(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green by Miss Read Page B

have mine black,' said Betty, and the two settled happily at the kitchen table for ten minutes' gossip about the newcomers to Thrush Green.

    It so happened that Isobel saw nothing of her neighbours for several days as she and Harold had an unexpected invitation to have a few days with friends in Wales.
    On their return, Isobel rang the Lesters to enquire how things were going. Alan answered the telephone.
    'We're settling in nicely,' he said cheerfully. 'We shall be pretty straight indoors before term starts next week.'
    'That's good,' replied Isobel, 'and how's the building getting on?'
    'Far too slowly, but I'm not sorry really as poor Margaret is under the weather again.'
    'Oh dear! Can we help?'
    'No, no, it's just this wretched migraine. She gets an attack now and again, and bed's the only place until it passes.'
    'I expect she's been doing too much,' said Isobel. 'Let us know if there's anything we can do.'
    'You are kind. She'll soon be over it, I'm sure. We're quite geared to this sort of thing.'
    'I wonder,' said Isobel to Harold some time later, 'if they've decided to move here because of these migraine attacks?'
    'Maybe,' said Harold engrossed in the crossword. 'Have you ever heard of "Taxonomy"?'
    'Never.'
    'Nor me. These crossword setters must be born in the knife-drawer, as my mother used to say. Far too sharp for me.'

    Term began at Thrush Green school and Alison and Kate Lester were enrolled as new pupils, along with half a dozen new five-year-olds who were escorted to the classroom which had once been the domain of little Miss Fogerty.
    On the same day, far away at Barton-on-Sea, Agnes was watching a little knot of children making their way to school. She was moved to see the small ones, obviously new entrants, clutching their pristine school bags and wearing school blazers which were rather too large, 'to allow for growth'.
    'Do you ever wish you were back at Thrush Green, Dorothy?' she asked.
    Dorothy was poring over a form which had just come in the post. 'Well, of course I do,' she replied. 'But not at the school.'
    She had heard children's voices, and knew from neighbours that this was the first day of term. She also knew, from her long association with Agnes, exactly what was going on in that kind lady's heart.
    'Not at the school?' echoed Agnes, somewhat surprised.
    Dorothy put down the form.
    'Pure gobbledegook this is! Why these so-called communications can't be expressed in plain English I cannot understand.'
    She surveyed Agnes with sympathy.
    'No, I can assure you, I would not want to return to teaching. I did over forty years, as you did too, and I am very happy to have retired.'
    'Yes, of course,' agreed Agnes. 'It's just that seeing the new babies going along just now, so trusting and dean, you know, it brought it all back.'
    'It should also bring back the memories of tears and tantrums and puddles on the floor, which marked the first morning of term,' said Dorothy briskly. 'And do you remember that terrible boy who bolted home? We caught him half a mile up the Nidden road. Wretched child!'
    'He was a Cooke,' said Agnes.
    'That,' replied Dorothy, 'does not surprise me. Now, about this form. I think you have to sign it too, but I'll slip along to Teddy later on and read it to him. He's bound to know what it means.'
    She was as good as her word, and in her absence Agnes busied herself in the garden. The dahlias were making a fine show of scarlet and gold, and the roses still showed a few late blooms, but there were signs of autumn already. The new pyracantha, pushing its way valiantly up the wall by the porch, was a mass of berries just beginning to turn orange. The birds would be grateful, thought Agnes, watching some blue-tits squabbling over the peanut-holder nearby.
    She sat down on the seat to enjoy the sunshine, and hoped that Dorothy would not be too long with Teddy. It was so difficult to time the potatoes exactly when she went out in the morning. She ruminated again about Dorothy's