Читать книгу Five on a Hike Together - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Julian and Dick were also on their way, very pleased to have such an unexpectedly long week-end.

“I never liked Willis or Johnson much,” said Dick, as they walked out of the school grounds. “Awful swotters they were—never had any time for games or fun. But I take my hat off to them today! Because of their swotting they’ve won medals and scholarships and goodness knows what—and we’ve got a week-end off in celebration! Good old Willis and Johnson!”

“Hear hear,” said Dick. “But I bet they’ll sit in a corner with their books all the week-end—they won’t know if it’s a brilliant day like this, or pouring with rain like yesterday! Poor mutts!”

“They’d hate to go off on a hike,” said Julian. “It would be utter misery to them. Do you remember how awful Johnson was at rugger? He never knew which goal he was playing against—always ran the wrong way!”

“Yes. But he must have got terrific brains,” said Dick. “Why are we talking about Willis and Johnson? I can think of plenty of more interesting things. Anne and George, for instance—and old Tim. I hope they’ll manage to get off in time all right.”

Julian had carefully looked up a large-scale map of the moors that lay between the two schools that he and the girls went to. They were vast stretches of lonely heathery land, dotted with farms here and there, with a few small cottages, and some inns.

“We’ll keep right off the main roads, and the second-and third-grade roads,” he said. “We’ll take the little lanes and paths. I wonder what Timmy will say if we see deer. He’ll wonder what in the world they are!”

“He’ll only be interested in rabbits,” said Dick. “I hope he’s not as fat as he was last hols. I think we must have given him too many ice-creams and too much chocolate!”

“Well, he won’t get that in term-time!” said Julian. “The girls don’t get as much pocket-money as we do. Buck up—there’s the bus!”

They ran for the little country bus that rumbled along the country lanes, taking people to market, or to the tiny villages that lay here and there tucked away in the moor. It stopped most obligingly for them, and they leapt in.

“Ha! Running away from school?” said the conductor. “Have to report you, you know!”

“Very funny,” said Julian, bored at this joke, which the conductor produced regularly every time a boy got on board with a kit-bag over his shoulders.

They had to get out at the next village and cut across country to get to another bus-route. They managed to catch a bus there easily and settled down comfortably in their seats. It was half an hour’s run from there to where they had planned to meet the girls.

“Here you are, young sirs,” called the conductor, as the bus ran into a village. It had a wide green on which geese cackled, and a small pond for ducks. “You wanted Pippin Village, didn’t you? We don’t go any farther—we just turn round and go back.”

“Thanks,” said the boys and got out. “Now—are the girls here or not?” said Julian. “They have to walk from a tiny railway station about two miles away.”

They were not there. Julian and Dick went to have a drink of orangeade at the village store. They had hardly finished when they saw the two girls looking in at the door.

“Julian! Dick! We guessed you’d be eating or drinking!” said Anne, and she rushed at her brothers. “We came as quickly as we could. The engine broke down—it was such a funny little train! All the passengers got out and advised the engine-driver what to do!”

“Hallo!” said Julian, and gave Anne a hug. He was very fond of his young sister. “Hallo, George! My, you’ve grown fat, haven’t you?”

“I have not,” said George, indignantly. “And Timmy isn’t fat either, so don’t tell him he is!”

“Julian’s pulling your leg as usual,” said Dick, giving George a friendly slap on the back. “All the same, you’ve grown a bit—you’ll soon be as tall as I am. Hallo, Timmy! Good dog, fine dog! Tongue as wet as usual? Yes, it is! I never knew a dog with a wetter tongue than yours!”

Timmy went nearly mad with joy at being with all four of his friends. He leapt round them, barking, wagging his long tail and sending a pile of tins crashing to the floor in his delight.

“Now, now!” said the shop-woman, emerging from a dark little room at the back. “Take that dog out. He’s gone mad!”

“Don’t you girls want a drink of ginger-beer or something?” asked Julian, getting hold of Timmy’s collar. “You’d better, because we don’t want to have to carry heavy bottles of drinkables with us.”

“Where are we going to set off to?” asked George. “Yes, I’d like ginger-beer please. Get down, Timmy. Anyone would think you’d been away from Julian and Dick for at least ten years!”

“It probably does seem like ten years to him,” said Anne. “I say—are those sandwiches?”

She pointed to a ledge at the back of the counter. There was a little pile of sandwiches there, looking most appetising.

“Yes, they’re sandwiches, Miss,” said the shop-woman, opening two bottles of ginger-beer. “I’ve made them for my son who works over at Blackbush Farm—he’ll be in for them soon.”

“I suppose you couldn’t make us some, could you?” asked Julian. “We wouldn’t need to bother about trying to get to some village at lunch time then. They look jolly good.”

“Yes. I can make you all you want,” said the shop-woman, putting two glasses down in front of the girls. “What do you want—cheese, egg, ham or pork?”

“Well—we’d like some of all of those,” said Julian. “The bread looks so nice too.”

“I make it myself,” said the woman, pleased. “All right—I’ll go and make you some. You tell me if anyone comes into the shop while I’m gone.”

She disappeared. “That’s good,” said Julian. “If she makes plenty of those we can avoid villages all the day and have a really good day of exploration—treading where no foot has trod before and all that!”

“How many can you manage each?” asked the woman, suddenly re-appearing. “My son, he has six—that’s twelve rounds of bread.”

“Well—could you manage eight rounds for each of us?” said Julian. The woman looked astonished. “It’s to last us all day,” he explained, and she nodded and disappeared again.

“That’s a nice little sum for her,” said Anne. “Eight sandwiches each, making sixteen rounds of bread—for four people!”

“Well, let’s hope she’s got a bread-cutting machine!” said Dick. “Or we’ll be here for keeps! Hallo—who’s this?”

A tall man appeared at the entrance of the shop, a bicycle in his hand. “Ma!” he called.

The children guessed who he was at once—the son who worked over at Blackbush Farm. He had come for his sandwiches!

A tall man appeared at the entrance of the shop

“Your mother is hard at work cutting sixty-four rounds of bread,” said Dick. “Shall I get her for you?”

“No. I’m in a hurry,” said the man and he set his bicycle by the door, came in, reached over the counter for his sandwiches and then went back to his bicycle.

“Tell my mother I’ve been in,” he said. “And you might tell her I’ll be late home today—got to take some stuff to the prison.”

He was off at once, sailing away down the road on his bicycle. The old woman suddenly came in, a knife in one hand, a loaf in the other.

“Did I hear Jim?” she said. “Oh yes—he’s got his sandwiches. You should have told me he was in!”

“He said he was in a hurry,” explained Julian. “And he said we were to tell you he’d be late today because he had to take some stuff to the prison.”

“I’ve got another son there,” said the woman. The four looked at her. Did she mean he was a prisoner? And what prison?

She guessed their thoughts and smiled. “Oh, my Tom isn’t a prisoner!” she said. “He’s a warder—a fine fellow. Not a nice job there though—I’m always afraid of those men in prison—a fierce lot, a bad lot!”

“Yes—I’ve heard there is a big prison on this moor,” said Julian. “It’s marked on our map too. We’re not going near it, of course.”

“No. Don’t you take the girls near there,” said the woman, disappearing again. “If I don’t get on with your sandwiches you’ll not have them before tomorrow morning.”

Only one customer came in while the children were waiting—a solemn old man smoking a clay pipe. He looked round the shop, couldn’t see the woman, put three pennies down on the counter and took a packet of blancmange powder, which he slipped into his pocket.

“Tell ’er when ’er comes,” he mumbled with his pipe still in his mouth, and out he shuffled. Timmy growled. The old man smelt very unwashed and Timmy didn’t like him.

At last the sandwiches were finished and the old woman appeared again. She had packed them up neatly in four parcels of grease-proof paper, and had pencilled on each what they were. Julian read what she had written and winked at the others.

“My word—we’re in for a grand time!” he said. “Cheese, Pork, Ham and Egg—and what’s this?”

“Oh, that’s four slices of my home-made fruit cake,” said the old woman. “I’m not charging you for that. It’s just so that you can taste it!”

“It looks like half the cake!” said Julian, touched. “But we shall pay for it, with many thanks. How much is all that?”

She told him. Julian put down the money and added a shilling for the cake. “There you are, and many thanks,” he said. “And that threepence there was left by an old fellow with a clay pipe who took a packet of blancmange powder.”

“That would be Old Man Gupps,” said the woman. “Well, I hope you’ll enjoy your tour. Come back here if you want any more sandwiches cut! If you eat all those today you won’t do badly!”

“Woof,” said Timmy, hoping that he too would share a few. The woman produced a bone for him, and he took it up in his mouth.

“Thanks!” said Julian. “Come on—now we’ll really start!”