Читать книгу The Boy Who Wanted a Dog - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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“Hallo, Granny!” said Donald, rushing in from afternoon school. “I hope you’ve come to tea!”

“Yes, I have!” said Granny. “And I’ve come to ask you a question, too. It’s your birthday soon—what would you like me to give you?”

“He really doesn’t deserve a birthday present,” said his father, looking up from his paper. “His weekly reports from school haven’t been good.”

“Well, Dad—I’m not brainy like you,” said Donald, going red. “I do try. I really do. But arithmetic beats me, I just can’t do it. And I just hate trying to write essays and things—I can’t seem to think of a thing to say!”

“You can work if you want to,” said his mother, beginning to pour out the tea. “Look what your master said about your nature work—‘Best work in the whole form. Knows more about birds and animals than anyone.’ Well, why can’t you do well at writing and arithmetic?”

“They’re not as interesting as nature,” said Donald. “Now, when we have lessons about dogs and horses and squirrels and birds, I don’t miss a word! And I write jolly good essays about them!”

“Did you get good marks today?” asked his father.

Donald shook his head, and his father frowned. “I suppose you sat dreaming as usual!” he said.

“Well—geography was so dull this morning that I somehow couldn’t keep my mind on it,” said Donald. “It was all about things called peninsulas and isthmuses.”

“And what were you keeping your mind on—if it happened to be working?” asked his father.

“Well—I was thinking about a horse I saw when I was going to school this morning,” said Donald, honestly.

“But why think of a horse in your geography lesson?” said his mother.

“Well, Mother—it was a nice old horse, and doing its best to pull a heavy cart,” said Donald. “And I couldn’t help noticing that it had a dreadful sore place on its side, that was being rubbed by the harness. And oh, Mother, instead of being sorry for the horse, the man was hitting it!”

“And so you thought of the horse all through your geography lesson?” said Granny, gently.

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” said Donald. “I kept wondering if the man would put something on the sore place, when he got the horse home. I kept thinking what I would do if it were my horse. Granny, people who keep animals should be kind to them, and notice when they are ill or hurt, shouldn’t they?”

“Of course they should,” said Granny. “Well, don’t worry about the horse any more. I’m sure the man has tended it by now. Let’s talk of something happier. What would you like for your birthday?”

“Oh Granny—there’s something I want more than anything else in the world!” said Donald, his eyes shining.

“Well, if it’s not too expensive and is possible to get, you shall have it!” said Granny. “What is it?”

“A puppy!” said Donald, in an excited voice. “A puppy of my very own! I can make him a kennel myself. I’m good with my hands, you know!”

“No, Donald!” said his mother, at once. “I will not have a dirty little puppy messing about the house, chewing the mats to pieces, rushing about tripping everyone up, and ...”

“He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t!” said Donald. “I’d train him well. He’d walk at my heels. He could sleep in my bedroom on a rug. He could ...”

“Sleep in your room! Certainly not!” said his mother quite shocked. “No, Granny—not a puppy, please. Donald’s bad enough already, the things he brings home—caterpillars, a hedgehog—ugh, the prickly thing—a stray cat that smelt dreadful and stole the fish out of the larder—and ...”

“Oh Mother—I wouldn’t bring anything into the house if only you’d let me have a puppy!” said Donald. “It’s the thing I want most in the world. A puppy of my very own! Granny, please, please give me one.”

“NO,” said his father. “You don’t deserve a puppy while your school work is so bad. Sorry, Granny. You’ll have to give him something else.”

Granny looked sad. “Well, Donald—I’ll give you some books about animals,” she said. “Perhaps your father will let you have a puppy when you get a fine school report.”

“I never will,” said poor Donald. “I’m not nearly as clever as the other boys, except with my hands. I’m making you a little foot-stool, Granny, for your birthday. I’m carving a pattern all round it—and the woodwork master said that even he couldn’t have done it better. I’m good with my hands.”

“You’ve something else that is good too,” said Granny. “You’ve a good heart, Donald, and a kind one. Well, if you mayn’t have a puppy for your birthday, you must come with me to the bookshop and choose some really lovely books. Would you like one about dogs—and another about horses, or cats?”

“Yes. I’d like those very much,” said Donald. “But oh—how I’d LOVE a puppy.”

“Let’s change the subject,” said his father. “What about tea? I see Mother has made some of her chocolate cakes for you, Granny. Donald, forget this puppy business, please, and take a chair to the table for Granny.”

So there they all are, sitting at the tea-table, eating jam sandwiches, chocolate buns and biscuits. Donald isn’t talking very much. He is thinking hard—“dreaming”, as his teacher would say.

“Where would I keep the puppy if I had one?” he thinks. “Let me see—I could make a dear little kennel, and put it in my own bit of garden. How pleased the puppy would be to see me each morning. What should I call him—Buster? Scamper? Wags? Barker? No—he mustn’t bark, Mother would be cross. I’ll teach him to ...”

“Look! Donald’s dreaming again!” said his mother. “Wake up, Donald! Pass Granny the buns! I wonder what you’re dreaming about now!”

Granny knew! She smiled at him across the table. Dear Donald! WHY couldn’t she give him the puppy that he so much wanted?