The Borrowers Afield (4 page)

Arrietty smiled. She hesitated a moment, then ran across to him.

"What's that for?" asked Pod weakly as she flung her arms round his neck. "Oh," cried Arrietty, hugging him. "You deserve a medal—the way you faced up to it, I mean."

"No, lass," said Pod, "you don't mean that: the way I was caught out, that's what you mean—caught out, good and proper, talking of cover." He patted her hand. "And, what's more, you're right: we'll face up to that one, too. You and your mother was trigger-quick and I'm proud of you." He let go her hand and swung his pack up onto his shoulders. "But another time, remember," he added, turning suddenly, "—not stumps. Hollow they may be but not always empty, see what I mean, and you're out of the frying pan into the fire...."

On and on they went, following the path which the workmen had made when they dug out the trench for the gas pipe: it led them through two fields of pasture-land, on a gradually rising slope alongside the hedge; they could walk with perfect ease under the lowest rung of any five-barred gate, picking a careful way across the clusters of sun-dried cattle tracks; these were crater-like but crumbling and Homily, staggering a little beneath her load, slipped once and grazed her knee.

On the third field, the gas pipe branched away obliquely to the left and Pod, looking ahead to where against the skyline he could just make out a stile, decided that they could safely now forsake the gas pipe and stick to the path beside the hedge. "Won't be so long now," he explained comfortingly when Homily begged to rest, "but we got to keep going. See that stile? That's what we're aiming for and we got to make it afore sunset."

So on they plodded and, to Homily, this last lap seemed the worst: her tired legs moved mechanically like scissors; stooping under her load, she was amazed each time she saw a foot come forward—it no longer seemed to be her foot; she would wonder vaguely how it got there.

Arrietty wished they could not see the stile: their tiny steps seemed to bring it no nearer; it worked better she found to keep her eyes on the ground and then every now and again if she looked up she could see they had made progress.

But at last they reached the crest of the hill: toward the right, on the far side of the cornfield beyond the hazel hedge, lay the woods, and ahead of them, after a slight dip, rose a vast sloping field, crossed with shadow from where the sun was setting behind the trees.

On the edge of this field, they stood and stared, awed by its vastness, its tilted angle against the rosy sky: on this endless sea of lengthening shadows and dreaming grassland, floated an island of trees dimmed already by its long thrown trail of dusk.

"This is it," said Pod, after a long moment. "Perkin's Beck." They stood, all three of them, underneath the stile, loath to lose its shelter.

"Perkin's what?" asked Homily uneasily.

"Perkin's Beck. You know—the name of the field. This is where they live, the Hendrearies."

"You mean," said Homily, after a pause, "where the badger's set is?"

"That's right," said Pod, staring ahead.

Homily's tired face looked yellow in the golden light; her jaw hung loose. "But where?" she asked.

Pod waved his arm. "Somewhere: it's in this field anyway."

"In this field..." repeated Homily dully, her eyes fixed on the dim boundaries, the distant group of shadowy trees.

"Well, we got to look," explained Pod uneasily. "You didn't think we'd go straight to it, did you?"

"I thought you knew where it was," said Homily. Her voice sounded husky. Arrietty, between them, stood strangely silent.

"Well, I brought you this far. Haven't I?" said Pod. "If the worst comes to the worst, we can camp for the night and look round in the morning."

"Where's the stream?" asked Arrietty. "There's supposed to be a stream."

"Well, there is," said Pod. "It flows down there, along that far hedge and then comes in like—do you see?—across that far corner. That thicker green there—can't you see? Them's rushes."

Arrietty screwed up her eyes. "Yes," she said uncertainly and added, "I'm thirsty."

"And so am I," said Homily. She sat down suddenly as though deflated. "All the way up that hill, step after step, hour after hour, I bin saying to meself, 'Never mind the first thing we'll do as soon as we get to that badger's set is sit down and have a nice cup o' tea'—it kept me going."

"Well, we will have one," said Pod. "Arrietty's got the candle."

"And I'll tell you another thing," went on Homily, staring ahead. "I couldn't walk across that there field, not if you offered me a monkey in a cage. We'll have to go round by the edges."

"Well, that's just what we're going to do," said Pod. "You don't find no badgers' sets in the middle of a field. We'll work round, systematic-like, bit by bit, starting out in the morning. But we got to sleep rough tonight, that's one thing certain. No good poking about tonight: it'll be dark soon: the sun's near off that hill already."

"And there are clouds coming up," said Arrietty, gazing at the sunset, "and moving fast."

"Rain?" cried Homily, in a stricken voice.

"Well, we'll move fast," said Pod, slinging his pack up. "Here, give me yours, Homily, you'll travel lighter..."

"Which way are we going?" asked Arrietty.

"We'll keep along by this lower hedge," said Pod, setting off. "And make toward the water. If we can't make it before the rain comes, we'll just take any shelter."

"What sort of shelter?" asked Homily, stumbling after him through the tussocky grass. "Look out, Pod, them's nettles!"

"I can see them," said Pod (they were walking in a shallow ditch). "A hole or something," he went on. "There's a hole there, for instance. See? Under that root."

Homily peered at it as she came abreast. "Oh, I couldn't go in there," she said. "There might be something in it."

"Or we could go right into the hedge," Pod called back.

"There's not much shelter in the hedge," said Arrietty. She walked alone, on the higher ground where the grass was shorter. "I can see from here: it's all stems and branches." She shivered a little in a sudden light wind which set the leaves of the hedge plants suddenly atremble, clashing the drying teazles as they swung and locked together. "It's clouding right over," she called.

"Yes, it'll be dark soon," said Pod. "You'd better come down here with us: you don't want to get lost."

"I won't get lost. I can see better from here. Look!" she called out suddenly. "There's an old boot. Wouldn't that do?"

"An old what?" asked Homily incredulously.

"Might do," said Pod, looking about him. "Where is it?"

"To your left. There. In the long grass..."

"An old boot!" cried Homily, as she saw him set down the borrowing-bags. "What's the matter with you, Pod—have you gone out of your mind?" Even as she spoke, it began to rain—great summer drops which bounced among the grasses.

"Take the borrowing-bags and get under that dock-leaf—both of you—while I look."

"An old boot—" repeated Homily incredulously, as she and Arrietty crouched under the dock-leaf: she had to raise her voice—the rain, on the swaying leaf, seemed to clatter rather than patter. "Hark at it!" complained Homily. "Come in closer, Arrietty, you'll catch your death. Oh, my goodness me—it's running down my back!"

"Look—he's calling to us," said Arrietty. "Come on!"

Homily bent her neck and peered out from under the swaying leaf. There stood Pod, some yards away, barely visible among the steaming grasses, dimmed by the curtain of rain. "A tropical scene," Arrietty thought, remembering her
Gazetteer of the World.
She thought of man against the elements, jungle swamps, steaming forests and Mr. Livingstone she presumed..."What's he want?" she heard her mother complaining. "We can't go out in this—look at it!"

"It's coming in underfoot now," Arrietty told her, "can't you see? This is a ditch. Come on, we must run for it; he's calling..."

They ran, half-crouching, stunned by the pounding water. Pod pulled them up into the longer grass, snatching Arrietty's borrowing-bag, gasping instructions, as they slid and slithered after him through what Arrietty thought of as "the bush."

"Here it is," said Pod. "Get in here."

The boot lay on its side: they had to crouch to enter. "Oh, my goodness," Homily kept saying. "Oh, my goodness me..." and would glance fearfully about the darkness inside. "I wonder who ever wore it."

"Go on," said Pod, "get further down. It's all right."

"No, no," said Homily. "I'm not going in no further: there might be something in the toe."

"It's all right," said Pod. "I've looked: there's nothing but a hole in the toe." He stacked the borrowing-bags against the inner side. "Something to lean against," he said.

"I wish I knew who'd wore this boot," Homily went on, peering about uncomfortably, wiping her wet face on her wetter apron.

"What good would that do you?" Pod said, untying the strings of the largest bag.

"Whether he was clean or dirty or what," said Homily, "and what he died of. Suppose he died of something infectious?"

"Why suppose he died?" said Pod. "Why shouldn't he be hale and hearty, and just had a nice wash and be sitting down to a good tea this very minute."

"Tea?" said Homily, her face brightening. "Where's the candle, Pod?"

"It's here," said Pod. "Give me a match, Arrietty, and a medium-sized aspirin lid. We got to go careful with the tea, you know: we got to go careful with everything."

Homily put out a finger and touched the worn leather. "I'll give this boot a good clean-out in the morning," she said.

"It's not bad," said Pod, taking out the half nail scissor. "If you ask me, we been lucky to find a boot like this. There ain't nothing to worry about: it's disinfected, all right—what with the sun and the wind and the rain year after year of it." He stuck the blade of the nail scissor through an eyelet hole and lashed it firm with a bit of old bootlace.

"What are you doing that for, Papa?" asked Arrietty.

"To stand the lid on, of course," said Pod. "A kind of bracket over the candle: we haven't got no tripod. Now you go and fill it with water, there's a good girl—there's plenty outside..."

There was plenty outside: it was coming down in torrents; but the mouth of the boot faced out of the wind and there was a little dry patch before it. Arrietty filled the tin lid quite easily by tipping a large pointed fox-glove leaf toward it so the rain ran off and down the point. All about her was the steady sound of rain and the lighted candle within the boot made the dusk seem darker. There was a smell of wildness, of space, of leaves and grasses and, as she turned away with the filled tin lid, another smell—wine-y, fragrant, spicy. Arrietty took note of it to remember it for morning—it was the smell of wild strawberries.

After they had drunk their hot tea and eaten a good half of sweet, crumbly digestive biscuit, they took off their wet outer clothes and hung them out along the handle of the nail scissor above the candle. Huddled together, with the old woolen sock about their shoulders, they talked a little. "Funny," Arrietty remarked, "to be wrapped in a sock and inside a boot." But Pod, watching the candle flame, was worried about wastage and, when the clothes had steamed a little, he doused the flame. Tired out, they lay down at last among the borrowing-bags, cuddled together for warmth. The last sound Arrietty heard as she fell asleep was the steady drumming of the rain on the hollow leather of the boot.

Chapter Six

"Such is the tree, such is the fruit."
End of great railways strike at Peoria., Ill, 1891

[Extract from Arrietty's Diary and
Proverb Book, August 26th]

A
RRIETTY
was the first to wake. "Where am
I?
" she wondered. She felt warm—too warm, lying there between her mother and father—and when she turned her head slightly she saw three little golden suns, floating in the darkness. It was a second or two before she realized what they were, and with this knowledge memory flooded back—all that happened yesterday: the escape, the frenzied scramble across the orchard, the weary climb, the rain. The little golden suns, she realized, were the lace-holes of the boot!

Stealthily Arrietty sat up: a balmy freshness stole in upon her and, framed in the neck of the boot, she saw the bright day: grasses, softly stirring, tenderly sunlit. Some were broken, where yesterday they had pushed through them dragging the borrowing-bags. There was a yellow buttercup—sticky and gleaming, it looked, like wet paint. On a tawny stalk of sorrel, she saw an aphis—of a green so delicate that, against the sunlight, it looked transparent. "Ants milk them," Arrietty remembered, "perhaps we could."

She slid out from between her sleeping parents and just as she was, with bare feet and in her vest and petticoat, she ventured out-of-doors.

It was a glorious day: sunlit and rain-washed—the earth breathing out its scents. "This," Arrietty thought, "is what I have longed for; what I have imagined: what I knew existed—what I knew we'd have!"

She pushed through the grasses and soft drops of water fell on her benignly, warmed by the sun. Downhill a little way she went, toward the hedge, out of the jungle of higher grass, into the shallow ditch where, last night, the rain and darkness had combined to scare her.

There was warm mud here, between the shorter grass blades, fast-drying now in the sun. A bank rose between her and the hedge—a glorious bank, it was, filled with roots, with grasses, with tiny ferns, with small sandy holes, with violet leaves and with pale scarlet pimpernel, and, here and there, a globe of deeper crimson—wild strawberries!

She climbed the bank—leisurely and happily, feeling the warm sun through her vest, her bare feet picking their way more delicately than clumsy human feet. She gathered three strawberries, heavy with juice, and ate them luxuriously, lying full-length on a sandy terrace before a mouse-hole. From this bank she could see across the field, but today it looked different—as large, as ever; as oddly tilted; but alight and alive with the early sunshine. Now, all the shadows ran a different way-dewy, they seemed, on the gleaming golden grass. She saw in the distance the lonely group of trees: they still seemed to float on a grassy ocean. She thought of her mother's fear of open spaces. "But I could cross this field," she thought. "I could go anywhere..." Was this, perhaps, what Eggletina had thought? Eggletina—Uncle Hendreary's child—who, they said, had been eaten by the cat. Did enterprise, Arrietty wondered, always meet with disaster? Was it really better, as her parents had always taught her, to live in secret darkness underneath the floor?

The ants were out, she saw, and busy about their business—flurried, eager, weaving their anxious routes among the grass stems. Every now and again, Arrietty noticed, an ant waving its antennae would run up a grass stem and look around. A great contentment filled Arrietty: yes—here they were, for better or worse—there could be no going back!

Refreshed by the strawberries, she went on up the bank and into the shade of the hedge. Here was sunflecked greenness and a hollowness above her. Up and up as far as she could see—there were layers and stories of green chambers, crossed and recrossed with springing branches. Cathedral-like, the hedge seemed from the inside.

Arrietty put her foot on a lower branch and swung herself up into the green shadows: quite easy, it was, with branches to her hand on all sides—easier than climbing a ladder. A ladder as high as this would mean a feat of endurance, and a ladder at best was a dull thing, whereas here was variety, a changing of direction, exploration of heights unknown. Some twigs were dry and rigid, shedding curls of dusty bark; others were lissom and alive with sap: on these, she would swing a little (as so often she had dreamed of swinging in that other lifetime under the floor!). "I will come here when it is windy," she told herself, "when the whole hedge is alive and swaying in the wind..."

Up and up, she went. She found an old bird's nest; the moss inside was straw-dry. She climbed into it and lay for a while and, leaning over the edge, dropped crumbled pieces of dried moss through the tangled branches below her; to watch them plummet between the boughs gave her, she found, an increased sense of height, a delicious giddiness which, safely in the nest, she enjoyed. But having felt this safety, climbing out and on and up seemed far more dangerous. "Suppose I fell," thought Arrietty, "as those bits of moss fell, skimming down through the shadowy hollows and banging and bouncing as they go?" But, as her hands closed round the friendly twigs and her toes spread a little to grip the bark, she was suddenly aware of her absolute safety—the ability (which for so long had been hidden deeply inside her) to climb. "It's heredity," she told herself. "That's why borrowers' hands and feet are longer in pro

portion than the hands and feet of human beings: that's how my father can come down by a fold in the tablecloth: how he can climb a curtain by the bobbles; how he can swing on his name-tape from a desk to a chair, from a chair to the floor. Just because I was a girl, and not allowed to go borrowing, it doesn't say I haven't got the gift..."

Suddenly, raising her head, she saw the blue sky above her, through the tracery of leaves—leaves which trembled and whispered as, in her haste, she swayed their stems. Placing her foot in a fork and swinging up, she caught her petticoat on a wild rose thorn and heard it rip. She picked the thorn out of the stuff and held it in her hand (it was the size to her of a rhinoceros horn to a human being): it was light in proportion to its bulk, but very sharp and vicious-looking. "We could use this for something," Arrietty thought. "I must think ... some kind of weapon..." One more pull and her head and shoulders were outside the hedge; the sun fell hot on her hair, and dazzled by the brightness, she screwed her eyes up as she gazed about her.

Hills and dales, valleys, fields and woods—dreaming in the sunshine. She saw there were cows in the next field but one. Approaching the wood, from a field on the lower side, she saw a man with a gun—very far away, he looked, very harmless. She saw the roof of Aunt Sophy's house and the kitchen chimney smoking. On the turn of a distant road, as it wound between the hedges, she saw a milk-cart: the sunlight flashed on the metal churn and she heard the faint fairylike tinkle of the harness brasses. What a world-mile upon mile, thing after thing, layer upon layer of un-imagined richness—and she might never have seen it! She might have lived and died, as so many of her relations had done, in dusty twilight—hidden behind a wainscot.

Coming down, she found a rhythm: a daring swing, a letting go and a light drop into thickly clustered leaves which her instinct told her would act as a safety net, a cage of lissom twigs which sprang to hand and foot—lightly to be caught, lightly to be let go. Such leaves clustered more thickly toward the outside of the hedge, not in the bare hollows within, and her passage amongst them was almost like surf-riding—a controlled and bouncing slither. The last bough dropped her lightly on the slope of a grassy bank, springing back into place above her head, as lightly she let it go, with a graceful elastic shiver.

Arrietty examined her hands: one was slightly grazed. "But they'll harden up," she told herself. Her hair stood on end and was filled with bark dust, and there in her white embroidered petticoat she saw a great tear.

Hurriedly, she picked three more strawberries as a peace offering and, wrapping them in a violet leaf so as not to stain her vest, she scrambled down the bank, across the ditch, and into the clump of long grass.

Homily, at the entrance to the boot, looked worried as usual.

"Oh, Arrietty, where ever have you been? Breakfast's been ready this last twenty minutes. Your father's out of his mind!"

"Why?" asked Arrietty, surprised.

"With worrying about you—with looking for you."

"I was quite near," Arrietty said. "I was only in the hedge. You could have called me."

Homily put her finger on her lips and glanced in a fearful way from one side to another: "You can't
call,
" she said, dropping her voice to an angry whisper. "We're not to make any noise at all, your father says. No calling or shouting—nothing to draw attention. Danger, that's what he said there is—danger on all sides..."

"I don't mean you have to whisper," Pod said, appearing suddenly from behind the boot, carrying the half nail scissor (he had been cutting a small trail through the thickest grass). "But don't you go off, Arrietty, never again without you say just where you're going and what for and for how long. Understand?"

"No," said Arrietty uncertainly. "I don't quite—I mean I don't always know what I'm going
for—
" (for what, for instance, had she climbed to the top of the hedge?) "Where is all this danger? I didn't see any. Excepting three cows two fields away."

Pod looked thoughtfully to where a sparrow-hawk hung motionless in the clear sky.

"It's everywhere," he said, after a moment. "Before and Behind, Above and Below."