Страница 20 из 35
“That story,” said Pony Billy, “has no moral.” “But it is very pretty,”said Xarifa, the dormouse, suddenly wakening up.
CHAPTER XII
Across the Ford
A chill breath rose from the water. The daisies closed their petals. “We will say good-night,” said the sheep, “it is too cold for our lambs to sleep beside the stream. Good-night, little dormouse! All friends, good-night!” The sheep stately and peaceful, moved up the pasture, feeding as they went; their lambs gambolled beside them. The last beams of the setting sun shone again upon the flock, when they reached the heights. Xarifa drew her fur cloak closer. Tuppe
“I SHOULD NOT CHOOSE TO SPEND A NIGHT IN PRINGLE WOOD”
Supper was eaten; Tuppe
“It is useless to wait any longer,” said Pony Billy next morning; “the flood has gone down eight inches; we can cross the ford. If Tuppe
It took them four long hours to go through Pringle Wood. Round and round and round they went, by narrow mossy tracks; always going roundabout, always pulling steadily.
And yet the wood was no great size; just a little fairy hill of oaks. The ground beneath the trees was covered with bluebells – blue as the sea – blue as a bit of sky come down. So steep downhill were the mossy banks that Sandy had to put the slipper brake under the wheel to prevent the caravan from ru
Pony Billy snorted. His hoofs slipped on the moss; and if he left the track the bluebells were so thick that it was difficult to trample through them. They passed a bed of white anemone flowers – “Why, surely,”said Sandy, “we have passed this spot already, twice?”
Pony Billy snorted again, and scrambled forward. A shower of oak-apples from the trees above pelted about his ears, and rattled on the roof of the caravan. They hopped on the moss like live things; they bounced like a shower of pelting hailstones. “Look, Xarifa! what beauties!” cried Tuppe
The sunshiny open meadow was refreshing after the sombre shade of the trees. Cattle and sheep were feeding peacefully; lambs frisked; swallows skimmed low over the buttercups that powdered Pony Billy’s hoofs with dusty gold. He drew the caravan across the cheerful green grass – he took it through a white gate into a lane, which they followed down to Codlin Croft Farm.
It was a pleasant su
“There is no help for it,” said Pony Billy, “we ca
CHAPTER XIII
Codlin Croft Orchard
The homestead of Codlin Croft was dominated by Charles, our cock, a silver campine with handsome white neck hackles, finely barred and spotted breast, and a magnificent tail. He also had a big red comb; and spurs. Besides Charles there was a turkey cock of large size; and a sow still larger; and a cat and three farm dogs. Charles treated them all alike with contempt. When the caravan arrived in the lane, Charles and the turkey were having one of their usual combats. Charles was dancing round and churtling – cluck-cur-cuck-cuck-cuck! jumping and spurring at Bubbly-jock’s painfully red wattles and tassels. The turkey was bursting with rage; he scrunched the tips of his wings along the gravel (which spoilt nothing but his own feathers). Whenever he got a chance he trod heavily upon the spot where Charles had recently stood. Charles, in the meantime, had darted between the turkey’s legs. When Charles became short of breath, he slipped nimbly through the narrow bars of an iron gate, and pretended to be picking up titbits, in full view of the maddened turkey cock, who was unable to follow him. Then he scratched up dirt, and crowed. Charles and Sandy never hit it off very well; they both had a habit of scratching up the earth, and they mutually irritated one another. But all the same, Charles graciously did the honours of Codlin Croft, and invited the company into the orchard through a broken gate.