Five Go to Billycock Hill

by Enid Blyton

  ‘I’ll tell her to jump on her broomstick and fly away!’ said Julian with a laugh. ‘Don’t be silly, Anne - she can’t hurt you.’

  They went off round the hill, taking the little path down which Mr Gringle had guided them. Soon they saw the reflection of the sun glittering on the glass-houses. Anne and George hesitated as they came near, and Timmy stopped, too, his tail down.

  ‘Well, stay there, then,’ said Dick, impatiently. ‘Ju and I won’t be long!’ And off went the two boys together, while George and Anne waited in the distance.

  ‘I hope they won’t be long!’ said Anne, worried. ‘I don’t know why I feel creepy here, but I do!’

  Chapter Ten

  BUTTERFLY FARM AGAIN

  Dick and Julian went to the glass-houses where the butterflies and caterpillars lived. They peered through the panes, but could see nobody there.

  ‘Mr Gringle must be in the cottage,’ said Julian. ‘Let’s stand outside and call - he’ll come out then. I don’t much like Mrs Janes.’

  So they stood outside the tumble-down cottage and shouted: ‘Mr Gringle! Mr Gringle!’

  Nobody answered. No Mr Gringle came out, but somebody pulled aside the corner of a window curtain upstairs and peeped out. The boys shouted again, waving at the window.

  ‘Mr Gringle! We’ve got a rare butterfly for you!'

  The window opened and old Mrs Janes looked out, seeming more witch-like than ever.

  ‘Mr Gringle’s away!’ she mumbled.

  ‘What about his friend Mr Brent - the one we didn’t see?’ shouted Dick. ‘Is he in?’

  The old woman stared at them, mumbled something else, and then disappeared very suddenly indeed from the window.

  Dick looked at Julian in surprise.

  ‘Why did she go so suddenly? Almost as if somebody pulled her roughly away? Julian, I don’t like it.’

  ‘Why? Do you think that son of hers is here - the one she said was cruel to her?’ asked Julian, who was puzzled, too.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dick. ‘Let’s snoop round a bit. Perhaps Mr Gringle is somewhere about, whatever old Mrs Janes says!’

  They went round the corner of the house and peered into a shed. Nobody there. Then they heard footsteps and turned round hurriedly. A man was coming towards them, small and thin, with a pinched-looking face, and dark glasses. He carried a butterfly net, and nodded at the two boys.

  ‘My friend Gringle is away,’ he said. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

  ‘Oh - you’re Mr Brent, then?’ said Dick. ‘Look - we’ve found a rare butterfly. That’s why we came!’

  He undid the box in which the butterfly was peacefully resting, having found a tiny grain of sugar to feed on. Mr Brent looked at it through his dark glasses.

  ‘Hm! Hm!’ he said, peering closely at it. ‘Yes, very fine indeed. I’ll buy it off you for five shillings.’

  ‘Oh, you can have it for nothing,’ said Dick. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can’t say without examining it closely,’ said Mr Brent, and took the box and put the lid on again.

  ‘But isn’t it some kind of Fritillary?’ asked Julian. ‘We thought it was.’

  ‘Quite likely,’ said Mr Brent, and suddenly produced two half-crowns and shoved them at Dick. ‘Here you are. Much obliged. I’ll tell Mr Gringle you came.’

  He turned abruptly and went off, his butterfly net still over his shoulder.

  Julian stared at the two half-crowns in his hand, then at the receding back of Mr Brent.

  ‘What a queer fellow!’ he said. ‘Well, I must say that he and Mr Gringle are a pair! What are we to do with this five shillings, Julian? I don’t want it!’

  ‘Let’s see if we can give it to that poor Mrs Janes,’ said Julian, always generous. ‘She looks as if they paid her only about a shilling a week, poor soul!’

  They went round to the front of the house, hoping to find the old woman, and after a little hesitation knocked at the door. It opened and she stood there, mumbling as before.

  ‘You go away! My son’s coming back. He’ll hit me. He don’t like strangers. You go away, I say!’

  ‘All right,’ said Dick. ‘Look - here’s something for you,’ and he pressed the two half-crowns into her claw-like hand. She looked at them as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, and then, amazingly quickly, she slipped the money into one of her broken-down shoes. When she stood up her eyes were full of tears.

  ‘You’re kind,’ she whispered, and gave them a little push. 'Yes, you’re kind. Keep away from here. My son’s a bad man. Keep away!’

  The boys went off silently, not knowing what to make of it. After all, Toby knew the son - they had employed him at the farm. Why did the old woman keep saying he was bad and cruel? She must be at least a little mad to talk like that!

  ‘It must be a queer household,’ said Julian as they went to join the waiting girls. ‘Two Butterfly Men, both rather peculiar. One old witch-like woman, very peculiar. And a son who seems to terrify her out of her wits! I vote we don’t go there again.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Dick. ‘Hallo, you two - did we keep you waiting long?’

  ‘You did rather,’ said Anne. ‘We were just about to send Timmy to look for you! We thought you might have been turned into mice, or something!’

  The boys told the two girls about Mr Brent and the five shillings and old Mrs Janes. ‘A funny household, altogether,’ said Dick. ‘We think we’ll give it a miss now, however many rare butterflies we spot! I’m pretty certain that the one we found was a kind of Fritillary, aren’t you, Julian?’

  ‘Yes, I was surprised Mr Brent didn’t say so,’ said Julian. ‘I have a feeling that Mr Gringle is the expert of the two. Mr Brent probably does the donkey-work - sees to the caterpillars and so on.’

  They came to their camp at last, and Timmy at once went to the ‘larder’. But Anne shook her head. ‘No, Tim - it’s not nearly supper-time, Bad luck!’

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Dick, flinging himself down on the heather. ‘It’s another heavenly evening!’

  ‘Yes - but I don’t much like the look of the sky over to the west tonight,’ said Julian. ‘See those clouds there, coming up slowly against the wind? It looks like rain tomorrow to me!’

  ‘Blow!’ said George. ‘The weather might have lasted for just one week! Whatever shall we do if it pours? Sit in our tents all day, I suppose!’

  ‘Cheer up - we could go and see the caves,’ said Dick. ‘I know what we’ll do now! We’ll get out our portable radio and turn it on. If there’s some decent music, it will sound glorious up here!’

  ‘All right. But for goodness’ sake have it on softly,’ said Anne. ‘I loathe people who take radios out into the country with them, and switch them on loudly, so that it spoils the peace and quiet for everyone else. I could go and kick their radios to pieces!’

  ‘Gracious, Anne - you do sound fierce!’ said George, looking at her cousin in surprise.

  ‘You don’t know our quiet sister Anne quite as well as we do, George,’ said Julian, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘She can be really fierce if she thinks anyone is spoiling things for others. I had to stop her once from going up to scold people at a picnic - they actually had a gramophone going full-pelt, in spite of the angry looks from people all round. I do believe she meant to take off the gramophone record and break it over somebody’s head!’

  ‘Oh, Julian! How can you say such a thing!’ said Anne. ‘I did feel like it - but I didn’t do it.’

  ‘All right, young Anne!’ said Julian affectionately, and patted her head. Both he and Dick thought the world of their quiet, kind little sister and looked after her well. She smiled at them.

  ‘Well - let’s have some music, then,’ she said. ‘There’s the Pastoral Symphony on sometime this evening, I know, because I made a note of it. It would sound beautiful out here in this lovely countryside with that view spreading for miles in front of us. But softly, please.’

  Julian fetched the little radio set and took i
t out of its waterproof case. He switched on, and a voice came loudly from the set. Julian lowered the volume to make it softer. ‘It’s the seven o’clock news,’ he said. ‘We’ll hear it, shall we?’

  But it was almost the end of the news, and the voice soon stopped to give way to an announcer. Yes - it was going to be the Pastoral Symphony now. Soon the first notes came softly from the little radio, and it seemed to set the countryside around to music. The four settled down in the heather to listen, lying half-propped up to watch the changing colours of the view in front of them as the sun sank lower.

  The bank of cloud on the horizon was higher now, and the sun would soon slip behind it, for it was coming up fast. What a pity!

  And then, cutting across the music, came another sound - the sound of an aeroplane.

  R-r-r-r-r-r-r! R-r-r-r-r-r-r! R-r-r-r-r-r-r!

  It sounded so very loud that Dick and Julian leapt to their feet, and Timmy began to bark loudly.

  ‘Where is it?’ said Dick, puzzled. ‘It sounds so jolly near. I wonder if it’s Cousin Jeff’s!’

  ‘There it is - coming up over the back of the hill!’ said Julian, and as he spoke a small aeroplane appeared over the brow of the hill, and circled once before it flew down to the airfield.

  The four children could plainly see the number painted underneath. ‘5 - 6 - 9,’ began Julian, and Dick gave a shout.

  ‘It’s Jeff’s plane! It is - that’s his number! Wave, everybody, wave!’

  So they all waved madly, though they felt sure that Jeff wouldn’t see them, tucked away in their camp on the hill-side. They watched the plane fly down to the airfield, circle round, and land neatly on the runway. It came to a stop.

  Julian looked through his glasses and saw a small figure leap from the plane. ‘I bet it’s Jeff,’ he said. ‘Gosh - I do wish I had a plane to fly over the hills and far away!’

  Chapter Eleven

  A STORMY NIGHT

  The Five soon began to prepare for their evening meal, and Timmy trotted about pretending to help, always hopeful of being allowed to carry a loaf of bread or piece of cold ham in his mouth. But he was never lucky!

  As they sat eating their meal, Julian glanced uneasily at the western sky again. ‘The rain’s certainly coming,’ he said. ‘That cloud has covered half the sky now, and swallowed up the evening sun. I think we ought to put up the tents.’

  ‘Blow! I suppose we ought,’ said George.

  ‘And we’d better do it quickly,’ said Dick. ‘I distinctly felt a nasty cold wind just then - the first really cold air since we came here. We shall certainly want to roll up in our rugs tonight!’

  ‘Well, let’s get the things out from under the old gorse-bush,’ said Julian. ‘It won’t take long to put up the tents if we all get to work.’

  In three-quarters of an hour the tents were up, set nicely in the shelter of the giant gorse-bush. ‘A good, business-like job,’ said Dick, pleased. ‘It would take a hurricane to blow the tents away - we’ll be quite all right here. Let’s pull up some more heather and pile it in the tents. We shall want our rugs to wrap ourselves in, not to lie on tonight, so we might as well make our beds as soft as possible.’

  They piled heather into the tents, spread their macs there, too, and then looked at the sky. Yes, there was no doubt about it - there was rain coming and probably a storm! Still, it might clear tomorrow, and be as fine as ever. If it wasn’t they would go and explore the caves that Toby had told them about.

  It was now almost dark and the children decided that they would all get into one tent and have the radio on again. They called Timmy, but he preferred to be outside.

  They set the radio going - but almost immediately Timmy began to bark. George switched off at once.

  ‘That’s the bark he gives when somebody is coming,’ she said. ‘I wonder who it is?’

  ‘Toby, to say we’d better go to the farm for the night,’ guessed Dick.

  ‘Mr Gringle hunting for moths!’ said Anne with a giggle.

  ‘Old Mrs Janes looking for things to make spells with!’ said George.

  Everyone laughed. ‘Idiot!’ said Dick. ‘Though I must say this looks a night for witches!’

  Timmy went on barking, and Julian put his head out of the tent. ‘What’s up, Tim?’ he said. ‘Who’s coming?’

  ‘Wuff, wuff,’ said Timmy, not turning his head to Julian, but seeming to watch something or someone in the half-light.

  ‘It may be a hedgehog he’s seen,’ said George from inside the tent. ‘He always barks at them because he knows he can’t pick them up.’

  ‘Well - maybe you’re right,’ said Julian. ‘But I think I’ll just go out and get Timmy to take me to whatever it is he’s barking at. I feel I’d like to know. He obviously hears or sees something!’

  He slid out of the tent-opening and went to Timmy. ‘Come on, Tim,’ he said. ‘Who is it? What’s upsetting you?’

  Timmy wagged his tail and ran in front of Julian. He obviously had no doubts about where he was going. Julian followed him, stumbling over the heather and wishing he had brought his torch, for it was now half-dark.

  Timmy ran some way down the hill towards the airfield, then rounded a clump of birch-trees and stopped. He barked loudly again. Julian saw a dark shadow moving there and called out.

  ‘Who’s there? Who is it?’

  ‘It’s only me - Mr Brent,’ said an annoyed voice, and Julian caught sight of a long stick with a shadowy net on the end. ‘I’ve come out to examine our honey-traps before the rain comes and washes away the moths feeding there.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Julian. ‘I might have thought of that when Timmy barked. Is Mr Gringle about, too?’

  ‘Yes - so if your dog barks again you’ll know it’s only us,’ said Mr Brent. ‘We’re often prowling around at night - this is just as good a hill for moths at night as it is for butterflies by day. Can’t you stop that dog barking at me? Really, he’s very badly trained.’

  ‘Shut up, Tim,’ ordered Julian, and Timmy obediently closed his mouth, but still stood stiffly, staring at the man in the darkness.

  ‘I’m going on to our next honey-trap,’ said the man. ‘So you can take that noisy dog back to wherever you are camping.’ Mr Brent began to move away, flashing a torch in front of him.

  ‘We’re just up the hill,’ said Julian. ‘About a hundred yards. Oh - you’ve got a torch, I see. I wish I’d brought mine.’

  The man said nothing more, but went slowly on his way, the beam of his torch growing fainter. Julian began to climb back up the hill to the tents, but in the growing darkness it was not easy! He missed his way and went much too far to the right. Timmy was puzzled and went to him, tugging gently at his sleeve.

  ‘Am I going wrong?’ said Julian. ‘Blow! I’d soon get lost on this lonely hill-side. Dick! George! Anne! Give a shout, will you? I don’t know where I am.’

  But he had wandered so far off the path that the three didn’t hear him - and Timmy had to guide him for a good way before he saw the torches of the others flashing up above, He felt most relieved. He had no wish to be caught in a heavy rain-storm on the exposed side of Billycock Hill!

  ‘Is that you, Julian?’ called Anne’s anxious voice. ‘What a long time you’ve been! Did you get lost?’

  ‘Almost!’ said Julian. ‘Like a fat-head I went without my torch - but Timmy here knew the way all right. I’m glad I’m back - it’s just beginning to rain!’

  ‘Who was Tim barking at?’ asked George.

  ‘One of the Butterfly Men - Mr Brent, the one Dick and I saw today,’ said Julian. ‘I just caught the glint of his dark glasses in the half-light, and saw the butterfly net he carried. He said Mr Gringle was out, too.’

  ‘But whatever for, with a storm coming?’ marvelled Anne. ‘All the moths would be well in hiding.’

  ‘They’ve come out to examine their moth-traps, as they call them,’ said Julian. ‘They spread sticky stuff like honey or something round the trunks of trees - and the moths fly down
to it by the score. Then they come along and collect any they want to take back.’

  ‘I see - and I suppose Mr Brent was afraid the rain might wash away the clinging moths,’ said Dick. ‘Well, they’ll both be caught in the storm, that’s certain. Hark at the rain pelting down on the tent now!’

  Timmy squeezed into the tent, not liking the sting of the heavy raindrops. He sat down by George and Anne.

  ‘You do take up a lot of room in a small tent, Tim,’ said George. ‘Can’t you make yourself a bit smaller?’

  Timmy couldn’t. He was a big dog, and rather a sprawly one. He put his wet head on George’s knee and heaved a heavy sigh. George patted him.

  ‘Humbug!’ she said. ‘What are you sighing about? Because you’ve finished your bone? Because it’s raining and you can’t go and sit and bark at anything moving on the hill?’

  ‘What shall we do now?’ said Julian, setting his torch on the radio set, so that it more or less lighted up the tent. ‘There’s nothing on the radio we want to hear.’

  ‘I’ve got a pack of cards in the pocket of my mac,’ said George, much to everybody’s joy, and she got them out. ‘Let’s have a game of some sort.’

  It was rather difficult in the small tent, with Timmy sometimes getting up just when all the cards were neatly dealt, and upsetting the piles. The storm grew fiercer and the rain tried its best to lash its way through the canvas of the little tent.

  Then Timmy began to bark again, startling everyone very much. He climbed over legs and knees and poked his head out of the tent opening, barking loudly.

  ‘Good gracious - you almost gave me a heart attack!’ said Dick, pulling him back. ‘You’ll get soaked out there, Tim. Come back - it’s only those mad Moth-men out there picking moths off rain-soaked honey-traps. Don’t worry about them. They’re probably enjoying themselves enormously.’