by Enid Blyton
‘Rubbish!’ said Mr Gringle, looking at the moth through the thick lens of his glasses. ‘What are boys coming to nowadays? In my boyhood nearly every boy knew that there are night-time and day-time ones as well!’
‘But,’ began George again, and stopped as Mr Gringle gave her quite a glare.
‘This is a Six-Spot Burnet Day-Flying Moth,’ he said, speaking slowly as if he were addressing a very small child. ‘It loves to fly in the hot sunshine. Please do not argue with me. I don’t like ignorance of this sort.’
George looked rather mutinous and Dick nudged her. ‘He’s right, fat-head,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You don’t know much about moths, so say nothing, George, or he won’t let us go with him.’
‘I’d like two or three more of these Six-Spots highly-coloured and unusually large. Perhaps you would see if you can find any more, all of you.’
Everybody began to look here and there, and to shake any little bush or clump of grass they passed. Timmy and Binky were most interested in this and began a hunt on their own, sniffing and snuffling everywhere, not quite sure what they were looking for, but enjoying it all the same.
Mr Gringle took a long time to get to his Butterfly Farm, and the children began to wish they hadn’t asked to go. There was so much sidestepping to see this and that, so much examining when a specimen was caught, so much ‘talky-talk’, as Dick whispered to Anne.
‘Do you keep your butterflies and moths in those glass-houses?’ asked Julian.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Gringle. ‘Come along - I’ll show you what I and my friend Mr Brent do. He’s away today, so you can’t meet him.’
It was certainly a queer place. The cottage looked as if it were about to fall down at any moment. Two of the windows were broken and some tiles had fallen off the roof. But the glass-houses were in good repair, and the glass panes were perfectly clean. Evidently the Butterfly Men thought more of their butterflies and moths than they did of themselves.
‘Do you live here all alone with Mr Brent, your friend?’ asked Dick curiously, thinking that it must be a strange and lonely life.
‘Oh, no. Old Mrs Janes does for us,’ said Mr Cringle. ‘And sometimes her son comes here to do any small repairs, and to clean all the glass of the butterfly houses. There’s the old lady, look. She can’t bear insects of any sort, so she never comes into the glass houses.’
An old woman, looking exactly like a witch, peered out at them through a window in the cottage. Anne was quite scared to see her. Toby grinned. ‘She’s quite harmless,’ he said to Anne. ‘Our cook knows her because she often comes to us for eggs and milk. She’s got no teeth at all, so she mutters and mumbles and that makes her seem more like a witch than ever.’
‘I don’t much like the look of her,’ said Anne, going thankfully into the first of the butterfly houses. ‘Oh - what a lot of butterflies!’
There certainly were! Hundreds were flying about loose, and many others were in little compartments either by themselves or with another butterfly to match.
The children saw that many bushes and plants were growing in the glass-house, and on some of them were placed long sleeves made of muslin, tied in at each end.
‘What’s in these long sleeves of fine muslin?’ asked Dick. ‘Oh - I see. They are full of caterpillars! My word, how they are eating, too!’
‘Yes. I told you we breed butterflies and moths,’ said Mr Gringle, and he opened the end of one of the muslin bags, so that the visitors could see the caterpillars better. ‘These are the caterpillars of one kind of butterfly; they feed on this particular plant.’
The children gazed at scores of green caterpillars, marked with red and yellow spots, all eating greedily on the leaves of the twig enclosed there. Mr Gringle undid another of the muslin bags and showed them some huge caterpillars, each of them green, with purple stripes on the side and a curious black horn on the tail end.
‘Privet-Hawk Moth Caterpillars,’ said Mr Gringle, and Julian and Dick nodded. They knew these big green caterpillars quite well.
‘Why is the moth called Privet-Hawk?’ asked Anne. ‘There are so many different Hawk-moths, I know. I’ve often wondered why they are all called Hawk.’
Mr Gringle beamed at Anne, evidently thinking that this was a quite intelligent question, ‘Haven’t you ever seen a Hawk Moth flying?’ he said. ‘No? Well, it flies very strongly indeed. Oh, a most striking flight - like the flight of the bird called a hawk, you know.’
‘You’re not feeding the caterpillars on privet, though,’ said George. ‘But you said they were privet-hawks.’
‘There isn’t any privet growing near here,’ said Mr Gringle. ‘So I give them elder - this is an elder bush which I planted in the glass-house. They like it just as much.’
The Butterfly Farm was certainly interesting, and the children wandered about the glass-house watching caterpillars of all kinds, admiring the lovely specimens of butterflies, and marvelling at the collection of curious-shaped chrysalids and cocoons that Mr Gringle kept carefully in boxes, waiting for the perfect insect, moth or butterfly, to emerge.
‘Like magic,’ he said in an awed voice, his eyes shining behind his glasses. ‘Sometimes, you know, I feel like a magician myself - and my butterfly net is a wand!’
The children felt rather uncomfortable as he said this, waving his butterfly net to and fro like a wand. He really was rather a queer person.
‘It’s terribly hot in here,’ said Julian suddenly. ‘Let’s get into the fresh air. I’ve had enough. Good-bye, Mr Gringle, and thank you!’
Out they all went and drew in deep breaths of fresh air. And then they heard a croaking voice behind them.
‘Get out of here!’ said the voice. ‘Get out!’
Chapter Seven
MRS JANES - A SPIDER - AND A POOL
Timmy growled, and so did Binky. The children swung round and saw the old witch-like woman standing there, her wispy grey hair hanging over her face.
‘What’s the matter, Mrs - er - Mrs Janes?’ said Julian, fortunately remembering the name Mr Gringle had told him. ‘We’re not doing any harm.’
‘My son don’t like strangers here,’ said Mrs Janes, mumbling so much that the children could hardly understand what she was saying.
‘But this place belongs to Mr Gringle surely, and his friend,’ said Dick, puzzled.
‘I tell ’ee my son don’t hold with strangers here,’ mumbled the old woman again and shook her fist at them.
Timmy didn’t like this, and growled. She at once pointed her finger at him and muttered a long string of such queer-sounding words that Anne shrank back, afraid. Really, Mrs Janes did look exactly like a witch - and sounded like one, too.
Timmy acted strangely. He put his tail down, stopped growling and crept close to George. She was most astonished.
‘It looks as if she’s trying to put a spell on old Tim,’ said Dick, half laughing, but that was too much for Anne and George.
Taking Timmy by the collar, George rushed off
quickly with Anne following. The boys laughed. Binky ran after Timmy, and Toby spoke boldly to the queer old woman.
‘Your son isn’t even here - so what business is it of his to tell you to give orders to visitors?’
Tears suddenly began to pour down the old woman’s face and she wrung her bony hands together. ‘He’ll hit me,’ she wept. ‘He’ll twist my arm! Go away! Do go away! If he comes, he’ll chase you off. He’s a bad man, my son is!’
‘She’s mad, poor old thing,’ said Toby, feeling sorry for old Mrs Janes. ‘Our cook often says so, though she’s harmless enough. Her son’s not too bad - he’s quite handy at repairs, and we used to have him come to the farm to mend roofs and things like that. But he’s not so good as he used to be. Come on - let’s go. Mr Gringle’s a bit queer, too, isn’t he?’
They went off after the two girls, Julian still feeling uncomfortable and distressed.
‘What’s Mr Gringle’s friend like - the one who helps him?’ asked Juli
an.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen him,’ said Toby. ‘He’s away mostly, doing the business side, I think - selling specimens of eggs, caterpillars and so on - and the perfect moths and butterflies, too, of course.’
‘I’d like to see that Butterfly House again, but Mr Gringle gets on my nerves,’ said Dick. ‘Those brilliant eyes behind those thick glasses. You’d think that if they were as bright and piercing as that he wouldn’t need to wear any glasses at all!’
‘Hey, George - Anne!’ shouted Julian. ‘Wait for us - we’re just coming.’ They caught up the girls and Julian grinned at George.
‘You thought old Timmy was going to be changed into a black beetle or something, didn’t you?’ he said.
‘No, of course not,’ said George, going red. ‘I just didn’t like her very much - pointing her finger like that at Timmy. No wonder he growled.’
‘You didn’t hear what she said about her son,’ said Dick. ‘She began to cry like anything after you’d gone, and say that her son would beat her and twist her arm if we didn’t go - and he’s not even there!’
‘She’s mad,’ said George. ‘I don’t want to go there again. What are we going to do now?’
‘Go up to our camping-place and have our lunch,’ said Julian promptly. ‘Come with us, Toby - or have you got jobs to do at the farm?’
‘No. I’ve done them all,’ said Toby. ‘I’d love to have a meal with you up on the hill.’
It wasn’t very long before they were back at their camping-place. Everything was as they had left it - macs neatly under the gorse bush with the rugs and other little things - and the food in Anne’s ‘larder’ waiting for them.
The meal was very hilarious, as Toby was in one of his silly moods, and produced some idiotic jokes. The most successful one was a large imitation spider with shaky legs, which, while Anne and George had gone to get the food, he hung by a thin nylon thread to a spray on the nearby gorse bush. Dick grinned broadly.
‘Wait till Anne sees that!’ he said. ‘George always says she doesn’t mind spiders, but a big one like that is distinctly creepy.’
It certainly was. Anne didn’t spot it until she was eating her strawberries, covered with some of the cream that Toby’s mother had generously sent. Then she suddenly spied it, shaking slightly in the breeze, hanging by its thread just over George’s head.
‘Ooooooooh!’ she squealed. ‘Ooooh, George - be careful! There’s a MONSTER spider just over your head!’
‘What - is George scared of spiders?’ cried Toby at once. ‘Just like a girl!’
George glared at him. ‘I don’t mind them at all,’ she said coldly.
‘I’m glad you aren’t scared of them,’ said Toby. ‘I’d have to call you Georgina if you were. That’s your right name, isn’t it?’
‘George - do move!’ cried Anne, upsetting her strawberries in her anxiety. ‘It’s almost on your head, I tell you - its legs are wobbling as if they are going to settle on your hair. George, it’s an ENORMOUS one! It might even be one of those foreign things - a tarantula or something!’
The wind blew a little just then and the spider moved about on the thread most realistically. Even Dick was glad it wasn’t alive!
George couldn’t resist looking up, pretending to be quite unmoved - but when she saw the enormous creature just above her she shot straight out of her place and landed on Toby’s legs, making him spill his strawberries and cream.
‘Now, now, Georgina,’ said the annoying Toby, picking up his strawberries. ‘You said you didn’t mind spiders. I’ll remove it for you, and you can go back to your place.’
‘No, no - don’t touch it - ugh!’ cried Anne. But Toby, putting on a very brave face, leaned over and neatly took the spider off the gorse-bush, still swinging by its thread. He swung it near to Anne, who scrambled up at once.
Then he made it ‘walk’ over Dick’s knee, and Timmy came to investigate at once. Binky came too, and snapped at it, breaking the nylon thread that held it.
‘Ass!’ said Toby, giving him a smack. ‘My beautiful spider - my spinner of webs - my tame catcher of flies!’
‘What - is it a tame one?’ said Anne in horror.
‘More or less,’ said Toby, and put it carefully into his pocket, grinning all over his round face.
‘That’s enough, Toby,’ said Julian. ‘Joke’s finished.’
George stared at Toby, her face growing crimson. ‘A joke? A JOKE! You wait till I pay you out, Toby! I don’t call that a joke. I call it a mean trick. You knew Anne hated spiders.’
‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Dick hastily. ‘What are we going to do this afternoon?’
‘I know what I’d like to do,’ said Julian longingly. ‘I’d like a bathe. It’s so jolly hot. If we were at Kirrin I’d be in the sea all the afternoon.’
‘I wish we were at Kirrin,’ said George sulkily.
‘Well - if you really do want a bathe, I can take you to a pool,’ said Toby, anxious to get into everyone’s good books again.
‘A pool? Where?’ said Dick eagerly.
‘Well - see that airfield down there?’ said Toby, pointing. ‘And see this spring here, where you get your water? It goes on and on running down the hill, joins two or three more little rivulets, and ends in a smashing pool not far from the airfield. Cold as ice it is, too. I’ve often bathed there.’
‘It sounds jolly good,’ said Julian, pleased. 'Well, we can’t bathe immediately after a meal. The girls will want to do their bit of washing-up, and put the rest of the food away. We’ll sit here and wait till they’ve finished, have a bit of a rest, and then go and find this pool.’
Everyone agreed to this, and the girls hurried off to the little spring.
‘If Toby has any more idiotic tricks like that I’ll play a few on him!’ said George. ‘In fact I’ve a good mind to pull him under in the pool.’
‘He’s all right, George,’ said Anne. ‘He’s just like that at school, Dick says. He must drive the masters mad!’
They soon joined the boys and had a short rest, while Timmy and Binky went off amiably together to do a little hunting - sniping down holes and under bushes, looking very serious indeed. They came back immediately George whistled.
‘We’re going, Timmy,’ said George. ‘Here’s your swim-suit, Dick, and yours, Julian. Good thing we brought them with us!’
‘What about you, Toby? You haven’t a swim-suit with you,’ said Julian.
‘We have to pass fairly near the farm,’ said Toby. ‘I’ll leave you when we’re near there and get mine - it won’t take more than five minutes if I run all the way back.’
They set off down the hill towards the airfield. Except for the planes they had heard that morning, they had heard and seen none. It seemed a very quiet airfield.
‘Wait till they start experimenting with the new fighter planes my cousin told me about!’ said Toby. ‘You’ll hear a noise then - they’re so fast they break the sound-barrier every time they go up!’
‘Would your cousin let us look over the airfield one day?’ asked Julian. ‘I’d like to do that. It wouldn’t interest the girls, but Dick and I would love it.’
‘I should certainly like to go,’ said George at once. ‘It would interest me as much as you!’
‘But you’re a girl,’ said Toby. ‘Girls don’t understand the first thing about aeroplanes or motor-cars or ships - or spiders either, come to that! I really don’t think you’d be interested, Georgina dear,’
‘My name is not Georgina,’ said George furiously. ‘And don’t call me “dear”.’
‘Shut up, you two!’ said Julian. ‘It’s too nice an afternoon to begin an argument. Look - isn’t that your farm, Toby? We’ve got here jolly quickly - but it’s all downhill, of course.’
‘Yes,’ said Toby. ‘Come on, Binky - race you home and back. Shan’t be long, Julian! Keep straight ahead, and walk towards that big pine-tree you can see in the distance. I’ll be with you by the time you’re there.’
<
br /> He raced off at top speed, while the others went on slowly towards the pine-tree in the distance. It would be heavenly to bathe in a cold pool!
Toby was certainly a fast runner! Just before they reached the pine-tree he came up behind them, his swimsuit over his shoulder, so out of breath that he could hardly speak!
‘It’s over there,’ he panted. 'Look - the pool!’
And sure enough, there was the pool - deep blue, cool and as smooth as glass. Trees surrounded it on one side, and heather grew right down to the edge.
The five children went towards it gladly - but suddenly they came to a big notice, nailed to a tree:
KEEP OUT
DANGER
CROWN PROPERTY
‘I say - what does that mean?’ said Dick in dismay. ‘We can’t bathe after all!’
‘Oh, take no notice of that,’ said Toby. 'It doesn’t mean a thing!’
But it did as they were very soon to find out!
Chapter Eight
A SPOT OF TROUBLE
‘What do you mean by saying that the notice doesn’t mean a thing?’ said Julian.“Why put it up, then?’
‘Oh, there are notices like that all round the airfield,’ said Toby airily. ‘Telling you to KEEP OUT, there’s DANGER. But there isn’t. Only aeroplanes are here, no guns, no bombs, nothing. It’s a jolly lonely place, too, tucked away at the foot of this hill.’
‘Why don’t you ask your cousin why they put up the notices?’ asked Dick. ‘There must be some reason!’
‘I tell you those notices have been up for ages,’ said Toby, sounding cross. ‘Ages! They might have been some use at some time or other, but not now. We can bathe here and do what we like.’
‘All right - but I hope you know what you’re talking about,’ said Julian. ‘I must say I can’t see any sense myself in putting notices here - there’s no wire or fencing to keep anyone out.’