Читать книгу Five go to Mystery Moor - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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As soon as George had gone out of the room, a scowl on her face, Henry walked in, hands in jodhpur pockets.

“Hallo!” said Dick, at once. “Henrietta!”

Henry grinned. “Oh, so they’ve told you, have they? I was tickled pink when you took me for a boy.”

“You’ve even got your riding jacket buttons buttoning up the wrong way,” said Anne, noticing for the first time. “You really are a fathead, Henry. You and George are a pair!”

“Well, I look more like a real boy than George does, anyway,” said Henry.

“Only because of your hair,” said Dick. “It’s straight.”

“Don’t say that in front of George,” said Anne. “She’ll immediately have hers cut like a convict or something—all shaven and shorn.”

“Well, anyway, it was jolly decent of Henry to come and meet us and lug our things about,” said Julian. “Have a biscuit, anyone?”

“No thanks,” said Anne and Henry.

“Are we supposed to leave any for politeness sake?” said Dick, eyeing the plate. “They’re home-made and quite super. I could wolf the lot.”

“We aren’t frightfully polite here,” said Henry, with a grin. “We aren’t frightfully clean and tidy, either. We have to change out of our jods at night for supper, which is an awful nuisance—especially as Captain Johnson never bothers to change his.”

“Any news?” asked Julian, drinking the last of the lemonade. “Anything exciting happened?”

“No, nothing,” said Anne. “The only excitement is the horses—nothing more. This is quite a lonely place, really—and the only exciting thing we’ve heard is the name of the big, desolate moor that stretches from here to the coast. Mystery Moor it’s called.”

“Why?” asked Dick. “Some long-ago mystery gave it that name, I suppose?”

“I don’t know,” said Anne. “I think only gypsies go there now. A little gypsy boy came in with a lame horse yesterday, and said his people had to go to Mystery Moor. Why they wanted to go to such a deserted stretch of land I don’t know—no farms there, not even a cottage.”

“Gypsies have peculiar ideas sometimes,” said Henry. “I must say I like the way they leave messages for any gypsy following—patrins, they’re called.”

“Patrins? Yes, I’ve heard of those,” said Dick. “Sticks and leaves arranged in certain patterns, or something, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Henry. “I know our gardener at home showed me an arrangement of sticks outside our back gate once, which he said was a message to any gypsy following. He told me what it meant, too!”

“What did it mean?” asked Julian.

“It meant ‘Don’t beg here. Mean people. No good!’ ” said Henry, with a laugh. “That’s what he said, anyway!”

“We might ask the little gypsy boy who came with the skewbald horse,” said Anne. “He’ll probably show us some messages. I’d like to learn some. You never know when anything like that could come in useful!”

“Yes. And we’ll ask him why the gypsies go to Mystery Moor,” said Julian, getting up and dusting the crumbs off his coat. “They don’t go there for nothing, you may be sure!”

“Where’s old George gone?” asked Dick. “I do hope she’s not going to be silly.”

George was in one of the stables, grooming a horse so vigorously that it was most surprised. Swish-swish-swish-swish! What a brushing! George was working her intense annoyance out of herself. She mustn’t spoil things for the boys and Anne! But oh, that horrible Henrietta—meeting them like that—pretending to be a boy. Heaving their luggage about, playing a joke on them! But surely they might have guessed!

“Oh—there you are, George, old thing,” said Dick’s voice at the stable-door. “Let me help. Gosh, aren’t you brown! Just as many freckles as ever!”

George grinned unwillingly. She tossed Dick the brush. “Here you are, then! Do you and Ju want to go riding at all? There are plenty of horses to choose from here.”

Dick was relieved to see that George appeared to have got over her rage. “Yes. It might be fun to go off for the day. What about tomorrow? We might explore a little of Mystery Moor.”

“Right,” said George. She began to heave some straw about. “But not with That Girl,” she announced, from behind the straw she was carrying.

“What girl?” asked Dick, innocently. “Oh—Henry, you mean? I keep thinking of her as a boy. No, we won’t have her with us. We’ll be just the five as usual.”

“That’s all right then,” said George, happily. “Oh, here’s Julian. Give a hand, Ju!”

It was lovely to have the two boys again, joking, laughing, teasing. They all went out in the fields that afternoon and heard the tales of the camp. It was just like old times, and Timmy was as pleased as anyone else. He went first to one of the four, then to another, licking each one as he went, his tail wagging vigorously.

“That’s three times you’ve smacked me in the face with your tail, Timmy,” said Dick, dodging it. “Can’t you look behind yourself and see where my face is?”

“Woof,” said Timmy happily, and turned round to lick Dick, wagging his tail in Julian’s face this time!

Somebody squeezed through the hedge behind them. George stiffened, feeling sure that it was Henrietta. Timmy barked sharply.

It wasn’t Henrietta. It was the little gypsy boy. He came up to them. There were pale streaks down his dirty little face, made by tears that had run through the dirt!

“I’ve come for the horse,” he said. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s not ready for walking yet,” said George. “Captain Johnson told you he wouldn’t be. What’s the matter? Why have you been crying?”

“My father hit me,” said the boy. “He cuffed me and knocked me right over.”

“Whatever for?” asked Anne.

“Because I left the horse,” said the boy. “My father said all it wanted was a bit of ointment and a bandage. He has to start off with the other caravans today, you see.”

“Well, you really can’t have the horse yet,” said Anne. “It isn’t fit to walk, let alone drag a caravan. You don’t want Captain Johnson to tell the police you’re working it when it’s not fit, do you? You know he means what he says?”

“Yes. But I must have the horse,” said the small gypsy. “I daren’t go back without it. My father would half kill me.”

“I suppose he doesn’t dare to come himself, so he sends you instead,” said Dick, in disgust.

The boy said nothing, and rubbed his dirty sleeve across his face. He sniffed.

“Get your hanky,” said Dick. “Don’t you ever wash your face?”

“No,” said the boy, looking quite surprised. “Let me have my horse. I tell you, I’ll be half killed if I go back without him.” He began to cry again.

The children felt sorry for him—he was such a thin, skinny misery of a boy—and goodness, how he sniffled all the time!

“What’s your name?” asked Anne.

“Sniffer,” said the boy. “That’s what my father calls me.”

It was certainly a good name for him; but what a horrid father he must have!

“Haven’t you got a proper name?” asked Anne.

“Yes. But I’ve forgotten it,” said Sniffer. “Let me have my horse. I tell you, my father’s waiting.”

Julian got up. “I’ll come and see your father and put some sense into him. Where is he?”

“Over yonder,” said Sniffer with a big sniff, and he pointed over the hedge. “I’ll come too,” said Dick. In the end everyone got up and went with Sniffer. They walked through the gate and saw a dark-faced, surly-looking man standing motionless not far off. His thick, oily hair was curly, and he wore enormous gold rings hanging from his ears. He looked up as the little company came near.

“Your horse isn’t fit to walk yet,” said Julian. “You can have it tomorrow or the next day, the Captain says.”

“I’ll have it now,” said the man, in a surly tone. “We’re starting off tonight or tomorrow over the moor. I can’t wait.”

“But what’s the hurry?” said Julian. “The moor will wait for you!”

The man scowled and shifted from one foot to another. “Can’t you stay for another night or two and then go after the others?” said Dick.

“Listen, Father! You go with the other caravans,” said Sniffer, eagerly. “Go in Moses’ caravan—and leave ours here. I can put our horse into the shafts tomorrow—or maybe the next day—and follow after!”

“But how would you know the way?” said George.

Sniffer made a scornful movement with his hand. “Easy! They’ll leave me patrins to follow,” he said.

“Your horse isn’t fit to walk yet,” said Julian

“Oh yes,” said Dick, remembering. He turned to the silent gypsy fellow. “Well, what about it? It seems that Sniffer here has quite a good idea—and you most certainly can’t have the horse today anyway.”

The man turned and said something angry and scornful to poor Sniffer, who shrank away from the words as if they were blows. The four children couldn’t understand a word, for it was all poured out in some gypsy talk that they could not follow. Then the man turned on his heel and without so much as a look at them, slouched away, his ear-rings gleaming as he went.

“What did he say?” asked Julian.

Sniffer gave one of his continual sniffs. “He was very angry. He said he’d go with the others—and I could come on with Clip the horse, and drive our caravan,” he said. “I’ll be all right there tonight with Liz.”

“Who’s Liz?” asked Anne, hoping that it was someone who would be kind to this poor little wretch.

“My dog,” said Sniffer, smiling for the first time. “I left her behind because she sometimes goes for hens—and Captain Johnson, he doesn’t like that.”

“I bet he doesn’t,” said Julian. “All right, that’s settled then. You can come for Clip—or Clop—or whatever your horse is called—tomorrow—and we’ll see if it’s fit to walk.”

“I’m glad,” said Sniffer, rubbing his nose. “I don’t want Clip to go lame, see? But my father, he’s fierce, he is.”

“So we gather,” said Julian, looking at a bruise on Sniffer’s face. “You come tomorrow—and you can show us some of the patrins—the messages—that you gypsies use. We’d like to know some.”

“I’ll come,” promised Sniffer, nodding his head vigorously. “And you will come to see my caravan? I shall be all alone there, except for Liz.”

“Well—I suppose it would be something to do,” said Dick. “Yes, we’ll come. I hope it’s not too smelly.”

“Smelly?” said Sniffer, surprised. “I don’t know. I will show you patrins there—and Liz will show you her tricks. She is very very clever. Once she belonged to a circus.”

“We must certainly take Timmy to see this clever dog,” said Anne, patting Timmy, who had been hunting for rabbits and had only just come back. “Timmy, would you like to go and visit a very clever dog called Liz?”

“Woof,” said Timmy, wagging his tail politely.

“Right,” said Dick. “I’m glad you approve, Tim. We’ll all try and come tomorrow, Sniffer, after you’ve been to see how Clip is getting on. I don’t somehow think you’ll be able to have him then, though. We’ll see!”