Читать книгу Six Cousins Again - Enid blyton - Страница 7

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There was a light in the window of the scullery. Roderick remembered that he had heard someone out there. Who was it? A friend of Ellen’s?

He went to the window to see. At the same moment the backdoor opened and somebody came out with a pail in her hand. Roderick knew her at once!

It was Sally, a niece of Dorcas’s, who had sometimes come to see her aunt at Mistletoe Farm. She was a plump, round girl of about seventeen, with cheeks like an apple and a mop of dark hair.

“Sally!” said Roderick, in a loud, delighted whisper.

She jumped. “Oooh, who’s that? Why, it’s you, Master Roderick! What are you doing out here in the cold?”

“Nothing,” said Roderick, truthfully. “Except I was wishing that Ellen was Dorcas.”

Sally gave a little snort. “They’m different as chalk from cheese,” she said. “Miss High-and-Mighty would fall foul of Dorcas in two minutes. Did I hear you say you wanted a bite of bread and cheese? You wait and I’ll get you some.”

She disappeared and came out with a generous hunk of bread and cheese. She pushed it into Roderick’s hand. “There you are. Dorcas would have done the same—she knows what hungry boys are like. If you want any snacks, you just come to me, not to Miss Sour-Puss in there!”

Roderick gave a small chuckle. Miss High-and-Mighty! Miss Sour-Puss! What lovely names for the haughty, sour-faced Ellen. He whispered his thanks to Sally and went off to eat his bread and cheese in a nearby shed. He began to think of Crackers the spaniel again, and wondered how many dogs his father would keep.

“Farmers always have to have dogs,” he thought. “I hope Daddy gets his quickly. Then I could have one of them for my own.”

He went back indoors again, feeling much better after his talk with Sally and his bread and cheese. He determined to ask his father about dogs as soon as he got a chance.

Ellen had cleared away the tea. The sitting-room looked cosy and friendly, with the curtains drawn, and a big log fire sending up flames and sparks. It crackled loudly. His mother was sitting making a new cushion cover by the fire, and Cyril was fiddling with the wireless in the corner. Melisande was trying to make up her mind to leave the cosy room and look at her bedroom upstairs. She hadn’t yet seen it all nicely furnished.

Mr. Longfield was reading the paper contentedly in an arm-chair. From time to time he glanced at his wife and smiled. He felt very happy. A home again—and all his family round him—and a farm outside waiting for him to tend it and care for it as best he could. He would cover his fields with crops, set cows in his pastures, have sheep on the hills, and hens in the yard. There was a fine pigsty too—with a tiled floor almost good enough for him to eat off! He was lucky to get such an up-to-date little farm.

“Have you been up to see your bedroom?” Mrs. Longfield asked Roderick. “Do you like it?”

“I haven’t been yet,” said Roderick.

“Where have you been all this time then?” asked his mother. Roderick remembered that question of hers of old. She always liked to know where everyone had been and what everyone had done. He answered vaguely.

“Oh—I’ve just been wandering about.” He didn’t like to say he had been to ask for bread and cheese in the kitchen, and he certainly wasn’t going to give Sally away.

“I’m going to see my room,” said Melisande getting up at last. “Come with me and see yours, Roderick. You coming too, Cyril?”

“Yes,” said Cyril. “I must say it’s marvellous to be so comfortable on moving-in day. Everything arrived and unpacked and set in place.”

“Except the pictures,” said his mother. “Daddy is going to put those up to-night. I’ll come up with you and see if you like your rooms.”

They all went up together, and came out on a small, but fairly wide landing. Three doors opened off it, and round a corner was another door, leading to the bathroom.

“Here’s my room,” said their mother and opened the door, showing almost exactly the same kind of bedroom that the three of them remembered at Three Towers, though this one was much smaller. Everything was new and pretty, and the bedspread matched the curtains just as all the bedspreads had done at their old home.

“It looks just like you, Mother, this bedroom,” said Melisande, revelling in the dantiness. “Quite different from Aunt Linnie’s, isn’t it?”

“Ugh! Aunt Linnie’s room is dreadful!” said her mother, with a shudder. “So bare—and the bed so big and hard—nothing pretty in it at all. The only drawback here is that Daddy hasn’t a dressing-room. He’ll have to share my room for his clothes, and I don’t like that at all. Now let’s come and look at your room, Melisande.”

All the other rooms were pretty and neat and altogether charming. Mrs. Longfield certainly knew how to choose curtains, carpets, furnishings and furniture! Melisande was delighted with her room, which looked out on to the orchard—though by now, of course, it was too dark to see anything outside.

The boys liked their rooms too, though privately Cyril thought his was a bit girlish. He had been so used to sharing Jack’s bedroom, with its bare boards, old curtains and old, battered furniture that somehow this new room of his seemed more suitable for a girl than for him. A soft carpet covered the floor, a silk bedspread covered the bed, and coloured towels to match hung by the basin. The lamp by his bedside was very pretty-pretty too—he could picture Jack grinning at it when he saw it.

“It’s a lovely house, though it’s so small,” said Melisande. “Where does Roderick sleep?”

“There’s a little stairway beyond the bathroom,” said her mother, leading the way. “Ellen sleeps in a bedroom up there, and next to it, under the eaves, is a funny little room that used to be a boxroom. It will do beautifully for Roderick.”

“Oh—I do hope it’s next to the cistern!” said Roderick, to his mother’s astonishment. “If it made a noise like the one at Mistletoe Farm, it would be nice and friendly. I should like that. It would remind me of my little room at Mistletoe Farm.”

“I should have thought you wanted to forget that horrible little room, not remember it,” said his mother, opening the small door at the top of the little stairway. Roderick gazed inside. He liked it enormously. It was a funny shape—all awkward corners and slanting ceilings. The window was set very low—why, the sill only reached his knees when he stood by it!

A low, built-in shelf ran along one side of the room. His mother had put some books there and a few toys saved from the fire. Roderick recognized them in delight.

“It’s a smashing room!” he said. “The best one in the house.” He looked out of the window, and just made out a tree that reached the window-sill. “It’s got a tree outside,” he said. “Does my window look down in the yard? Oh, good—I shall be able to hear the cock crowing in the morning and the hens clucking and the pigs grunting—when we have them.”

The others left him up in his funny little room, pleased that he liked it. Neither Melisande nor Cyril would have like it at all! “We’d always be bumping our heads on those awkward corners and slanting ceilings,” said Melisande. “And thank goodness he’s tucked right away from us so that we can’t hear his singing and whistling. He’s awfully noisy sometimes.”

Roderick felt happy in his little room. He thought how much Susan would like it. And Crackers too! Crackers would sniff into every corner, and learn the whole room with his nose. Then he would sit down on the mat and look round as if to say “Yes, it’s a nice room. And if I lived here I wouldn’t mind coming and sleeping with you on this little bed at night. Just in case you felt lonely.”

It didn’t do to think of Crackers. Roderick hadn’t realised how fond he was of the little black spaniel with the melting brown eyes. If only, only he could have a dog of his own. What would he call it? Roderick went into a long dream in which names for dogs floated about, trying to find one for the particular dog he might have. But he couldn’t think of one nice enough for his dog.

He went downstairs at last and spoke to his father, “Daddy—farmers have to have dogs, don’t they? Like Uncle has over at Mistletoe Farm. Are you going to have any?”

“Yes. The two I had up in Scotland are being sent down here,” said his father, laying down his newspaper. “They’re fine dogs—both mongrels though. I couldn’t afford to buy pedigree dogs when I was working up there. You’ll like them.”

“What are they called?” asked Roderick, pleased.

“Punch and Pouncer,” said Mr. Longfield.

“They’ll live in the house, won’t they?” said Roderick, hopefully. But before his father could answer his mother spoke.

“No, of course not. Whoever heard of farm dogs being allowed in the house! They’ll live out in the kennels.”

“Daddy, can I have a dog of my own?” asked Roderick, feeling perfectly certain that neither Punch nor Pouncer would ever put a foot inside Holly Farmhouse.

“Well—I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” began his father, pleased that Roderick, who had once been so afraid of dogs that he yelled if one went near, now wanted one of his own. But his wife interrupted at once.

“No, Roderick. You can’t have a dog. Nasty noisy, messy creatures, covered in fleas!”

“Crackers never had a single flea!” began Roderick, indignantly. “I wish you liked dogs, Mother.”

“I might get a cat, perhaps,” said his mother.

“Pooh—a cat!” said Roderick, with the utmost scorn. “Who wants a cat? I bet there are dozens out in the stables anyway. There always are at a farm. Why can’t I have a dog? I’d train it myself and I’d never let it worry you at all, Mother.”

“Please don’t bother me about a dog any more,” said his mother. She saw Roderick’s mutinous face and put out her hand to him. “What a dreadful face for mother’s boy to put on the very first evening at home! Come here, darling.”

But Roderick didn’t come. He sat where he was, looking at the floor, sulking. He didn’t want to be Mother’s silly darling boy. He just wanted a dog.