hold, like an anchor, among a network of twigs.
"Now, come on," said Pod to Arrietty, breathing steadily. "Take hold and pull. Gently does it ... steady now. Gently ... gently..." And leaning together, their full weight on the twine, hand over hand they drew down the stooping branch. The alcove became dark suddenly with broken shadow, cut and trembling with filtered moonlight.
"Hold on," panted Pod, guiding the twine to the loop of root, "while I make her fast." He gave a grunt. "There," he said and stood up, rubbing the strain out of his hands (he was flecked all over, Arrietty noticed, with blobs of silver). "Get me the half scissor. Dang it, I forgot—the fret-saw will do."
It was hard to lay hands on the fret-saw in this sudden darkness, but at last she found it and Pod cut his halliard. "There," he said again in a satisfied voice. "She's fast—and we're covered. How's that for an idea? You can let her up or down, depending on what goes on, wind, weather and all the rest of it...."
He removed the bell-clapper and made the twine fast to the main branch. "Won't keep the field mice out, nor them kind of cattle—but," he gave a satisfied laugh, "there won't be no more watching."
"It's wonderful," said Arrietty, her face among the leaves, "—and we can still see out."
"That's the idea," said Pod. "Come on now: time we got back to bed!"
As they felt their way toward the mouth of the boot, Pod tripped against a pile of wheat husks and stumbled, coughing, into their dusty scatter. As he stood up and brushed himself down, he remarked thoughtfully, "Spiller—you said his name was?" He was silent a moment and then added thoughtfully, "There's a lot worse food, when you come to think of it, than a piping-hot, savory stew made of corn-fed field mouse."
Chapter Twelve
"Better suffer ill, than do ill."
Disastrous Earthquake at Charleston, U. S., 1866
[Extract from Arrietty's Diary and
Proverb Book, August 31st]
H OMILY was in a worried mood next morning. "What's all this?" she grumbled when, a little tousled, she crept out of the boot and saw that the alcove was filled with a greenish, underwater light.
"Oh, Mother," exclaimed Arrietty reproachfully. "It's lovely!" A faint breeze stirred the clustered leaves which, parting and closing, let pass bright spears and arrows of dancing light—a delightful blend of mystery and gaiety (or so it seemed to Arrietty). "Don't you see," she went on as its inventor preserved a proud silence, "Papa made it: it's quick cover—lets in the light but keeps out the rain; and we can see out but they can't see in."
"Who's they?" asked Homily.
"Anything ... anybody passing. Spiller," she added on a gleam of inspiration.
Homily relented. "H'mm," she vouchsafed in a noncommittal tone but she examined the uncovered root in the floor, noted the clove-hitch, and ran a thoughtful finger down the taut twine.
"The thing to remember," Pod explained earnestly, aware of her tardy approval, "is—when you let her go—keep hold of the halliard: you don't want this here halliard ever to leave the root. See what I mean?"
Homily saw. "But you don't want to waste the sunshine," she pointed out, "not while it's summer, you don't. Soon it will be—" she shuddered slightly and tightened her lips, unable to say the word.
"Well, winter ain't here yet," exclaimed Pod lightly. "Sufficient unto the day, as they say—" He was busy with the halliard. "Here you are—up she goes!" and, as the twine ran squeaking under the root, the leaves flew up out of sight and the alcove leaped into light.
"See what I mean?" said Pod again, in a satisfied voice.
During breakfast the donkey brayed again, loud and long, and was answered almost at once by the neigh of a horse.
"I don't like it," said Homily suddenly, setting down her half hazel shell of honey and water. Even as she spoke, a dog yelped—too close for comfort. Homily started—and over went the honey and water, a dark stain on the sandy floor. "Me nerves is
"Now, come on," said Pod to Arrietty, breathing steadily. "Take hold and pull. Gently does it ... steady now. Gently ... gently..." And leaning together, their full weight on the twine, hand over hand they drew down the stooping branch. The alcove became dark suddenly with broken shadow, cut and trembling with filtered moonlight.
"Hold on," panted Pod, guiding the twine to the loop of root, "while I make her fast." He gave a grunt. "There," he said and stood up, rubbing the strain out of his hands (he was flecked all over, Arrietty noticed, with blobs of silver). "Get me the half scissor. Dang it, I forgot—the fret-saw will do."
It was hard to lay hands on the fret-saw in this sudden darkness, but at last she found it and Pod cut his halliard. "There," he said again in a satisfied voice. "She's fast—and we're covered. How's that for an idea? You can let her up or down, depending on what goes on, wind, weather and all the rest of it...."
He removed the bell-clapper and made the twine fast to the main branch. "Won't keep the field mice out, nor them kind of cattle—but," he gave a satisfied laugh, "there won't be no more watching."
"It's wonderful," said Arrietty, her face among the leaves, "—and we can still see out."
"That's the idea," said Pod. "Come on now: time we got back to bed!"
As they felt their way toward the mouth of the boot, Pod tripped against a pile of wheat husks and stumbled, coughing, into their dusty scatter. As he stood up and brushed himself down, he remarked thoughtfully, "Spiller—you said his name was?" He was silent a moment and then added thoughtfully, "There's a lot worse food, when you come to think of it, than a piping-hot, savory stew made of corn-fed field mouse."
Chapter Twelve
"Better suffer ill, than do ill."
Disastrous Earthquake at Charleston, U. S., 1866
[Extract from Arrietty's Diary and
Proverb Book, August 31st]
H OMILY was in a worried mood next morning. "What's all this?" she grumbled when, a little tousled, she crept out of the boot and saw that the alcove was filled with a greenish, underwater light.
"Oh, Mother," exclaimed Arrietty reproachfully. "It's lovely!" A faint breeze stirred the clustered leaves which, parting and closing, let pass bright spears and arrows of dancing light—a delightful blend of mystery and gaiety (or so it seemed to Arrietty). "Don't you see," she went on as its inventor preserved a proud silence, "Papa made it: it's quick cover—lets in the light but keeps out the rain; and we can see out but they can't see in."
"Who's they?" asked Homily.
"Anything ... anybody passing. Spiller," she added on a gleam of inspiration.
Homily relented. "H'mm," she vouchsafed in a noncommittal tone but she examined the uncovered root in the floor, noted the clove-hitch, and ran a thoughtful finger down the taut twine.
"The thing to remember," Pod explained earnestly, aware of her tardy approval, "is—when you let her go—keep hold of the halliard: you don't want this here halliard ever to leave the root. See what I mean?"
Homily saw. "But you don't want to waste the sunshine," she pointed out, "not while it's summer, you don't. Soon it will be—" she shuddered slightly and tightened her lips, unable to say the word.
"Well, winter ain't here yet," exclaimed Pod lightly. "Sufficient unto the day, as they say—" He was busy with the halliard. "Here you are—up she goes!" and, as the twine ran squeaking under the root, the leaves flew up out of sight and the alcove leaped into light.
"See what I mean?" said Pod again, in a satisfied voice.
During breakfast the donkey brayed again, loud and long, and was answered almost at once by the neigh of a horse.
"I don't like it," said Homily suddenly, setting down her half hazel shell of honey and water. Even as she spoke, a dog yelped—too close for comfort. Homily started—and over went the honey and water, a dark stain on the sandy floor. "Me nerves is
Similar Books
