‘He’s a little foreigner, isn’t he?’ said the farmer’s wife, with a laugh. ‘Pig-meat! Does he mean ham? And surely he’ll be sick if I pour cream over it all?’
‘Cut him a little ham, if you will,’ said Mrs. Cunningham. ‘No pie. He can’t possibly eat both. And of course not the cream!’
‘I have ordered my meal,’ said Gustavus, in a very haughty voice, staring at the surprised farmer’s wife. ‘I will have what I say. Plizz,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘Shut up, Gus,’ said Bill. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. You’re forgetting yourself.’
‘I have not forgot myself,’ said Gus, puzzled. ‘I have remembered myself, and I want …’
‘Shut up,’ said Bill, and Gus shut up.
The others grinned. It was nice to see Bill squashing Gussy. Gussy was very angry. He glared at Bill, and seemed about to say something. But Bill looked across at him, and he didn’t say it. Bill winked at the others, and they winked back.
‘Fussy-Gussy,’ remarked Kiki, from Jack’s left shoulder. ‘Ding-dong-bell, Gussy’s in the well.’
‘Pussy’s in the well, not Gussy,’ corrected Jack. ‘Oh, you pest-you’ve nabbed a strawberry out of the jam!’
The farmer’s wife took Kiki in her stride, and was not unduly surprised at her, nor annoyed. ‘My old aunt had a parrot once,’ she said. ‘One like yours here. She didn’t talk as well as yours though.’
‘Is she alive?’ asked Jack, thinking that it would be fun to put the two parrots together and see them eyeing one another. What kind of conversation would they have?
‘Is who alive? My aunt or her parrot?’ asked the farmer’s wife, pouring out cups of creamy milk. ‘The parrot’s dead. It was supposed to be over a hundred years old when it died. My old aunt is still alive, though. There she is, sitting by the fire over in that corner. She’s my great-aunt really, and she’ll be more than a hundred if she lives another ten years.’
The five children stared in awe at the old woman in the corner. She looked rather like a witch to them, but her eyes were faded blue, instead of green. She smiled a dim smile at them, and then bent her white head to her knitting again.
‘She’s a real worry sometimes,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘She wanders round and falls about, you know. And the doctor’s off on a week’s holiday soon, and what I shall do if old Aunt Naomi falls and hurts herself then, I don’t know! There’s no neighbours near but you-and you’re a good bit away!’
‘You send a message to us if you want us at any time,’ said Mrs. Cunningham at once. ‘I’ll certainly come. I am quite good at first-aid and nursing. So don’t worry about the doctor going. Send a message if you want us.’
‘Ah, yes-I could do that,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘Thank you kindly. Now-who wants a bit of that fruitcake? It’s good, though I shouldn’t say it, seeing that I made it myself.’
‘If I eat any more I shan’t be able to move a step,’ said Bill, at last. ‘Will you kindly make up your minds to finish, you kids? We’ll get along to Quarry Cottage, and settle in. Did you manage to send a woman in to clean up the place for us, Mrs. Ellis?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘And she took eggs, milk, a pie, some home-made cheese, ham and butter and new bread for you. Oh yes, and a side of bacon. You won’t do too badly down there! Come along to me when you want anything. I hope you have a good, restful holiday.’
They left the cosy farmhouse reluctantly. Jack eyed Gussy suspiciously, as they got into the car. ‘You look a bit green,’ he said. ‘Sure you’ll be all right in the car?’
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Mrs. Cunningham, hurriedly. ‘It’s not very far-he’ll be quite all right.’
‘Wishful thinking, Aunt Allie!’ said Jack. ‘Kiki’s very quiet. Kiki, you’ve made a pig of yourself too-a little pig, eating such a big tea!’
Kiki gave a big hiccup. Nobody ever knew if her hiccups were real or put on. Mrs. Cunningham always felt quite certain that they were put on.
‘Kiki!’ said Jack, severely. ‘Manners, manners!’
‘Pardon,’ said Kiki. Gussy stared at her in amazement. It was surprising enough for a parrot to hiccup, but even more surprising that she should apologize! He quite forgot to feel sick because of his astonishment at Kiki.
Down a winding lane-up a little hill-down another lane whose hedges were so high that the children felt they were in a green tunnel. Round a sharp bend, and then there was Quarry Cottage, standing a little way back from the lane.
It was a pretty place, its garden full of primroses, wallflowers and daffodils. The people who owned it had gone to the South of France for a holiday, and had been pleased to let it to Bill.
The windows were rather small, as they always are in old cottages. The door was stout, made of oak darkened by the years, and was protected by a small porch, thatched with straw like the sloping roof of the cottage.
‘A thatched cottage-how lovely!’ said Lucy-Ann. ‘I don’t know why, but thatched houses always look as if they belong to fairy-tales, not to real life. It’s a dear little place.’
They went up the path. Bill had the key and unlocked the door. In they all went, exclaiming over everything.
‘I need hardly remind you that this house, and everything in it, belongs to someone else,’ said Mrs. Cunningham. ‘So that we’ll have to be extra careful-but as you will probably be out of doors most of the day you won’t have time to do much damage!’
‘We shouldn’t anyway,’ said Jack. ‘Not with Bill here ready to jump on us!’
The cottage was just as pretty inside as out, and very cosy and comfortable. The three boys had a big attic, the two girls had a small bedroom over the sitting-room, and Bill and his wife had a larger one next to it.
The larder was full of food! Mrs. Ellis, the farmer’s wife, had certainly remembered them generously. Mrs. Cunningham heaved a sigh of relief as she looked at the ham and bacon, eggs and milk. Housekeeping was not going to be the nightmare she had expected!
‘You two girls unpack everything,’ she said. ‘We’ve not brought much with us, so it won’t take you long. Arrange the boys’ things in the big chest in their room-there’s enough room for the clothes of all three there.’
‘I cannot slip with others,’ announced Gustavus, coming down the stairs into the hall, where the girls and Mrs. Cunningham were undoing the suit-cases. ‘Never have I slipt with others.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Dinah. ‘Nobody wants you to slip. Why should you?’
‘He means sleep,’ said Lucy-Ann. ‘Don’t you, Gussy?’
‘It is what I said,’ said Gussy. ‘I may not slip with others. At school I slipt by myself. Here I will slip by myself also. It iss the rule of my family.’
‘Well, it isn’t the rule here,’ said Dinah. ‘Get off those shirts, Gus. And don’t be an ass. There are only three bedrooms, anyway.’
‘What’s the argument?’ said Bill, coming in after putting the car into a shed, and seeing Gussy’s frowning face.
‘It’s Gus,’ said Dinah, piling her arms full of clothes. ‘He’s just announced he wants to sleep by himself. Says it’s the rule of his family. Who does he think he is? A prince.’
Gussy opened his mouth to reply, and Bill hurriedly interrupted what he was going to say. ‘Gus, you’ll sleep with the two boys here. Understand?’
‘I slip alone,’ said Gus, obstinately. ‘Never have I …’
‘There’s a tiny little box-room he could have,’ said Dinah, suddenly, a gleam in her eye. ‘I saw it just now, when I was upstairs. He could “slip” there. I’m sure he won’t mind the dozens of colossal spiders there-ugh, they’ve all got hairy legs. And I heard a mouse-or it might have been a rat-scuttling behind the cistern-and …’
Gus looked horrified. ‘No. I do not slip with spiders and mouses,’ he said. ‘But still it is not right that I should slip with Philip and Jack. And I will not slip with that wicket bird.’
‘Come in here a minute, Gus,’ said Bill, and he took the boy firmly by the shoulder, led him into the sitting-room and shut the door. The two girls heard a murmur of voices, and looked at one another in surprise.
‘Mother, what’s all the fuss about?’ said Dinah, puzzled. ‘Why doesn’t Bill put that silly young Gus in his place? If he’s going to be high-and-mighty all the time, and give his orders, and act in such an idiotic way, we’re all going to hate him.’
‘Leave it to Bill,’ said her mother, and then changed the subject. ‘Take those things up, Dinah-and Lucy-Ann, put these things in my room, will you? Now, did I pack Bill’s set of pipes, or didn’t I?’