The Tale of Oat Cake Crag by Susan Wittig Albert Page A

said. She gave her young friend a closer glance. Deirdre had not been an attractive child—a rowdy hoyden, she had been gangly and awkward—but she was becoming a beautiful young woman. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile seemed to hold a delicious secret, as if she knew something marvelous.
    “Yes, you are,” yipped Rascal. He had seen Deirdre wearing her secretive smile for several weeks. “You’re keeping something from us, aren’t you? Do you have a beau?”
    “Oh, I am happy, Miss Potter!” Deirdre burst out, and—rather like her old schoolgirl self—gave a little skip. “I’m about to burst with happiness and fly into a million little pieces, like a balloon that’s been blown too full of air.” She sobered a little. “I’m dyin’ to tell you all about it, when I can. Will you be here in the village for a while? May I come to see you in a few days?”
    “Of course you may,” Beatrix said warmly. She smiled down at the little Suttons. “Bring the children with you, too. I’m sure Jemima Puddle-duck would love to see them. They can play in the barnyard while we talk.” Several young Suttons had been present when Jemima hatched a nest of eggs that turned out not to be ducklings at all, but rather—
    But perhaps you haven’t read The Tale of Hawthorn House , so I shan’t spoil it for you. You must go and read it for yourself and find out what it was that Jemima hatched. You will be surprised, I’m sure. I was.
    “Thank you,” Deirdre said. “I can’t do it tomorrow, but perhaps the next? Around teatime?”
    “Lovely, my dear,” said Beatrix, and they said goodbye.
    “I wish I knew what sort of secret she’s keeping,” Rascal said, half to himself, as Deirdre led the crocodile of small Suttons in the direction of Courier Cottage.
    Miss Potter lifted the reins. “Well, whatever her secret, I’m sure it’s a pleasant one,” she remarked. “She looks so very happy. Come on, now, Winston. Let’s be on our way.”
    At the top of Stony Lane, Beatrix paused to look toward Castle Farm, which she had bought some little while ago. The cottage and gardens were currently let to Dick Llewellyn’s sister Rachel (the Llewellyns, Dick and Agnes, lived down the lane at High Green Gate). Beatrix had had the barn and fences repaired and pastured cows and sheep on the farm—Herdwick sheep, of which she was very fond, even though they were considered old-fashioned. Her purchase had pleased some of the villagers, those who were glad that the land had not been sold to off-comers and the old buildings torn down and replaced with modern cottages. It had also annoyed others, who felt that Miss Potter was turning into a land-grabber. But Beatrix paid no attention. Will Heelis had advised her to buy Castle Farm. It had been the right thing to do, whatever the villagers thought.
    She lifted the reins and Winston started up the hill again (this is not so steep a hill as the one to Raven Hall). But they had barely gotten under way when here came Sarah Barwick, flying down the hill on her bicycle. She had been out making deliveries of the bread and pastries for which she was becoming quite well known (Sarah is the owner of the Anvil Cottage Bakery), and was wearing her usual biking costume, a pair of green corduroy trousers (cut full for maximum comfort), and a green wool coat, with a brown muffler wrapped round her neck. Her cheeks were reddened by the wind.
    “Well, hullo there, Bea!” she cried, braking to a stop. “Welcome back to the village.”
    “It’s good to be here,” Beatrix replied, thinking how ironic it was that when she returned to London, nobody ever said, “Welcome back,” in quite the same way that the villagers did. At most, her mother might ask, in a complaining voice, “Why must you always stay away so long, Beatrix? You were needed here.”
    Sarah steadied her bicycle with one foot. “Will you be with us for a while this visit?”
    Sarah had arrived in the village at the same time