!” said Susan, indignantly. “Cows smell lovely.”

“The stables are fine too,” said Cyril. “Of course, they’re new. The ones here must be very old. I shall like the new ones—but there’s a kind of feel about the old ones here that I love.”

“Yes,” agreed Susan, “as if they’re still remembering all the nice old horses that ever stood there. I know what you mean.”

“Well, if we’re going to have a squint at Holly Farm, we’d better go,” said Cyril, getting up. “Come on—we’ll ask your mother for the keys, and go over. You three ride on your horses, and we three will catch the bus that goes in ten minutes.”

Cyril got the keys, and he, Melisande and Roderick went to catch the bus that went to the bottom of the lane in which Holly Farm stood. The other three cousins went to get their horses.

They cantered off in the crisp, frosty morning. Jack looked back at Mistletoe Farm as he went.

“I’m glad we’re not going to Holly Farm!” he thought. “I’m glad Mistletoe Farm is ours. But Holly Farm will suit the others down to the ground. They’ll love it!”