Читать книгу Those Dreadful Children - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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Two children stood on a garden-roller at the bottom of their garden. A third one tried to get up too, but there was no room for her.

“Let me up,” she wailed. “I want to see too.”

“Wait,” said the others. “We’ll let you see in a minute.”

The two on the garden-roller were looking up the garden of the house that was built at the bottom of their garden. The two gardens joined at the foot. The children’s garden was neat and trim, and full of flowers. The other garden was untidy and overgrown.

“They’ve gone, Margery,” said John, her brother. “The curtains are down. The garden-seat is gone. The house is empty.”

“Let me see!” cried Annette, scrabbling at their legs. “You’re horrid! Let me see too!”

Mother came down the garden, hearing Annette’s voice. “Oh, let her see,” she said. “She’s so much smaller than you are.”

“We were going to let her have her turn,” said John, frowning. “Mother, have the Healeys gone? The house looks quite empty.”

“Yes, they’ve gone,” said Mother. “The two old ladies were really too feeble to look after themselves any longer. So they have sold their house, and gone to live with a niece. I went to say good-bye to them yesterday.”

“Who’s coming to live in their house?” asked Margery. “I hope it’s a family with children.”

“Well, it is,” said Mother. “A family with four children. One is just a baby. The others are about your ages.”

“Oh!” said Margery, thrilled. “We shall be able to make friends with them then. When are they coming?”

“Not till next week,” said Mother. “The house is being painted and cleaned first. I hope the new people will look after the garden a bit better than the old ladies did. Really, it is quite a disgrace.”

“Four children!” said John. “I hope there’s a boy for me.”

“And somebody for me,” said Annette. “I want somebody to play with too. Don’t I, Mother?”

“Yes, dear,” said Mother, putting her arm round small Annette. Annette was spoilt. She yelled when she couldn’t get her own way. She sulked if she was scolded. She was pretty when she smiled and looked happy, but very ugly when she frowned or pouted.

“Margery and John always play together, and they leave me out,” said Annette, cuddling up to her mother. “I want somebody to play with too.”

“I only hope they’ll be nice children,” said Mother. “I don’t want you to make friends with badly-brought-up children. I don’t know anything about the family, except that they are called Taggerty. We’ll have to wait and see what they are like.”

She went back to the house, taking Annette with her. Margery and John went on looking over the wall, jiggling the roller a little.

“Four children! That sounds good. Mother won’t let us make friends with many of the children here—except those stuck-up Fitzgeralds, and they’re boring. I hope they’ll be fun, Margery!”

“John,” said Margery in a whisper. “Do you think we could slip over the wall and see the empty garden and peep in at the windows of the house? We’ve never been into this garden.”

John looked doubtful. “Would it be all right?” he said. “I mean—suppose somebody saw us?”

“Well—let’s go this evening then, when there’s nobody much about,” said Margery. “And don’t tell Annette. We don’t want her to come too. She’d only make a noise or something.”

“All right. We’ll slip over the wall this evening,” said John. “I’ve always wanted to explore the garden at the bottom of ours. I know it’s awfully untidy and overgrown—but it looks exciting and mysterious somehow—plenty of places to hide in—almost like a jungle.”

They heard their mother calling and slipped down from the roller. It was tea-time. Annette was already sitting in her place, washed and brushed. Margery and John went to get themselves ready, too.

“You’re late for tea,” said Annette, when they came back. “I was first. Mother, John hasn’t washed his hands properly. I can see some black on them.”

John glared at Annette and put his hands under the table.

“Let me see your hands, John,” said Mother. “And don’t glare at poor Annette like that. Oh, dear—you really must go and wash your hands properly. Are your hands clean, Margery?”

John left the table, still glaring. Annette took no notice at all, but helped herself to plenty of honey. Nobody said that Annette was a little tell-tale.

After tea, the children went out into the garden to play. John wouldn’t play with Annette, and she sulked.

“You’re unkind to me! You’re a horrid, sulky boy. Mother said you were to play with me!” wailed Annette.

John took a hurried glance at the windows of the house. “Be quiet, Annette! Don’t make such a noise. We’ll play hide-and-seek if you like. You can find us when we call cuckoo.”

Margery and John ran off, leaving Annette to count a hundred before she came to find them. “We’ll hide at the back of the garden-shed,” said John. “She never thinks of looking there. We can keep away from her then. I’m cross with her. I shall be cross with her for two days.”

Margery knew he would, too. John remembered things too long. If anyone offended him or made him angry he thought about it for a long time, and wouldn’t forgive them. He seldom flared up or quarrelled—he just said nothing, but went on thinking little bitter thoughts that made him most unpleasant for some time.

They squeezed behind the shed. They had to push a bush out of the way first. It hid them nicely. They settled down in the small space there, and whispered to one another.

“As soon as Annette goes to bed we’ll hop over the wall. I do hope we shan’t be caught.”

“We might find a window open, and creep into the empty house,” said John, daringly.

“The windows will all be shut,” said Margery. “They always are, in an empty house.”

“I’m coming,” yelled Annette, suddenly. “Look out, I’m coming.”

She couldn’t find them, of course. She hunted everywhere, and then burst into loud wails. “Where are you? You are hiding away from me on purpose. Come out and let me find you.”

John and Margery knew they would have to come out or Mother would come running to see what was the matter with Annette. They came out of their hiding-place without being seen and jumped on Annette, who screamed in fright.

“Oh, don’t! Where were you? I looked simply everywhere. I don’t like hide-and-seek. Let’s play something else.”

When Annette was called in to bed, the other two went down to the bottom of the garden. They got up on the roller and then climbed to the top of the wall. John slid over first and then helped Margery. In a few seconds they were standing in the untidy garden, looking round in excitement.

“Come on. We’ll go up this path. Look how the trees meet overhead.”

“And look at that funny old summer-house! It’s got three windows and a wooden seat running all the way round inside it! I wish we had one like that. We’d play houses in it.”

They went up the path. Certainly the garden was very overgrown and neglected—but how exciting it was! There was a big tree that dropped long thin branches to the ground all round its trunk, so that under it was a big cave of green. It was a weeping willow, graceful and beautiful. The children pushed aside the drooping twigs and went into the green cave.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” said Margery. “John, I do hope we can make friends with the Taggerty children. It would be lovely to play here. And, oh, look! There’s a pond!”

So there was. Goldfish swam about in it, and the water looked clear and cool. “It would be nice to paddle there,” said Margery longingly.

“But Mother wouldn’t ever let us,” said John. “Look at the lawn, Margery. The grass is like a hayfield, and all the flowers in the bed are overgrown with weeds. What a shame!”

Both John and Margery were good little gardeners. They had gardens of their own and kept them beautifully. Margery pointed to some fine rose-trees, unpruned but full of lovely roses.

“Look there! Did you ever see such roses! Oh, what a shame to let the garden go wild like this. I like the part at the bottom, where it’s all thick and green and mysterious—and I love that big cave-tree, with its long twigs drooping right down to the ground. But this bit would look much nicer if it was trim and neat.”

They went to the house. They peeped in at the kitchen window. It was empty and bare. A tiny mouse scuttled across the floor and Margery jumped.

“Oooh! A mouse! I’d hate to go inside there if mice are about.”

Margery was scared of mice and bats, moths and beetles, worms and earwigs. She was afraid of strange dogs, and hardly liked to stroke a cat in case it scratched her. The children had no pets, because Mother liked her house to be clean and spotless—and she said pets made it dirty and muddy, and covered everything with hairs.

They tiptoed to another window. They spoke in whispers—not because there was anyone to hear them, but because it was exciting.

There was no window open at all; so they couldn’t possibly get into the empty house, even if they wanted to—and Margery didn’t want to, now that she had seen a mouse. Still, it was thrilling, just peeping in.

The old ladies had left nothing in the house at all, except a pile of newspapers in a corner of the scullery. One of the taps there dripped, and the evening sun caught the drips and made them shine. Otherwise there was nothing to see.

A distant bell rang and John frowned. “There’s our bedtime bell. What a pity! We could have had a wonderful game under that cave-tree.”

“And we could play houses in that summer-house,” said Margery. “John—the Taggertys aren’t coming till next week. Do let’s creep over here each evening and play, till they come. The painters and cleaners will be gone then, and there will be no one to see us.”

“I don’t think it’s a very right thing to do,” said John, who was always rather afraid of doing anything that might not be quite right and proper, “but we shan’t be harming anyone. So let’s!”

“Yes, let’s!” said Margery thrilled. “Come on, we must get back now without anyone seeing us. We’ll come again tomorrow—but mind, not a word to Annette, or she’ll tell.”