for animals to sketch. He had been with the boy as Jeremy drew the old badger who lived at the top of Holly How, the pair of frisky red squirrels who lived in the oak at Wise Een Tarn, and the shy pine marten they had found in Colthouse Wood. Rascal often said that Jeremy was the only boy in the village who’d rather draw and study a fox or a stoat than set traps for them.
Jeremy stroked the little dog’s ears. “How would you like to look for fairies with me on Saturday, Rascal? Caroline and Deirdre are going, too. Deirdre says she’s able to see them, and it doesn’t hurt to pretend.”
“Fairies?” Rascal barked excitedly. “Oh, ra-ther! There once was a fairy village near Fern Vale Tarn, at the top of the woods. Oak Folk, if I remember right. The Professor would know, or Bosworth Badger.” Rascal knew, of course, that the boy—like most humans—didn’t understand what he was saying. But that might change, he reasoned. It never hurt to try.
With a gloomy look on his face, Jeremy sat down on a large boulder beside the rippling stream. “I’m afraid we won’t have many more tramps together, Rascal. The spring term will be finished in a few weeks, and school will be over.” His heavy sigh was resigned. “And everything will change.”
Rascal licked the boy’s face. “Change? I don’t understand.”
Another sigh. “I’ll be grown up, you see. I’ll have to go to work.”
“Work?” Rascal gave an astonished yip. Dogs, like a great many animals, live in the present moment and do not give much serious thought to what the future might bring. And Rascal, of course, was fully employed. He monitored strangers in the village, mediated disagreements among the other dogs, and slept with one eye open on the porch at Belle Green, keeping watch against possible trespassers. Still, he didn’t think of what he did as “work,” and he hadn’t thought of Jeremy as needing a job, either. The idea that the boy might not be free to wander the woods and fields forever came as a thunderous shock.
Jeremy picked up a stone and tossed it into the beck, watching the ripples widen across the surface. “I’m to be an apprentice, Rascal.”
Rascal stared. “An apprentice?”
There was an undertone of bitterness in Jeremy’s voice. “I’m not a gentleman’s son, you know. They go to public school, and when they’ve finished, they go on to university. After that, they can do anything in the world they like. But boys of my sort go to the village school, and when that’s done, they’re grown up. No more books or games or tramps through the woods. They go to work.”
“Oh,” Rascal said. Yes, of course. He knew that the village boys left Sawrey School when they were thirteen—most of them glad to be free of it, too—and went to work, usually doing the same things their fathers did, cutting wood or quarrying slate or burning charcoal or herding sheep. He just hadn’t thought of this happening to Jeremy, who liked books and learning as much as he liked the woods and fells.
A black grouse rattled out of a nearby ash coppice, tempting Rascal to a chase, but the terrier paid no attention. Of course, Jeremy was very clever, and would likely get on well in the world. But Rascal felt that there was an injustice here. He couldn’t quite get his mind around it, but if gentlemen’s sons were able to continue with their studies, it seemed a bit thick that Jeremy should have to go to work.
“Aunt Jane has found an apprenticeship for me,” Jeremy went on in a somber tone. He picked up a stick and used it to draw designs in the dust at his feet. “Two, in fact, so I’m to have a choice. Roger Dowling has offered me an apprenticeship in his joinery. And Dr. Butters says that the apothecary in Hawkshead is looking for a boy who is good with sums. I’m sure I should be grateful. Either is better than working in a slate quarry or burning charcoal.”
“Mr. Dowling would be a good master,” Rascal said tentatively.
Jeremy stroked the little dog’s ears. “How would you like to look for fairies with me on Saturday, Rascal? Caroline and Deirdre are going, too. Deirdre says she’s able to see them, and it doesn’t hurt to pretend.”
“Fairies?” Rascal barked excitedly. “Oh, ra-ther! There once was a fairy village near Fern Vale Tarn, at the top of the woods. Oak Folk, if I remember right. The Professor would know, or Bosworth Badger.” Rascal knew, of course, that the boy—like most humans—didn’t understand what he was saying. But that might change, he reasoned. It never hurt to try.
With a gloomy look on his face, Jeremy sat down on a large boulder beside the rippling stream. “I’m afraid we won’t have many more tramps together, Rascal. The spring term will be finished in a few weeks, and school will be over.” His heavy sigh was resigned. “And everything will change.”
Rascal licked the boy’s face. “Change? I don’t understand.”
Another sigh. “I’ll be grown up, you see. I’ll have to go to work.”
“Work?” Rascal gave an astonished yip. Dogs, like a great many animals, live in the present moment and do not give much serious thought to what the future might bring. And Rascal, of course, was fully employed. He monitored strangers in the village, mediated disagreements among the other dogs, and slept with one eye open on the porch at Belle Green, keeping watch against possible trespassers. Still, he didn’t think of what he did as “work,” and he hadn’t thought of Jeremy as needing a job, either. The idea that the boy might not be free to wander the woods and fields forever came as a thunderous shock.
Jeremy picked up a stone and tossed it into the beck, watching the ripples widen across the surface. “I’m to be an apprentice, Rascal.”
Rascal stared. “An apprentice?”
There was an undertone of bitterness in Jeremy’s voice. “I’m not a gentleman’s son, you know. They go to public school, and when they’ve finished, they go on to university. After that, they can do anything in the world they like. But boys of my sort go to the village school, and when that’s done, they’re grown up. No more books or games or tramps through the woods. They go to work.”
“Oh,” Rascal said. Yes, of course. He knew that the village boys left Sawrey School when they were thirteen—most of them glad to be free of it, too—and went to work, usually doing the same things their fathers did, cutting wood or quarrying slate or burning charcoal or herding sheep. He just hadn’t thought of this happening to Jeremy, who liked books and learning as much as he liked the woods and fells.
A black grouse rattled out of a nearby ash coppice, tempting Rascal to a chase, but the terrier paid no attention. Of course, Jeremy was very clever, and would likely get on well in the world. But Rascal felt that there was an injustice here. He couldn’t quite get his mind around it, but if gentlemen’s sons were able to continue with their studies, it seemed a bit thick that Jeremy should have to go to work.
“Aunt Jane has found an apprenticeship for me,” Jeremy went on in a somber tone. He picked up a stick and used it to draw designs in the dust at his feet. “Two, in fact, so I’m to have a choice. Roger Dowling has offered me an apprenticeship in his joinery. And Dr. Butters says that the apothecary in Hawkshead is looking for a boy who is good with sums. I’m sure I should be grateful. Either is better than working in a slate quarry or burning charcoal.”
“Mr. Dowling would be a good master,” Rascal said tentatively.
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