Читать книгу Five Go Down to the Sea - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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It certainly was a lovely ride to Tremannon Farm. Poppies blew by the wayside in hundreds, and honeysuckle threw its scent out from the hedges as they passed. The corn stood high in the fields, touched with gold already, and splashed with the scarlet of the poppies.

They came to Tremannon Village at last. It was really nothing but a winding street, set with a few shops and houses, and beyond that, straggling out, were other houses. Farther off, set in the hills, were a few farm-houses, their grey stone walls gleaming in the sun.

The four children found the general store and went in. ‘Any ice-cream?’ said Julian hopefully. But there was none. What a blow! There was orangeade and lemonade, however, quite cool through being kept down in the cellar of the store.

‘You be the folks that old Mrs Penruthlan be having in?’ said the village shopkeeper. ‘She do be expecting of you. Furriners, bain’t you?’

‘Well, not exactly,’ said Julian, remembering that to many Cornish folk anyone was a foreigner who did not belong to Cornwall. ‘My mother had a great-aunt who lived in Cornwall all her life. So we’re not exactly “furriners”, are we?’

‘You’re furriners all right,’ said the bent little shopkeeper, looking at Julian with bird-like eyes. ‘Your talk is furrin-like, too. Like that man Mrs Penruthlan had before. We reckoned he was mad, though he was harmless enough.’

‘Really?’ said Julian, pouring himself out a third lemonade. ‘Well, he was a scientist, and if you’re going to be a really good one you have to be a bit mad, you know. At least, so I’ve heard. Golly, this lemonade is good. Can I have another bottle, please?’

The old woman suddenly laughed, sounding just like an amused hen. ‘Well, well, Marty Penruthlan’s got a fine meal ready for you, but seems like you won’t be able to eat a thing, not with all that lemonade splashing about in your innards!’

‘Don’t say you can hear the splashing,’ said Julian earnestly. ‘Very bad manners, that! Furriners’ manners, I’m sure. Well, how much do we owe you? That was jolly good lemonade.’

He paid the bill and they all mounted their bicycles once more, having been given minute directions as to how to get to the farm. Timmy set off with them, feeling much refreshed, having drunk steadily for four minutes without stopping.

‘I should think you’ve had about as much water as would fill a horse-trough, Timmy,’ Julian told him. ‘My word, if this weather holds we’re going to look like Red Indians!’

It was an uphill ride to Tremannon Farm, but they got there at last. As they cycled through the open gates, a fusillade of barks greeted them, and four large dogs came flying to meet them. Timmy put up his hackles at once and growled warningly. He went completely stiff, and stood there glaring.

A woman came out behind the dogs, her face one large smile. ‘Now, Ben; now, Bouncer! Here, Nellie, here! Bad dog, Willy! It’s all right, children, that’s their way of saying “Welcome to Tremannon Farm!” ’

The dogs now stood in a ring round the four children, their tongues out, their tails wagging vigorously. They were lovely dogs, three collies and one small black Scottie. Timmy eyed them one by one. George had her hand on his collar, just in case he should feel foolhardy all of a sudden and imagine he could take on all four dogs single-handed.

But he didn’t. He behaved like a perfect gentleman! His tail wagged politely, and his hackles went down. The little Scottie ran up to him and sniffed his nose. Timmy sniffed back, his tail wagging more vigorously.

Then the three sheepdogs ran up, beautiful collies with plumy tails, and the children heaved sighs of relief to see that the farm dogs evidently were not going to regard Timmy as a ‘furriner’!

‘They’re all right now,’ said Mrs Penruthlan. ‘They’ve introduced themselves to one another. Now come along with me. You must be tired and dirty—and hungry and thirsty. I’ve high tea waiting for you.’

She didn’t talk in the Cornish way. She was pleased to see them and gave them a grand welcome. She took them upstairs to a bathroom, big but primitive. There was one tap only and that was for cold water. It ran very slowly indeed!

But it was really cold, and was lovely and soft to wash in. The tired children cleaned themselves and combed their hair.

They had two bedrooms between them, one for the girls and one for the boys. They were rather small, with little windows that gave a meagre amount of light, so that the rooms looked dark even in the bright evening sunshine.

They were bare little rooms, with two beds in each, one chair, one chest of drawers, one cupboard and two small rugs. Nothing else! But, oh! the views out of the windows!

Miles and miles of countryside, set with cornfields, pasture land, tall hedges and glimpses of winding lanes; heather was out on some of the hills, blazing purple in the sun; and, gleaming in the distance was the dark blue brilliance of the Cornish sea. Lovely!

‘We’ll bike to the sea as soon as we can,’ said Dick, trying to flatten the few hairs that would stick up straight on the top of his head. ‘There are caves on this coast. We’ll explore them. I wonder if Mrs Penruthlan would give us picnic lunches so that we can go off for the day when we want to.’

‘Sure to,’ said Julian. ‘She’s a pet. I’ve never felt so welcome in my life. Are we ready? Come on down, then. I’m beginning to feel very empty indeed.’

The high tea that awaited them was truly magnificent. A huge ham gleaming as pink as Timmy’s tongue; a salad fit for a king. In fact, as Dick said, fit for several kings, it was so enormous. It had in it everything that anyone could possibly want.

‘Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, radishes, mustard and cress, carrot grated up—that is carrot, isn’t it, Mrs Penruthlan?’ said Dick. ‘And lashings of hard-boiled eggs.’

There was an enormous tureen of new potatoes, all gleaming with melted butter, scattered with parsley. There was a big bottle of home-made salad cream.

‘Look at that cream cheese, too,’ marvelled Dick, quite overcome. ‘And that fruit cake. And are those drop-scones, or what? Are we supposed to have something of everything, Mrs Penruthlan?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the plump little woman, smiling at Dick’s pleasure. ‘And there’s a cherry tart made with our own cherries, and our own cream with it. I know what hungry children are. I’ve had seven of my own, all married and gone away. So I have to make do with other people’s when I can get them.’

‘I’m jolly glad you happened to get hold of us,’ said Dick, beginning on ham and salad. ‘Well, we’ll keep you busy, Mrs Penruthlan. We’ve all got big appetites!’

‘Ah, I’ve not met any children yet that could eat like mine,’ said Mrs Penruthlan, sounding really sorry. ‘Same as I’ve not met any man that can eat like Mr Penruthlan. He’s a fine eater, he is. He’ll be in soon.’

‘I hope we shall leave enough for him,’ said Anne, looking at the ham and the half-empty salad dish. ‘No wonder my uncle’s friend, the man who came to stay here, went away as fat as butter, Mrs Penruthlan.’

‘Oh, the poor man!’ said their hostess, who was now filling up their glasses with rich, creamy milk. ‘Thin as my husband’s old rake, he was, and all his bones showing and creaking. He said “No” to this and “No” to that, but I took no notice of him at all. If he didn’t eat his dinner, I’d take his tray away and tidy it up, and then in ten minutes I’d take it back again and say: “Dinner-time, sir, and I hope you’re hungry!” And he’d start all over again, and maybe that time he’d really tuck in!’

‘But didn’t he know you’d already taken him his dinner-tray once?’ said Julian, astonished. ‘Goodness, he must have been a dreamer.’

‘I took his tray in three times once,’ said Mrs Penruthlan. ‘So you be careful in case I do the same kind of thing to you!’

‘I should love it!’ grinned Julian. ‘Yes, please, I’d like some more ham. And more salad.’

Footsteps came outside the room, on the stone floor of the hall. The door opened and the farmer himself came in. The children stared at him in awe.

He was a strange and magnificent figure of a man—tall, well over six feet, broadly built, and as dark as a sunburnt Spaniard. His mane of hair was black and curly, and his eyes were as black as his hair.

‘This is Mr Penruthlan,’ said his wife, and the children stood up to shake hands, feeling half afraid of this dark giant.

He nodded his head and shook hands. His hand was enormous, and was covered with hairs so thick and black that it was like fur. Anne felt that it would be quite nice and soft to stroke, like a cat’s back!’

He didn’t say a word, but sat down and let his wife serve him. ‘Well, Mr Penruthlan,’ she said, ‘and how’s the cow getting along?’

‘Ah,’ said the farmer, taking a plate of ham. The children gazed at the slices in awe, seven or eight of them. Goodness!

‘Oh, I’m glad she’s all right,’ said Mrs Penruthlan, stacking up some dirty plates. ‘And is the calf a dear little thing—and what’s the colour!’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Penruthlan, nodding his head.

‘Red and white, like its mother! That’s good, isn’t it?’ said his wife, who seemed to have a miraculous way of interpreting his ‘Ahs’. ‘What shall we call it?’

Everyone badly wanted to say ‘Ah’, but nobody dared. However, Mr Penruthlan didn’t say ‘Ah’ that time, but something that sounded like ‘Ock’.

‘Yes, we’ll call it Buttercup, then,’ said his wife, nodding her head. ‘You always have such good ideas, Mr Penruthlan.’

It sounded odd to hear her call her husband by his surname like that, and yet, somehow, the children couldn’t imagine this giant of a fellow even owning a name like Jack or Jim. They went on with their own meal, enjoying every minute of it, watching Mr Penruthlan shovel in great mouthfuls, and working his way quickly through every dish. Mrs Penruthlan saw them watching him.

‘He’s a grand eater, isn’t he?’ she said, proudly. ‘So were all my children. When they were at home, I was kept really busy, but now, with only Mr Penruthlan to feed, I feel quite lost. That’s why I like people here. You’ll tell me if you don’t have enough to eat, won’t you?’

They all laughed, and Timmy barked. He had had a wonderful meal, too; it was the remains of Mrs Penruthlan’s big stock-pot, and was very tasty indeed. He had also got the largest bone he had ever had in his life. The only thing that really worried the well-fed Timmy now was, where could he put the bone out of the way of the farmdogs?

Mr Penruthlan suddenly made a peculiar noise and began undoing a trouser pocket at the back. ‘Oo-ah!’ he said, and brought out a dirty, folded piece of paper. He handed it to his wife, who unfolded it and read it. She looked up at the children, smiling.

‘Now, here’s a bit of excitement!’ she said. ‘The Barnies will be along this week! You’ll love them.’

‘What are the Barnies?’ asked George, puzzled at Mrs Penruthlan’s evident pleasure and excitement.

‘Oh, they’re travelling players that wander round the countryside and play and act in our big barns,’ said Mrs Penruthlan. ‘We’ve no cinemas for miles, you know, so the Barnies are always very welcome.’

‘Oh, you call them Barnies because they use your barns for their shows,’ said Anne, seeing light. ‘Yes, we shall love to see them, Mrs Penruthlan. Will they play in your barn?’

‘Yes. We’ll have all the village here when the Barnies come,’ said Mrs Penruthlan, her cheeks going red with delight. ‘And maybe people from Trelin Village, too. Now, there’s a treat for you!’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Penruthlan, and nodded his great head. Evidently he liked the Barnies, too. He gave a sudden laugh and said something short and quite incomprehensible.

‘He says you’ll like Clopper the horse,’ said his wife, laughing. ‘The things he does! The way he sits down and crosses his legs. Well, you wait and see. That horse!’

This sounded rather astonishing. A horse that sat down and crossed its legs? Julian winked at Dick. They would most certainly see the Barnies!