Читать книгу More Adventures on Willow Farm - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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Four children sat looking out of a farmhouse window at the whirling snow. It was January, and a cold spell had set in. To-day the snow had come, and the sky was leaden and heavy.

Rory was the biggest of the children. He was fourteen, tall and well made, and even stronger than he looked. A year’s hard work on his father’s farm was making him a fine youth. Then came Sheila, a year younger, who managed the hens and ducks so well that she had made quite a large sum of money out of them since the Easter before.

Benjy pressed his nose hard against the leaded panes of the old farmhouse windows. He loved the snow. “I wonder where Scamper is,” he said.

Scamper was his pet squirrel, always to be found on his shoulder when they were together. But Scamper had been missing for a day or two.

“He’s curled himself up somewhere asleep, I expect,” said Penny, the youngest. “Squirrels are supposed to sleep away the winter, aren’t they? I’m sure you won’t see him again till this cold spell has gone, Benjy.”

Penny was eight, three years younger than Benjy, so she was the baby of the family. She didn’t like this at all, and was always wishing she was bigger.

“Do you think Mark will come, if it keeps snowing like this?” she asked.

Mark was a friend of theirs. He took lessons with them at the vicarage away over the fields, and the children’s mother had said he might come to stay for a few days. He had never been to Willow Farm and the children were longing to show him everything.

“Won’t he be surprised to see our donkeys?” said Benjy. “My word, mine did gallop fast this morning!”

Each of the children had a donkey, a Christmas present from their father. They had worked well on the farm, and deserved a reward—and when the four donkeys arrived on Christmas morning there had been wild excitement. The children were looking forward to riding on them when school began again. The fields had been too muddy to walk across, and they had had to go a long way round by the roads. Now they would be able to gallop there on their donkeys!

“I’m longing to show Mark over our farm,” said Rory. “I hope this snow doesn’t last too long.”

“Everywhere is beginning to look rather strange,” said Sheila. “Snow is rather magic—it changes everything almost at once. I hope my hens are all right. I wonder what they think of the snow.”

Sheila felt sure her hens would not lay many eggs in the snowy weather. She made up her mind to give them a little extra hot mash morning and night to keep them warm. She slipped out into the kitchen to talk to Fanny about it. Fanny was the cook’s niece and helped Sheila willingly with the poultry.

The snow went on falling. Soon all the farm-buildings were outlined in soft white. When their father came in to tea he shook the snow from his broad shoulders and took off his boots at the door.

“Well!” he said, “we can’t do much this weather, except tend the beasts and see they have plenty to eat and drink. Aren’t you going to help milk the cows, Benjy?”

“Gracious, yes!” said Benjy, who was still dreaming at the window. He rushed to get his old mack and sou’-wester, and pulled on his rubber boots. Then he disappeared into the flurrying snow and made his way to the sweet-smelling cow-sheds.

Only Rory and Penny, the eldest and the youngest, were left at the window. Rory put his arm round Penny. “Have you seen Skippetty lately?” he asked.

Skippetty was the pet lamb that Penny had had the spring and summer before. The little girl had been very fond of him, and he had followed her all over the place. But now he had grown into a sheep, and had gone to live in the fields with the others. Penny shook her head sadly.

“I don’t know Skippetty when I see him!” she said. “He’s just exactly like all the others. I wish he didn’t have to grow up. I miss him very much. Wasn’t it fun when he used to trot at my heels everywhere?”

“Well, you’ll have another pet lamb this spring, so don’t worry,” said Rory. “Won’t it be lovely when the winter is over and the sun is warm again—and all the fields are green, and there are young things everywhere?”

“Yes,” said Penny happily. “Oh, Rory, don’t you love Willow Farm? Aren’t you glad it’s ours? Wasn’t it lucky that it did so well last year?”

Her father came into the room and heard what she said. He laughed. “Beginner’s luck!” he said. “You look out this year—maybe we shan’t have such an easy time!”

Harriet the cook came bustling in. Fanny was out collecting the eggs with Sheila, and Harriet had come to lay the tea. She put down a dish of golden butter, and a dish of home-made cheese. Then came scones and cakes and a home-cured ham. A big jug of cream appeared, and a dish of stewed apple. Penny’s eyes gleamed. This was the sort of high-tea she liked.

“Everything grown on our own farm,” she said. “Doesn’t it look good? Are you hungry, Daddy?”

“Famished!” said her father. “Where’s your mother? Ah, there she is.”

Mother had been in the ice-cold dairy and she was frozen! “My goodness, I’m cold!” she said. “Our dairy is wonderfully cool in the hot summer months—but I wish it was wonderfully hot in the cold winter months! I’ve been helping Harriet to wrap up the butter for sale. Daddy, we’ve done very well out of our butter-sales, you know. I feel I’d like to try my hand at something else now, as well.”

“Well, for instance?” said Daddy, pulling his chair up to the table. “We have hens, ducks, cows, sheep, pigs, dogs, and goodness knows what else! There doesn’t seem much else to have.”

“Well, we haven’t got bees,” said Mother, beginning to pour out the tea. “I’d like to keep bees. I love their friendly humming—and I love their sweet yellow honey too!”

“Oooh—bees would be fun,” said Penny. “Oh, Mother—let’s keep them this year. And we haven’t got a goat. Couldn’t we keep one? And what about some white pigeons? And we could have ...”

“We could have a bull!” said Rory. “Fancy, we haven’t got a bull, Daddy. Aren’t you going to get one?”

“One thing at a time,” said his father, cutting the ham. “After all, we haven’t had our farm a year yet. I dare say we’ll have everything before the second year is out! Now, where are Sheila and Benjy?”

The two soon appeared, rosy of cheek. Benjy was pleased with his milking. He always got a wonderful froth in his pail, the sign of a good milker. He was tremendously hungry.

Sheila had good news about the hens too. “Four more eggs to-day than we had yesterday,” she announced. “Mother, the hens don’t like the snow at all. They all huddle in the house together, and stare out as if they simply can’t imagine what’s happening.”

“Silly creatures, hens,” said Rory. “Give me ducks any day! Pass the scones, Sheila.”

All the children discussed the farm happenings with their parents. They knew all the animals and birds, they knew each field and what had been grown in each, they even knew what the sowing and manuring had cost, and what profits had been made. Each child was a keen little farmer, and not one of them was afraid of hard work. Benjy was the dreamy one, but he could work hard enough when he wanted to.

“Mark’s coming to-morrow,” said Rory to his mother. “He’d better sleep with me, hadn’t he, Mother? He’s never been to stay on a farm before. He lives in an ordinary house with an ordinary garden—and they don’t even grow easy things like lettuces and beans. They buy everything.”

“Won’t he like the things we grow?” said Penny. “You know—this cheese—and that butter—and this jam—and that ham?”

“He’ll like the live things better,” said Rory. “I bet he’ll like a ride on old Darling. Listen—she’s coming into the yard now.”

Everyone heard the slow clip-clop of Darling’s great hooves, biting through the snow on to the yard below. Everyone pictured the big, patient brown horse with her lovely brown eyes and sweeping eyelashes. They all loved Darling.

“One thing I like about farm-life,” said Benjy, cutting himself a big slab of Harriet’s cream-cheese, “is that there are so many things to love. You know, all the animals seem friends. I’d hate to live in London now, as we used to do—no great horses to rub down and talk to—no cows to milk—no lambs to watch—no hens to hear clucking—no tiny chicks and ducklings to laugh at. Golly, wouldn’t I miss all our farmyard friends.”

“I wonder what Tammylan is doing this snowy weather,” said Penny. Tammylan, the wild man, was their firm friend. He lived in a cave in the hillside, and looked after himself. All the animals of the countryside came to him, and he knew each one. The children loved visiting him, for he always had something fresh to tell them, and something new to show them.

“We shan’t be able to go and see him if the snow gets thick,” said Sheila. “And I did want to tell him how we love our four donkeys.”

Tammylan had got the donkeys for their father to give them. He had arrived on Christmas Day, leading the four fat little creatures, and had stayed for the day and then gone back to his cave.

“Won’t you be lonely to-night?” Penny had asked him. But Tammylan had shaken his head.

“I’ve no doubt some of my animal-friends will come and sit with me this Christmas night,” he had said, and the children had pictured him sitting in his cave, lighted by a flickering candle, with perhaps a hare at his feet, a rabbit near by, and one or two birds perched up on the shelf behind his head! No animal was ever afraid of Tammylan.

Darkness came, and the children’s mother lighted the big lamp. The children felt lazy and comfortable. There were no lessons to do because it was holiday-time. There was no farm-work to do because it was dark outside and snowy. They could do what they liked.

“Let’s have a game of cards,” said Penny.

“No—let’s read,” said Benjy.

“I’d like to sew a bit,” said Sheila.

“Well—I vote we have the wireless on,” said Rory. He turned it on. There was a short silence as the set warmed up a bit. And then a voice boomed out into the room.

“This evening we are going to devote half an hour to ‘Work on the Farm.’ ”

“Oh, no, we’re not!” laughed Daddy, and he switched the wireless off. “This evening we’re all going to play Snap! Now then—where are the cards?”

And play Snap they did, even Mother. It was good for them to forget the farm and its work for one short evening!