came down from the ladder where he had been looking at the damage.
‘Pretty hopeless, Mike.’
‘Don’t
say
that to him,’ Carrie raged.
‘Sorry. Poor Mike.’
‘Poor Bristler. She won’t be able to ride.’ Michael pulledhis hood down over his eyes and plodded through the snow to tell Oliver.
Harry, yellow son of Perpetua and Charlie, who was a throwback to some famous hunting dog, was tracking something over the snow, tail doing double time. They followed him as he whined, and pushed between a wheelbarrow and a roller in the cart shed. At the far end, behind some trunks and under part of a rusted plough, Dusty was lying like an empty sack. Clouded eyes, all his limp bones showing, too ill even to shiver, he was just alive. Only just.
Sixteen
The vet gave the old dog an injection, and he rallied a little, but was still very ill with pneumonia. He lay on Tom’s bed and could only move his tail feebly when anyone came in with warm milk or broth, or just a pat and a comforting word. Alec Harvey said his chances were about forty-sixty.
‘Sixty he lives?’ Carrie asked.
Alec shook his head. The other way round, I’m afraid.’
’If he could just live till Christmas ...’
’Why that day?’
‘I think Liza might come back for Christmas.’
‘Forty-sixty chance?’Alec smiled.
‘Sixty she
will.’
Some people think that if you want a thing to happen, you have to keep saying it won’t. Carrie believed that you had to keep saying it would.
The barn roof was going to cost an enormous amount of money to repair. A local man would do it, but only with a down payment in advance.
‘Don’t you trust us?’ Dad protested. ’We’ve got the money.’
’If so, it won’t hurt to pay a bit of it then, will it?’
They did not like the man, or his style of reasoning, but he was the only builder who would tackle the old structure, and thatch it as well. Somehow, the money must be found.
The soup can bird feeders were going fairly well, selling door-to-door, but soon they had exhausted all the local doors. It took time to range farther afield, and was even more discouraging to have doors slammed in your face after you had trekked down a long muddy lane to a lonely farm.
Feed the birds? The farmer said to Em in disgust. ’I try to keep the wretched things away from my winter cabbages, not invite them.’
He banged the door. Em made her prehistoric ape face at it and trudged back down the lane.
Spider Monkey was in use again - Mother was using it to get to a holiday job at a hotel - but only half paid for. Every time Em went past Dick Peasly’s garage, he looked at her sadly through the window.of his repair shop, as if she was depriving his small children of their Christmas presents. Em had to make detours to get into the village another way.
Christmas was going to be a problem anyway. There would be no money for presents this year. Because they needed the barn for Priscilla’s riding lessons, everything had to go into the red flour crock in the larder, labelled ’Raising the Roof.
‘Why the larder?’ Mr Mismo asked when he came to put in his contribution, a five pound note and an old War Bond Certificate dating from no one knew which war. ’Burglars always want food.’
‘Then they wouldn’t come here.’ Mother laughed, but she tied a string round the neck of the flour crock and hung it from the hook in the kitchen rafter, where hams and pheasants and sides of bacon used to hang in the old days. The crock hung.over the heads of the family at the round table, reminding them of Priscilla.
Once, tilting his chair back after a meal and blinkingthrough the smoke of his pipe at the hanging crock, Dad said, ’Why don’t we touch the Agnews for a little cash? It’s their child, after all.’
Everyone said, ’No!’ without even considering it.
‘They only let her come here,’ Em said, ’because it gets her out of their hair twice a week.’
‘I thought it was because I charmed the
‘Pretty hopeless, Mike.’
‘Don’t
say
that to him,’ Carrie raged.
‘Sorry. Poor Mike.’
‘Poor Bristler. She won’t be able to ride.’ Michael pulledhis hood down over his eyes and plodded through the snow to tell Oliver.
Harry, yellow son of Perpetua and Charlie, who was a throwback to some famous hunting dog, was tracking something over the snow, tail doing double time. They followed him as he whined, and pushed between a wheelbarrow and a roller in the cart shed. At the far end, behind some trunks and under part of a rusted plough, Dusty was lying like an empty sack. Clouded eyes, all his limp bones showing, too ill even to shiver, he was just alive. Only just.
Sixteen
The vet gave the old dog an injection, and he rallied a little, but was still very ill with pneumonia. He lay on Tom’s bed and could only move his tail feebly when anyone came in with warm milk or broth, or just a pat and a comforting word. Alec Harvey said his chances were about forty-sixty.
‘Sixty he lives?’ Carrie asked.
Alec shook his head. The other way round, I’m afraid.’
’If he could just live till Christmas ...’
’Why that day?’
‘I think Liza might come back for Christmas.’
‘Forty-sixty chance?’Alec smiled.
‘Sixty she
will.’
Some people think that if you want a thing to happen, you have to keep saying it won’t. Carrie believed that you had to keep saying it would.
The barn roof was going to cost an enormous amount of money to repair. A local man would do it, but only with a down payment in advance.
‘Don’t you trust us?’ Dad protested. ’We’ve got the money.’
’If so, it won’t hurt to pay a bit of it then, will it?’
They did not like the man, or his style of reasoning, but he was the only builder who would tackle the old structure, and thatch it as well. Somehow, the money must be found.
The soup can bird feeders were going fairly well, selling door-to-door, but soon they had exhausted all the local doors. It took time to range farther afield, and was even more discouraging to have doors slammed in your face after you had trekked down a long muddy lane to a lonely farm.
Feed the birds? The farmer said to Em in disgust. ’I try to keep the wretched things away from my winter cabbages, not invite them.’
He banged the door. Em made her prehistoric ape face at it and trudged back down the lane.
Spider Monkey was in use again - Mother was using it to get to a holiday job at a hotel - but only half paid for. Every time Em went past Dick Peasly’s garage, he looked at her sadly through the window.of his repair shop, as if she was depriving his small children of their Christmas presents. Em had to make detours to get into the village another way.
Christmas was going to be a problem anyway. There would be no money for presents this year. Because they needed the barn for Priscilla’s riding lessons, everything had to go into the red flour crock in the larder, labelled ’Raising the Roof.
‘Why the larder?’ Mr Mismo asked when he came to put in his contribution, a five pound note and an old War Bond Certificate dating from no one knew which war. ’Burglars always want food.’
‘Then they wouldn’t come here.’ Mother laughed, but she tied a string round the neck of the flour crock and hung it from the hook in the kitchen rafter, where hams and pheasants and sides of bacon used to hang in the old days. The crock hung.over the heads of the family at the round table, reminding them of Priscilla.
Once, tilting his chair back after a meal and blinkingthrough the smoke of his pipe at the hanging crock, Dad said, ’Why don’t we touch the Agnews for a little cash? It’s their child, after all.’
Everyone said, ’No!’ without even considering it.
‘They only let her come here,’ Em said, ’because it gets her out of their hair twice a week.’
‘I thought it was because I charmed the
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