Читать книгу Joan and Peter - H. G. Wells - Страница 41

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It seemed to Mary that Lady Charlotte’s invitation came as a “perfect godsend.” It was at once used to its utmost value to distract the two little flushed and tearful things from their distresses. Great expectations were aroused. That very afternoon they were to go out to tea to Chastlands, a lovely place; they were to have a real ride in a real carriage, not a cab like the station-cab that smells of straw, but a carriage; and Mary was coming too, she was going to wear her best hat with the red flower and enjoy herself “no end,” and there would be cake and all sorts of things and a big shrubbery to play in and a flower garden—oh! miles bigger than our garden. “Only you mustn’t go picking the flowers,” said Mary. “Lady Charlotte won’t like that.”

Was Auntie Phyllis coming too?

No, Auntie wasn’t coming too; she’d love to come, but she couldn’t....

It all began very much as Mary had promised. The carriage with the white horse was waiting punctually at two o’clock on the high road above the house. There was a real carpet, green with a yellow coat-of-arms, on the floor of the carriage, and the same coat-of-arms on the panel of the door; the brass door-handle was so bright and attractive that Mary had to tell Joan to keep her greedy little hands off it or she would fall out. They drove through pine woods for a time and then across a great common with geese on it, and then up a deep-hedged, winding, uphill road and so to an open road that lay over a great cornfield, and then by a snug downland village of thatched white cottages very gay with flowers. And so to a real lodge with a garden round it and a white-aproned gate-keeper, which impressed Mary very favourably.

“It’s a sort of park she has,” said Mary.

As they drew near the house they were met by a very gay and smiling and obviously pretty lady, in a dress of blue cotton stuff and flowers in her hat. She had round blue eyes and glowing cheeks and a rejoicing sort of voice.

“Here they are!” she cried. “Hullo, old Peter! Hullo, old Joan! Would you like to get out?”

They would.

“Would they like to see the garden?”

They would.

And a little bit of “chockky” each?

Glances for approval at Mary and encouraging nods from Mary. They would. They got quite big pieces of chocolate and pouched them solemnly, and went on with grave, unsymmetrical faces. And the bright lady took them each by a hand and began to talk of flowers and birds and all the things they were going to see, a summerhouse, a croquet-poky lawn, a little old pony stable, a churchy-perchy, and all sorts of things. Particularly the churchy-perchy.

Mary dropped behind amicably.

So accompanied it was not very dreadful to meet the great whisker-woman herself in a white and mauve patterned dress of innumerable flounces and a sunshade with a deep valance to it, to match. She didn’t come very near to the children, but waved her hand to them and crowed in what was manifestly a friendly spirit. And across the lawn they saw a marvel, a lawn-mower pushed by a man and drawn by a little piebald pony in boots.

“He puts on his booty-pootys when little boys have to take them off, to walk over the grassy green carpet,” said the blue cotton lady.

Peter was emboldened to address Lady Charlotte.

“Puts on ’is booty-pootys,” he said impressively.

“Wise little pony,” said Lady Charlotte.

They saw all sorts of things, the stables, the summerhouse, a little pond with a swan upon it, a lane through dark bushes, and so they came to the church.