Swallowdale. Arthur RansomeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      There was a great deal to look at. There was the rock where Titty had lain flat on her stomach and seen the dipper bob at her and fly under water. There was the rock she had hidden behind when Nancy and Peggy had come ashore with a lantern in the dark and she had been alone on the island. John, looking at the little waves lapping on the rocks outside, was remembering how Nancy had first shown him how to use the marks. Susan, looking down the lake, was trying to find the place where she had made a fire on the shore after their visit to the charcoal-burners up in the high woods. This year there was no trickle of smoke up there among the trees, and, indeed, Mrs. Jackson, the farmer’s wife at Holly Howe, had told them already that the charcoal-burners were not working on this side of the lake but up beyond the moor on the other side, in the next valley.

      All three, even Susan, who, as mate, felt herself in charge of the others, for John, though captain, was a boy and not to be counted on in some things, walked on their toes, springily, and talked very quietly. To be back on Wild Cat Island was almost too good to be true. Titty dipped her hands in the cool water of the harbour, just to show herself that she was really there. They went slowly back, pushing their way through the bushes above the western shore, looking out through the leaves at the bright glint of evening sunshine on the lake below them. They had been all over the island and were just thinking of bathing, when they heard a shrill yell from the Look Out Point.

      “There they are!”

      All three of them ran up through the camp and under the tall tree. Roger was lying on his stomach at the edge of the cliff that dropped down there into the lake.

      “Where? Where?” asked John, looking everywhere for the little white sail of the Amazon. There were rowing boats, motor boats, a few big yachts and a steamship, but no little white sail was to be seen.

      “Mother and Bridget,” said Roger.

      “Let me have the telescope,” said the mate.

      She took one look, then gave the telescope to Titty, and ran down again into the camp.

      Titty looked. Already this side of Houseboat Bay she could see the native rowing boat from Holly Howe. Mother was rowing and Bridget was sitting in the stern in the middle of a lot of parcels.

      Titty ran down into the camp to help Susan. Susan was right. There was no time to lose if a kettle was to be brought to the boil, and everything else made just as it should be. John and Roger waited together up on Look Out Point, watching the rowing boat grow larger until even without the telescope it was easy to see who was in it. At last the rowing boat was within hailing distance. Bridget waved and mother looked over her shoulder as the captain and the ship’s boy called to her over the water. Presently they were looking down into the rowing boat as mother rowed past, and then they ran down through the camp to join the mate and the able-seaman at the landing-place.

      Mother brought her boat in just as they got there.

      “Last year we rubbed noses,” said Titty, as mother stepped ashore. “Do you remember being a native?”

      “I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it again,” said mother, and she did, and after that, of course, the ship’s baby went native and had to rub noses with everybody all round.

      “Tea’s all ready,” said Susan, “but we came away without any bread.”

      “That’s all right,” said mother. “It was on my list, not yours. Bread and bunloaf.”

      “And you were going to bring us some milk.”

      “I’ve brought you enough for to-night. But you’ll get the morning’s milk from Mrs. Dixon’s. She’ll be expecting you. We sent word along from Holly Howe.”

      Everybody helped to carry up the stores from the boat. Susan hurried on ahead with the loaves and the milk-can. Bridget ran after her with a big packet of candles for the lanterns. Mother stayed till the last of the stores had been taken out of the rowing boat. Then she helped John, Titty and Roger to carry them up into the camp.

      “It’s a very good camp,” she said as she came into it and saw the four little tents and the stores tent among the trees. “And I must say you haven’t been long in getting a grand store of wood together.”

      “The Amazons did that for us,” said Susan.

      “What?” said mother. “Were Nancy and Peggy here to meet you? I half thought you might find them here. How jolly! And have you seen your friend, Captain Flint?”

      “We haven’t seen them yet,” said Susan. “But they’d been here and left the wood for us.”

      “And a letter fixed with one of their arrows. Green feathers, you know, Polly’s, from last year,” said Titty.

      “Peace or war?” said mother.

      “Oh, peace, of course,” said Titty.

      “To start with, anyhow,” said John.

      “But Captain Flint isn’t in his houseboat,” said Roger. “And he’s gone and covered up the cannon with a black sheet.”

      “Really,” said mother. “He must be stopping with his sister at Beckfoot. I had a note from Mrs. Blackett after you started. She’s coming over to-morrow afternoon to Holly Howe with her brother and Miss Turner. Mrs. Jackson at Holly Howe wanted to start cleaning the whole farm up as soon as she heard Miss Turner was coming.”

      “I didn’t know there was a Miss Turner,” said John.

      “She’s Nancy’s and Peggy’s great-aunt,” said mother.

      “Why a great-aunt?” asked Roger.

      “Because she’s aunt to Mrs. Blackett and to your Captain Flint. And so she’s great-aunt to your allies. What’s become of Bridget? Bridget! Bridget!”

      There was no answer. But Titty pulled mother’s sleeve and pointed to one of the tents. Anybody could see that there was something crawling about in it.

      “I’d forgotten that she was ship’s baby,” said mother. “Susan, Mister Mate, would you mind blowing your whistle to let the ship’s baby know it’s time for tea?”

      Mate Susan blew her whistle and a moment later the tousled head of the ship’s baby showed at the door of the captain’s tent as she came crawling out.

      “I shall soon have to be making a tent for Bridget,” said mother. “Next year she’ll be wanting to go to sea like the rest of you.”

      “Couldn’t you make a tent for Gibber, too?” said Roger.

      “I don’t believe he’d really like it,” said mother.

      Gibber and Bridget were both on the ship’s papers, but for different reasons were not really members of the crew. Bridget was too young. She was only three, and though she was growing up fast and everybody had stopped calling her Vicky because she no longer looked like Queen Victoria in old age, she was hardly old enough and strong enough for the hardships of life on shipboard or on a desert island. She was to stay at Holly Howe with mother. Gibber was the monkey. He had been given to Roger by Captain Flint, after last year’s adventures. He was very active and tireless, and mother had said that he would be altogether too much of a good thing in someone else’s farmhouse. Roger himself, when asked if he would really like to share his tent with the monkey at night, had agreed that perhaps it would be as well if the monkey had his summer holidays at the same time as the rest of the Walkers had theirs. So the monkey had been packed off to spend a happy month, staying with relations, at the Zoo.

      That first night on Wild Cat Island the explorers ran tea on into supper. It did not seem worth while to have