The Children of Green Knowe Collection (Faber Children's Classics)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Toseland, very much ashamed, ‘I forgot to put anything for him. Suppose he’s been tapping and tapping at the window and nobody came. Will he come again, do you think?’ ‘Try shortbread crumbs and see if that pleases him tomorrow morning. He might have spent all afternoon with you if you hadn’t forgotten him.’ Tolly felt in a better temper already. ‘Who made all the green animals?’ he asked. ‘Boggis’s grandfather. They were there when I was a child, and when I asked him about them he said the
very valuable.’ She went away. Tolly did as she said. ‘I’ll clean Toby’s sword for him afterwards,’ he thought, settling himself down with the book of Aesop’s Fables open on the floor. The print was difficult, but he knew the stories and enjoyed the pictures. After a while, he came to the page that had the Ass in the lion’s skin, Linnet’s favourite. He bent down to have a closer look, but as he did so two hands were pressed over his eyes from behind and he could feel breathing beside his ear.
was Christmas Eve. There had been snow, then a dripping thaw that had filled the river, followed by a sudden hard frost. The trees dangled with icicles that tinkled like Japanese bells. The eaves were jagged with ice daggers. The ground was hard like glazed rock, the moat frozen. Toby and Alexander, with their mother, had gone on foot to Midnight Mass at the big church in Penny Soaky across the river. The little church in this village belonged to what Linnet called the preachies, who did not
breakfast time, had stretched her arms and legs and relaxed again into comfort and laziness, that she dared to say: ‘Ping! What did you do with your apple last night?’ ‘The horse ate it,’ he replied sitting up in bed golden and slit-eyed. Ida smiled. ‘Mine too,’ she said. ‘Mine too,’ said Oskar into his pillow. So nothing more needed to be said. But when they were dressed, Ping knelt on the floor by the map, and in beautiful strokes with a paint brush he wrote the Chinese for Flying Horse
facing one another to talk and eat, and move freely fore and aft. The little tributary seeped between an avenue of bulrushes, whose handsome chocolate maces bowed to them as the ripple that the punt pushed before it reached their stalks and set them in motion. Ping said he felt like a mandarin approaching his palace. But it was not a palace that they came upon, but a second and totally secluded pool on whose circumference three little weirs tinkled like musical boxes. Their waters lost