by Mary Norton
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."
Chapter Seven
"Puff not against the Wind."
Oxford and Harvard Boat Race, 1869
[Extract from Arrietty's Diary and
Proverb Book, August 27th]
WHILE HOMILY and Arrietty were finishing breakfast, Pod got busy. He walked thoughtfully around the boot, surveying it from different angles. He would touch the leather with a practiced hand, peer at it closely and then stand back, half-closing his eyes. He removed the borrowing-bags, one by one, carefully stacking them on the grass outside and then he crawled inside. They could hear him grunting and panting a little as he knelt and stooped and measured—he was, they gathered, making a carefully calculated examination of seams, joins, floor space and quality of stitching.
After a while, he joined them as they sat there on the grass. "Going to be a hot day," he said thoughtfully, as he sat down, "a real scorcher." He removed his necktie and heaved a sigh.
"What was you looking at, Pod?" asked Homily, after a moment.
"You saw," said Pod. "That boot." He was silent a moment and then: "That's no tramp's boot," he said, "nor that boot weren't made for no working-man neither: that boot," went on Pod, staring at Homily, "is a gentleman's boot."
"Oh," breathed Homily in a relieved voice, half-closing her eyes and fanning her face with a limp hand. "Thank goodness for that!"
"Why, Mother?' asked Arrietty, irritated. "What's wrong with a working-man's boot? Papa's a working-man, isn't he?"
Homily smiled and shook her head in a pitying way. "It's a question," she said, "of quality."
"Your mother's right, there," said Pod. "Hand-sewn, that boot is, and as fine a bit of leather as ever I've laid me hand on." He leaned toward Arrietty. "And you see, lass, a gentleman's boot is well-cared for, well greased and dubbined—years and years of it. If it hadn't been, don't you see, it would never have stood up—as this boot has stood up—to wind and rain and sun and frost. They pays dear for their boots, gentlemen do, but they sees they gets good value."
"That's right," agreed Homily, nodding her head and looking at Arrietty.
"Now, that hole in the toe," Pod went on. "I can patch that up with a bit of leather from the tongue. I can patch that up good and proper."
"It's not worth the time nor the thread," exclaimed Homily. "I mean to say, just for a couple o' nights or a day or two. It's not as though we were going to live in a boot," she pointed out, with an amused laugh.
Pod was silent a moment and then he said slowly, "I bin thinking."
"I mean to say," Homily went on, "we do know we got relations in this field and—though I wouldn't call a badger's set much of a home, mind—at least it's somewhere."
Pod raised solemn eyes. "Maybe," he said, in the same grave voice. "But all the same, I bin thinking. I've bin thinking," he went on, "relations or no relations, they're still borrowers, ain't they? And among human beings, for instance, who ever sees a borrower?" He gazed round challengingly.
"Well, that boy did—" began Arrietty, "and—"
"Ah," said Pod, "because you, Arrietty, who wasn't no borrower—who hadn't even learned to borrow—went up and talked to him: sought him out, shameless—knowing no better. And I told you just what would happen, hunted out, I said we'd be, by cats and rat-catchers—by policemen and all. Now was I right or wasn't I?"
"Yes, you were right," said Arrietty, "but—"
"There ain't no buts," said Pod. "I was right. And if I was right then, I'm right now. See? I bin thinking and what I've bin thinking is right—and, this time, there ain't going to be no nonsense from you. Nor from your mother, neither."
"There won't be no nonsense from me, Pod," said Homily in a pious voice.
"Now," said Pod, "this is how it strikes me. Human beings stand high and move fast; when you stand higher you can see farther—do you get me? What I mean to say is—if, with them advantages, a human being can't never find a borrower ... even goes as far as to say they don't believe borrowers exist—why should we borrowers, who stand lower and move slower compared to them like, hope to do much better? Living in a house, say, with several families—well, of course, we know each other ... stands to reason: we been brought up together. But come afield, to a strange place like this a
nd—this is how it seems to me—borrowers is hid from borrowers."
"Oh, my," said Homily unhappily.
"We don't move 'slow' exactly," said Arrietty.
"Compared to them, I said. Our legs move fast enough—but theirs is longer. Look at the ground they cover!" He turned to Homily. "Now don't upset yourself. I don't say we won't find the Hendrearies—Maybe, we will ... quite soon. Or anyway before the winter—"
"The winter..." breathed Homily in a stricken voice.
"But we got to plan," went on Pod, "and act, as though there weren't no badger's set. Do you see what I mean?"
"Yes, Pod," said Homily huskily.
"I bin thinking it out," he repeated. "Here we are, the
three of us, with what we got in the bags, two hat pins and an old boot: we got to face up to it and, what's more—" he added solemnly, "we got to live different."
"How different?" asked Homily.
"Cold food, for instance. No more hot tea. No coffee. We got to keep the candle and the matches in hand for winter. We got to look about us and see what there is."
"Not caterpillars, Pod," pleaded Homily. "You promised! I couldn't never eat a caterpillar..."
"Nor you shall," said Pod, "not if I can help it. There's other things this time o' year, plenty. Now, I want you to get up, the two of you, and see how this boot drags—"
"How do you mean?" asked Homily, mystified, but obediently they both stood up.
"See these laces?" said Pod. "Good and strong—been oiled, that's why ... or tarred. Now, you each take a lace over your shoulder and pull. Turn your back to the boot ... that's right ... and just walk forward."
Homily and Arrietty leaned on the traces and the boot came on with a bump and a slither so fast across the slippery grass that they stumbled and fell—they had not expected it would be so light.
"Steady on!" cried Pod, running up beside them. "Take it steady, can't you ... Up you get ... That's the way ... Steady, steady ... That's fine. You see," he said when they paused for breath, having dragged the boot to the edge of the long grass, "how it goes—like a bird!" Homily and Arrietty rubbed their shoulders and said nothing: they even smiled slightly, a pale reflection of Pod's pride and delight. "Now, sit down, both of you. You was fine. Now, you'll see, this is going to be good—"
He stood, beaming down at them as, meekly, they sat on the grass. "It's like this—" he explained. "I talked just now of danger—to you, Arrietty, and that's because, though brave we must be (and there's none braver than your mother when she's put to it) we can't never be foolhardy. We got to make our plans and we got to keep our heads. We can't afford to waste no energy—climbing hedges just for fun, and suchlike—and we can't afford to take no risks. We got to make our plan and we got to stick to it. Understand?"
"Yes," said Arrietty, and Homily nodded her head. "Your father's right," she said.
"You got to have a main object," went on Pod, "and ours is there, ready-made—we got to find the badger's set. Now how are we going to set about it? It's a big field—take us the best part of a day to get along one side of it, let alone have time to look down holes; and we'd be wore out, that's what we'd be. Say I went off looking by myself—well, your mother would never know a moment's peace all day long, till she had me safe back again. There's nothing bad enough for what she'd be imagining. And going on at you, Arrietty. Now, that's all wear and tear, and we can't afford too much of it. Folk get silly when they're fussed, if you see what I mean, and that's when accidents happen.
"Now, my idea," Pod went on, "is this. We'll work our way all round this field, like I said last night, by the edges—"
"Hedges," corrected Arrietty, under her breath, without thinking.
"I heard what you said, Arrietty," remarked Pod quietly (he seldom grudged her superior education). "There's hedges and edges, and I meant edges..."
"Sorry," murmured Arrietty, blushing.
"As I was saying," Pod went on, "we'll work our way round, systematic-like, exploring the banks and—" he looked at Arrietty pointedly, "hedges—and camping as we go: a day here, a day or two there, just as we feel; or depending on the holes and burrows. There'll be great bits of bank where there couldn't be no badger's set—we can skip those, as you might say. Now you see, Homily, we couldn't do this if we had a settled home."
"You mean," asked Homily sharply, "that we've got to drag the boot?"
"Well," said Pod, "was it heavy?"
"With all our gear in it, it would be."
"Not over grass," said Pod.
"And uphill!" exclaimed Homily.
"Level here at the bottom of the field," corrected Pod patiently, "as far as them rushes; then uphill at the top of the field, alongside the stream: then across—level again; then the last lap of all, which brings us back to the stile again, and it's downhill all the way!"
"Um-m-m," said Homily, unconvinced.
"Well," said Pod. "Out with it—speak your mind: I'm open to suggestions."
"Oh, Mother—" began Arrietty in a pleading voice and then became silent.
"Has Arrietty and me got to drag all the time?" asked Homily.
"Now, don't be foolish," said Pod. "We take it in turns, of course."
"Oh, well," sighed Homily, "what can't be cured, needs must."
"That's my brave old girl," said Pod. "Now about provender— (food," he explained as Homily looked up bewildered). "We better become vegetarians, pure and simple, one and all, and make no bones about it."
"There won't be no bones to make," remarked Homily grimly, "not if we become vegetarians."
"The nuts is coming on," said Pod. "Nearly ripe they'll be down in that sheltered corner—milky like. Plenty of fruit—blackberries, them wild strawberries. Plenty of salad, dandelion, say, and sorrel. There's gleanings still in that cornfield t'other side of the stile. We'll manage—the thing is you got to get used to it: no hankering for boiled ham, chicken rissoles, and that kind of fodder. Now, Arrietty," he went on, "as you're so set on hedge-climbing, you and your mother had better go off and gather us some nuts. How's that, eh? And I'll get down to a bit of cobbling." He glanced at the boot.
"Where do you find the nuts?" asked Arrietty.
"There, about halfway along"—Pod pointed to a thickening of pale green in the hedge—"before you get to the water. You climb up, Arrietty, and throw 'em down and your mother can gather 'em up. I'll come down and join you later: we got to dig a pit."
"A pit? Whatever for?" asked Arrietty.
"We can't carry that weight of nuts around," explained Pod, "not in a boot this size. Wherever we find provender, we got to make a cache like, and mark it down for winter."
"Winter..." moaned Homily softly in the bleak voice she reserved for that season.
Nevertheless, as Arrietty helped her mother over the rough places in the ditch which because it was shallow, well drained and fairly sheltered could be used as a highway, she felt closer to Homily than she had felt for years—more like a sister, as she put it. "Oh, look," cried Homily when she saw a scarlet pimpernel. She stopped and picked it by its hair-thin stalk. "Isn't it lovely?" she said in a tender voice; touching the fragile petals with a work-worn finger, she tucked it into the opening of her blouse. Arrietty found a pale blue counterpart in the delicate bird's-eye, and put it in her hair; and suddenly the day began to seem like a holiday. "Flowers made for borrowers..."she thought.
At last they reached the nutty part of the hedge. "Oh, Arrietty," exclaimed Homily, gazing up at the spreading branches with mingled pride and fear, "you can't never go up there."
But Arrietty could and would: she was delighted to show off her climbing: in a workmanlike manner, she stripped off her jersey, hung it on a gray-green spike of thistle, rubbed her palms together (in front of Homily she did not like to spit on them) and clambered up the bank.
Homily watched below, her two hands clasped and pressed against her heart, how the outer leaves shivered and shook as Arrietty, invisible, climbed up inside. "Are you all right?" s
he kept calling, "oh, Arrietty, do be careful. Suppose you fell and broke your leg?" And then after a while the nuts began to come down and poor Homily, under fire, ran this way and that, in her panting efforts to retrieve them.
Not that they came down fast enough to be really dangerous. Nut-gathering was not quite as easy as Arrietty had imagined. For one thing, it was still a little early in the season and the nuts were not quite ripe. Each was still encased in what, to Arrietty, looked something like a tough, green fox-glove bell and was fixed firmly to the tree. It was quite an effort, until she learned the trick of a sharp twist, for Arrietty to detach the clusters. And what was more, even to reach them was not easy. It meant climbing or swinging or edging her body along a perilously swaying branch tip (later Pod made her—out of a piece of lead, some twine and a supple dock root—a kind of swinging cosh with which she could strike them down) but she persevered and soon there was a sizeable pile in the ditch, neatly stacked up by the perspiring Homily.
"That'll do now," Homily called out breathlessly after a while. "No more or your poor pa will never get through with the digging," and Arrietty, hot and disheveled, with scratched face and smarting hands, thankfully climbed down. She flung herself full length in the speckled shade of a clump of cow-parsley and complained of feeling thirsty.
"Well, there's water farther along, so your pa says. Do you think you could walk it?"
Of course Arrietty could walk it: tired, she might be but determined to foster this new-found spirit of adventure in her mother. She caught up her jersey and they set off along the ditch.
The sun was higher now and the ground was hotter. They came to a place where some beetles were eating a long-dead mole. "Don't look," said Homily, quickening her step and averting her eyes, as though it were a street accident.
