The Picts & the Martyrs. Arthur Ransome
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I’m doing it for the best,” said Cook. “And if it turns out bad … ”
“It won’t. Their house is splendid. They’ll be better off there than here. And you’ll be able to smuggle grub to them. Where are our mugs and the camping spoons and knives and forks?”
“Out of my kitchen all the lot of you,” said Cook. “We’ll be having her here before they’re out of the house. Miss Peggy, come out of my larder … ”
“All right, we’ll leave the rest of the stores to you. We’ll be getting on with all the other things. Giminy, there’ll be a lot to carry. And we can’t use dromedaries either. Nobody could push a bicycle up that path … Come on the Picts. Everybody cart what they can.”
For the next few hours even the Great Aunt herself was forgotten in the rush of house moving. They had not far to go, but every single thing had to be carried by hand. There were the two packed suitcases, that the four of them, two to a suitcase, found quite enough to manage, going up the steep place through the hazels where the overflow from the beck had washed the path away. There were the hammocks, a three-legged stool, a Tate & Lyle sugar case for a table, a hurricane lantern, the scarab flag, the folded paper skull and crossbones, the big camp kettle, a huge saucepan, a teapot, mugs, spoons, knives, forks, plates and more stores than would go into all four knapsacks. There was the little barrel, filled with lemonade, that had to be slung from a pole and carried up by Nancy and Peggy, who explained that in the ordinary way they carried their grog slung beneath an oar.
Down at Beckfoot, as they came dashing in for fresh loads, they found Cook getting hotter and hotter, shaking out rugs, dusting and generally trying to do twenty-two things at once.
“And what about your tea?” she said late in the afternoon, as Nancy went off for the last time with a knapsack in each hand.
“No time,” said Nancy. “We’ll hang on till supper. There’s an awful lot to do.”
“And them two?”
MOVING HOUSE
“They’re all right. Rigging hammocks with Peggy.”
“You’ll be back before Miss Turner comes?”
“Back and beautiful,” said Nancy. “Be an angel, Cooky, and save time by digging out our best frocks.”
Up at the hut in the wood, the pile of things dumped outside it was dwindling. The two hammocks had been slung under the big cross-beams. Stores and crockery had been all owed to share the shelf high above the fireplace with Dick’s microscope and books. The huge skull and crossbones had been fixed up on the wall. A soap box, in a corner well away from the fire, was being used as a larder. The sugar case made a table and store cupboard in one.
“We’ve forgotten something,” said Dorothea. “What about our sleeping bags? They’re put away somewhere with our tents.”
“Have you ever tried to get into a sleeping bag in a hammock?” asked Nancy. “It can’t be done … not unless you’re a sort of eel. That’s why we brought the rugs.”
Dick was looking at the hammocks. He was wiping his spectacles. Dorothea knew that he was trying to work out the scientific way of getting into a hammock slung far above the floor. But he did not say anything, and neither did she. That sort of thing they would have to find out for themselves.
“Barbecued billygoats,” said Nancy. “Who slung those hammocks?”
“I did,” said Peggy. “Is anything wrong?”
“Let go this end of this one,” said Nancy, “while I do the other, and then make it fast again with a bowline. Then they can undo them and roll them up during the day. We’ll roll them up now.”
“No, no,” said Dick. “Please leave them so that I can have a good look and be able to do it tomorrow.”
To-morrow. By that time they would have slept in those hammocks … if they could ever get into them. Dorothea looked hurriedly away.
“It’s a lot better than the igloo,” said Nancy. “And it’ll be better still when you’ve lived in it a bit.”
“Let’s start the fire again and make tea,” said Dorothea.
“What’s the time?” said Nancy.
Dick pulled out his watch. “Twenty-two minutes to six.”
“Good-bye, Picts,” said Nancy. “She’ll be here before we’re ready if we don’t go.”
“Do you think she’s really going to make it very awful?” said Dorothea.
“Pretty awful, I expect,” said Peggy. “She usually does.”
“It would have been a jolly lot worse for everybody,” said Nancy, “if she’d found visitors in the house with Mother away. We’ve saved that anyhow, thanks to you people not minding being kicked out.”
“We’re going to be all right,” said Dorothea. “But what about you?”
“We’ll keep her purring somehow. Come on, Peggy. You’ve got a smear right across your face. Hurry up. Soap and water. White frocks. Oh gosh, and party shoes. Come on. Look here, we’ll never be able to give her the slip tonight, but one of us ought to be able to dodge out in the morning. One of us’ll have to, or you won’t have milk for breakfast. Good-bye. Picts for ever!”
“Picts and martyrs!” said Dorothea.
“Now to meet the lioness,” said Nancy, and, with Peggy close behind her, was gone.
CHAPTER VI
“SHE’S HERE!”
THE NOISE of footsteps died away below them in the wood. Dorothea stood listening till she could hear them no more. Everything had happened with such a rush, there had been no time to think. Now, suddenly she began to wonder if after all they were doing the right thing, and, even worse, if they were going to be able to do it. She was sure they were right in clearing out from Beckfoot. What else could they have done? Nancy and Peggy were older than they were and had wanted them to go. Even old Cook had been thinking they would be better gone. But wouldn’t it have been better to go away altogether? Down at Beckfoot it had seemed quite simple, just to go and live in a hut in the wood. It had seemed easy till Nancy and Peggy had gone. Now, just for a moment, she found herself wanting to run after them.
She turned to look at the Dogs’ Home that was now to be a house for Picts. Were they really going to live in that old hut, alone, high in the wood, with no one else within sight or call? Were they going this very night to sleep in it, and wake in it tomorrow alone and secret, like escaping prisoners hiding in a hostile country? They had never even camped except with other tents close by and with John and the capable Susan taking charge and doing the housekeeping for everybody. Was she going to be able to manage by herself ? Wasn’t the whole idea a mistake?
She looked at Dick and saw that he had no doubts at all. For him there had been a problem to solve and a solution found for it. If they could not live at Beckfoot, they must live somewhere else. Why not here? And she saw that Dick was already looking warily into the trees and trying to get a better view of some bird of which he had caught a glimpse. Dorothea pulled herself together. Nancy and Peggy down there at Beckfoot with the Great Aunt were going to have the really difficult time. And, whatever happened, she and Dick must not be the ones to let them down.
“Come on, Dick,” she