The Borrowers Collection
Page 71
They watched her helplessly: the little shoulders shaking with the sobs she tried to quench against her already damp pinafore. If he had been alone, Peagreen would have put out a hand to comfort her, but under Spiller’s bright and curious eye, something made him hesitate.
Arrietty raised an angry, tear-stained face towards Spiller. “You once said you’d tell her,” she accused him, “that we were safe and all that. But I knew you wouldn’t. You’re much too scared of human beans—even lovely ones like Miss Menzies. Let alone speak to one!”
Spiller sprang to his feet. His thin face had become curiously set. It seemed to Arrietty that the fierce glance he threw at her was almost one of loathing. Then he turned on his heel and was gone—gone so swiftly and so silently that it was as though he had never been there. Not even a leaf quivered amongst the ivy.
Between Arrietty and Peagreen there was a shocked silence. Then Arrietty said in a surprised voice, “He’s angry.”
“No wonder,” said Peagreen.
“I only said what was true.”
“How do you know it’s true?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . It stands to reason. I mean . . . well, surely you don’t think he’d do it?”
“If he promised,” said Peagreen, “and given the right place and time.” He gave a grim little laugh. “And be gone again before she could say a word. Oh, he’ll do it all right. But he’s a law unto himself, that one—he’ll choose his own moment . . .”
Arrietty looked troubled. “You mean I should have trusted him?”
“Something like that. Or not been in too much of a hurry.” He frowned. “Not that I hold with any of this—this mad idea of talking to human beings. Foolhardy and stupid, that’s what it is! And very unfair to your father . . .”
“You didn’t know Miss Menzies,” said Arrietty, and, once again, her eyes filled with tears. She stood up. “All the same, I wish I hadn’t said all that . . .”
“Oh, he’ll get over it,” said Peagreen cheerfully, and stood up beside her.
“You see, really I do rather like him . . .”
“We all do,” said Peagreen.
“Oh, well”—Arrietty sighed in a mournful little voice—“I think I’d better be getting home now. I came out so early, and my parents may be wondering. And”—she dashed a quick hand across her eyes and tried an uncertain smile—“to tell the truth, I’m getting rather hungry.”
“Oh,” said Peagreen, “that reminds me.” He was feeling in his pocket. “I hope I haven’t broken it. No, here it is.”
He was holding out a very tiny egg—creamy pale with russet freckles. Arrietty took it gingerly and turned it over between her hands. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“It’s a blue-tit’s egg. I found it this morning in one of my nesting boxes. Odd, because there wasn’t a sign of a nest. I thought you might like it for breakfast.”
“It’s so lovely. Just as it is. It seems a pity to eat it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Peagreen. “Today is a sort of egg day.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, today’s the day the humans call Easter Sunday . . .” He watched her thoughtfully as, very carefully, she folded the egg into her pinafore. “You know, Arrietty,” he went on after a moment, “as a matter of fact, the less Spiller says the better: this human being . . . this Miss . . . Miss . . . ?”
“Menzies.”
“There’s one thing that she must never find out—and I really mean NEVER—and that is: where you are all living now.”
“I only wanted her to know we are safe . . .”
“Are we?” said Peagreen gently. “Are we? Ever?”
Epilogue
Dependent as they were on snippets of conversation overheard by Aunt Lupy, the borrowers never really discovered exactly what happened to Mr. Platter. Rumors abounded. Some said he had gone to prison; others that he had only been fined and cautioned; and then (many months later) that he and Mrs. Platter had sold their house and departed for Australia, where Mr. Platter had a brother in the same line of business. Anyhow, the borrowers never saw the Platters again. Nor were they much spoken of by the ladies who came on Wednesdays and Fridays to do the flowers in the church.
About the Author
MARY NORTON (1903–1992) lived in England, where she was an actress, playwright, and award-winning author of The Borrowers books as well as Bed-Knob and Broomstick and Are All the Giants Dead? She knew the Borrowers long before publishing their adventures in the 1950s—as a child she watched for them among the hedgerows near her home. It is from this childhood fantasy that the Borrowers were created.
Connect with HMH on Social Media
Follow us for book news, reviews, author updates, exclusive content, giveaways, and more.
Footnotes
* “Tom Thumb Edition of Shakespeare’s Tragedies, with foreword on the Author.”
[back]
* * *
* Barbola is a modeling material that hardens after use.
[back]
* * *
1. Landing Zone.
[back]
* * *
2. Take-Off Point.
[back]
* * *
3. Chosen Altitude.
[back]
* * *