Читать книгу Five on a Secret Trail - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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The two girls, with Timmy at their heels, left their camping-place and set off in the hot sun. Anne caught sight of the ruined cottage and stopped.

‘Let’s have a look at it,’ she said. ‘It must be awfully old, George.’

They went in at the wide doorway. There was no door left, only the stone archway. Inside was a big room, whose floor had once been paved with slabs of white stone. Now grass and other weeds had grown between the cracks, and had actually lifted up some of the slabs so that the whole floor was uneven.

Here and there parts of the walls had fallen away and the daylight came through. One window was still more or less intact, but the others had fallen out. A small crooked stairway of stone led upwards in one corner.

‘To rooms above, I suppose,’ said Anne. ‘Oh, here’s another doorway, leading into a second room—a small one. It’s got an old sink in it, look—and this must be the remains of a pump.’

‘There’s not much to see, really,’ said George, looking round. ‘The top rooms must be quite ruined, because half the roof is off. Hallo, here’s another door—a back door. It’s actually a door too, not just a doorway.’

She gave a push at the stout wood—and the old door promptly fell off its hinges and crashed outwards into an over-grown yard.

‘Goodness!’ said George, startled. ‘I didn’t know it was quite so rotten. It made poor Tim jump almost out of his skin!’

‘There are out-houses here—or the remains of them,’ said Anne, exploring the back-yard. ‘They must have kept pigs and hens and ducks. Here’s a dried-up pond, look.’

Everything was falling to pieces. The best preserved corner of the old place was what must have been a small stable. Rusted mangers were still there and the floor was of stone. An old, old piece of harness hung on a big nail.

‘It’s got quite a nice “feel” about it, this old place,’ said Anne. ‘Sometimes I don’t like the feel of places—they give me an uneasy feeling, a feeling that horrid things may have happened there. But this is quite different. I think people have been happy here, and led peaceful lives. I can almost hear hens clucking and ducks quacking, and pigs gr ...’

‘Quack, quack, quack! Quack!’

‘Cuck-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk! Cuck-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk!’

Anne clutched George and the two girls looked extremely startled to hear the sudden loud noise of quacking and clucking. They stood and listened.

‘What was it?’ said Anne. ‘It sounded like hens and ducks—though I’m not quite sure. But there aren’t any here, surely. We shall hear a horse whinnying next!’

They didn’t hear a whinny—but they heard the snorting of a horse at once. ‘Hrrrrr-umph! Hrrrrr-umph!’

Both girls were now quite alarmed. They looked for Timmy. He was nowhere to be seen! Wherever could he have got to?

‘Cuck-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk!’

‘This is silly,’ said George. ‘Are we imagining things? Anne, there must be hens near. Come round the back of these stables and look. Timmy, where are you? TIMMY!’

She whistled shrilly—and immediately an echo came—or so it seemed!

‘Phee-phee-phee-phee-phee!’

‘TIMMY!’ yelled George, beginning to feel as if she was in a dream.

Timmy appeared, looking rather sheepish. He wagged his tail—and to the girls’ enormous amazement, they saw that he had a ribbon tied on it. A ribbon—a bright blue one at that!

‘Timmy! Your tail—the ribbon—Timmy, what’s all this about?’ said George, really startled.

Timmy went to her, still looking sheepish, and George tore the ribbon off his tail. ‘Who tied it there?’ she demanded. ‘Who’s here? Timmy, where have you been?’

The two girls searched the old buildings thoroughly, and found nothing and nobody. Not a hen, not a duck, not a pig—and certainly not a horse. Then—what was the explanation? They stared at one another in bewilderment.

‘And where did Timmy get that silly ribbon?’ said George, exasperated. ‘Someone must have tied it on.’

‘Perhaps it was a hiker passing by—perhaps he heard us here and saw Timmy and played a joke,’ said Anne. ‘But it’s strange that old Tim let him tie on the ribbon. I mean—Timmy’s not overfriendly with strangers, is he?’

The girls gave up the idea of exploring any further and went back to their little camp. Timmy went with them. He lay down—and then suddenly got up again, making for a thick gorse bush. He tried to squirm underneath.

‘Now what’s he after?’ said George. ‘Really, I think Timmy’s gone mad. Timmy, you can’t get under there with that great collar on. timmy, do you hear me!’

Timmy backed out reluctantly, the collar all crooked. After him came a peculiar little mongrel dog with one blind eye and one exceedingly bright and lively one. He was half-white and half-black, and had a ridiculously long thin tail, which he waved about merrily.

‘Well!’ said George, amazed. ‘What’s that dog doing there? And how did Timmy get so friendly with him? Timmy, I can’t make you out.’

‘Woof,’ said Timmy, and brought the mongrel dog over to Anne and George. He then proceeded to dig up the smelly bone he had buried, and actually offered it to the little dog, who looked away and took no interest in it at all.

‘This is all very peculiar,’ said Anne. ‘I shall expect to see Timmy bring a cat to us next!’

At once there came a pathetic mewing.

‘Mee-ew! Mee-ew-ee-ew-ee-ew!’

Both dogs pricked up their ears, and rushed to the bush. Timmy was once again kept back by his big collar and barked furiously.

George got up and marched to the bush. ‘If there’s a cat there, it won’t have much chance against two dogs,’ she called to Anne. ‘Come away, Tim. Hey, you little dog, come away, too.’

Timmy backed out, and George pulled out the small dog very firmly indeed. ‘Hold him, Anne!’ she called. ‘He’s quite friendly. He won’t bite. I’m going to find that cat.’

Anne held on to the small mongrel, who gazed at her excitedly with his one good eye and wagged his tail violently. He was a most friendly little fellow. George began to crawl into the bare hollow space under the big gorse bush.

She looked into it, not able to see any thing at first, because it was dark there after the bright sunlight. Then she got a tremendous shock.

A round, grinning face stared back at her, a face with very bright eyes and tousled hair falling on to the forehead. The mouth was set in a wide smile, showing very white teeth.

‘Me-ew-ee-ew-ee-ew!’ said the face.

George scrambled back at top speed, her heart thumping. ‘What is it?’ called Anne.

‘There’s somebody hiding there,’ said George. ‘Not a cat. A fathead of a boy who is doing the mewing.’

‘Mew-ee-ew-ee-ew!’

‘Come out!’ called Anne. ‘Come out and let’s see you. You must be crazy!’

There was a scrambling noise and a boy came head-foremost from the hollow space under the bush. He was about twelve or thirteen, short, sturdily built, and with the cheekiest face Anne had ever seen.

Timmy rushed at him and licked him lovingly. George stared in amazement.

‘How does my dog know you?’ she demanded.

‘Well, he came growling at me yesterday when I was in my own camp,’ said the boy. ‘And I offered him a nice meaty bone. Then he saw my little dog Jet—short for jet-propelled, you know—and made friends with him—and with me too.’

‘I see,’ said George, still not at all friendly. ‘Well, I don’t like my dog to take food from strangers.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more,’ said the boy. ‘But I thought I’d rather he ate the bone than ate me. He’s a nice dog, yours. He feels a bit of an idiot wearing that collar, doesn’t he? You should have heard Jet laugh when he first saw it!’

George frowned. ‘I came here to be alone so that Timmy shouldn’t be jeered at,’ she said. ‘He’s got a bad ear. I suppose you were the fathead who tied a blue ribbon on his tail?’

‘Just for a joke,’ said the boy. ‘You like frowning and glaring, I can see. Well, I like joking and tricking! Your Timmy didn’t mind a bit. He took to my dog right away. But everyone likes Jet! I wanted to find out who owned Timmy—because, like you, I don’t like strangers messing about when I’m camping out. So I came along.’

‘I see. And you did all the clucking and quacking and hrrr-umphing?’ said Anne. She liked this idiot of a boy, with his broad friendly grin. ‘What are you doing—just camping—or hiking—or botanizing?’

‘I’m digging,’ said the boy. ‘My father’s an archaeologist—he loves old buildings more than anything else in the world. I take after him, I suppose. There was once an old Roman camp on this common, you know—and I’ve found a place where part of it must have been, so I’m digging for anything I can find—pottery, weapons, anything like that. See, I found this yesterday—look at the date on it!’

He suddenly thrust an old coin at them—a queer, uneven one, rather heavy to hold.

‘It’s date is 292,’ he said. ‘At least, as far as I can make out. So the camp’s pretty old, isn’t it?’

‘We’ll come and see it,’ said Anne, excited.

‘No, don’t,’ said the boy. ‘I don’t like people messing round me when I’m doing something serious. Please don’t come. I won’t bother you again. I promise.’

‘All right. We won’t come,’ said Anne, quite understanding. ‘But don’t you play any more silly tricks on us, see?’

‘I promise,’ said the boy. ‘I tell you, I won’t come near you again. I only wanted to see whose dog this was. Well, I’m off. So long!’

And, whistling to Jet, he set off at a furious pace. George turned to Anne.

‘What a peculiar boy!’ she said. ‘Actually—I’d rather like to see him again. Wouldn’t you?’