Pearlie's Pet Rescue by Lucia Masciullo

stables and down to the farthest corner, where Edward had set up his wickets. He’d promised to play cricket with Rose on her birthday, and this was the only chance they’d have before Mother would wake up and come looking for her.
    Edward poked at the grass with his bat. ‘It must’ve rained last night.’
    Rose laughed as she warmed up her bowling arm, swinging it around and up. ‘Not making excuses already, are you Ed?’
    â€˜Just bowl,’ Edward said.
    The ball floated through the air, bounced, and Edward swung at it, clipping it on the edge. It disappeared into the bushes behind him. Rose grinned. She loved bowling her tricky spinners, and even though Edward was older and taller than her, she’d soon get him out and then she could have a turn.
    They’d had one bat each when a shrill voice called, ‘Rose! Are you out here? Rose?’ It was her governess, Miss Parson.
    Rose wanted to run and hide in the bushes, but that would only get her into more trouble. She handed the cricket ball to Edward. ‘I’d better go before she busts a boiler.’
    Miss Parson was waiting near the kitchen door, a scowl on her narrow, pale face. ‘What were you doing out so early?’ she asked.
    â€˜Walking,’ Rose said. She wasn’t in the habit of telling fibs, but surely a small lie to Miss Parson didn’t count. ‘It’s a lovely morning.’
    â€˜Hmph.’ Miss Parson followed her inside and up the stairs. ‘Your mother expects you down for breakfast in five minutes, and your boots are dirty.’
    â€˜Yes, Miss Parson.’
    In her bedroom, Rose poured cold water from the flowered jug into the bowl and washed her hands and face, shivering at how icy it was. She used the hand towel to clean her boots, and brushed her dark, unruly hair. There. Surely Mother wouldn’t scold her on her birthday? Miss Parson came in without knocking and Rose glared.
    â€˜Come on, hurry up,’ said Miss Parson. ‘And pull up your stockings. They’re a disgrace.’
    Rose yanked them up and heard an awful ripping sound. She looked down at the large hole she’d just made. ‘Oops.’
    Miss Parson huffed loudly. ‘Too much haste, not enough care – as usual.’
    â€˜But Sally will mend it in an instant!’
    â€˜And what will you learn from that?’ Miss Parson asked. ‘No, you can sew it yourself today instead of working on your doily stitching. Or I can tell your mother and let her give you a suitable punishment.’
    Sewing was already like a punishment for Rose. She’d much rather be outside, climbing trees or digging in the garden. ‘I’ll do it myself,’ she said. Miss Parson followed her down the stairs and went off to the kitchen, while Rose continued on to the breakfast room, where she spotted a small pile of gifts by her plate. There was no way she’d let Miss Parson ruin her birthday, especially with all those surprises waiting!
    The rest of her family was already seated, her father reading the newspaper,
The Argus
.
    â€˜Happy birthday, Rose!’ everyone chorused.
    â€˜Open your presents,’ Martha said. Rose’s older sister always gave her something small and special.
    Mother tapped her plate with a spoon. ‘Eat your breakfast first, Rose. The gifts can wait.’
    â€˜But . . .’ Rose shrugged. It was useless to argue with Mother. Rose took her plate to the sideboard impatiently, ready to choose some eggs and bacon, but there were only kippers and porridge. She hated kippers – even more than sardines – Mother knew that! Tears stung her eyes, but she bit her lip, determined not to cry. She helped herself to porridge instead, and stirred in four big spoonfuls of sugar and some preserved peaches before Mother noticed.
    Rose ate quickly and was finally allowed to open her presents. She decided to leave Martha’s until last. Mother and Father