LITMIR.BIZ

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they were. Grandmama could be charming to those who obeyed her, and three of her four sons, the children’s father among them, were devoted to her. Only her eldest son Ambrose had not from his father that yielding gentleness which Grandmama found so pleasing in her younger sons. The children had not seen Uncle Ambrose, for he lived some distance away and did not like either visiting or being visited. Also he had been a schoolmaster and upon retirement had been heard to remark that he hoped never to set eyes on a child again. But even he could appreciate Grandmama from a distance, and the children would perhaps have done so close to, had they given themselves time.

      The Thunderbolt too had a bark worse than her bite and was only engaged just now in trying to get the children sufficiently under control for it to be possible to live with them. But it takes a long time to learn to appreciate the excellent motives of those who are trying to control you, and patient waiting was not the strong point of the Linnet children. They had the charming surname of Linnet, and it was a pity it did not suit them.

      The rubbish heap was at the bottom of the kitchen garden hidden from the world by a tall yew hedge that bordered the garden upon the west. It was private, and a good place for counsels of war. Usually they sat cross-legged on the rough grass for the discussion of their affairs, but today Robert did not stop to sit down before announcing, ‘We’re escaping. We will walk to the mountains and earn our living there.’

      ‘Are there mountains?’ asked Nan cautiously. Robert had such a fine imagination that it was necessary to distinguish between what was there and what he thought was there. They were sometimes the same, but not always.

      ‘I’ve seen them,’ said Robert. ‘Westwards where the sun sets.’ And he swung round dramatically with one arm outflung toward the yew hedge. Should he be the greatest actor of the age? he suddenly wondered. Would there be more money in being a great actor than in burglary or acrobatics? He was so busy wondering that he did not actually look at the yew hedge and it was Timothy who yelled, ‘Look!’

      Behind the hedge the sky was a bright blue. It dazzled the eyes and got inside the head and exploded there as a wild desire for wings, so that one could take off and soar up into it. There was a bird up there who had done just that, and his song came down to the earth he had left in a clear fall of music that was lovelier than anything the children had ever heard, and leaning against the yew hedge was a ladder that the gardener had forgotten to take away. Timothy was up it in a flash. His smooth fair head showed for a moment gold against the blue of the sky and then he was gone. Robert gave a gasp of astonishment and then he leapt after Timothy, Absolom still under his arm. Betsy scrambled after him clutching at Absolom’s plume of a tail to help herself up, and Nan came last rather more soberly. She was not expecting to take off into the sky as the lark had done, and it did just cross her mind that it might not be as easy on the other side of the hedge as Robert seemed to think. But she climbed steadily to the top of the hedge, for Father had told her to look after the others, and resignedly fell off it on to the struggling mass of the other four down below.

      At first there was a good deal of noise, for though they had fallen on to the grass verge of a narrow lane it had been a considerable fall. Betsy was roaring because she had bumped herself, Absolom was yelping because she still had hold of his tail and the boys were shouting at them both to stow their din.

      ‘Do you want to bring the Thunderbolt out on us?’ asked Nan as soon as she could make herself heard. ‘Because if you don’t, keep quiet.’

      They disentangled themselves in a sudden silence, got up and looked about them. The lane ran between gardens and backs of houses and only a short distance to their right turned left towards the sunset: ‘That’s the way,’ said Robert, and ran down it, the others after him, Absolom bringing up the rear with his tongue out and his ears flopping. He was a medium-sized mongrel, dirty white in colour, very hairy, and apt to get caught in bushes because he was so hairy. His great dark eyes were his only beauty, but it was difficult to see them through the thicket of hair that fell over them. But he could run fast. He had to.

      The lane brought them to the back streets of the little town and they followed these towards the sunset. Beyond the town the road began to climb steeply between woods and fields. Streams ran through the fields, quick-running streams that had come down from the hills, and kingcups lay in pools of gold beside them. Birds were singing everywhere, in the woods and beside the streams. The air, coming down from the hills as the streams had done, was cool and yet the golden sun gave a warm edge to it. It made them want to sing and so they sang, not with any particular words, but humming and whistling, laughing and calling out to each other as the birds were doing. They felt happy and it was a long time since they had done that. It was wonderful to be happy again.

      And then gradually one by one they began to leave the birds to sing alone. Betsy stopped first and complained that her legs were aching and Nan said, ‘You’d better carry her, Robert.’ He took her on his back with a good grace, being fond of her, but that silenced him too, for she was heavy. Then Timothy stopped whistling because actually Father had been quite correct in considering him not to be as strong as the others. Then Nan stopped singing because she was beginning to feel worried. It was getting dusky under the trees, and when she looked up at the bits of sky that showed through the pattern of their branches, they were no longer gold but rose-coloured. The cool air no longer had an edge of warmth but was downright chilly, and they had not brought their coats with them. She and Betsy were only wearing their linen smocks, Betsy’s green to match her wicked eyes and hers blue to tone with hers that were grey-blue, quiet and gentle. The boys wore linen sailor suits, which were the fashion for the male young in those days, very dirty after the hen-house fight, but there’s no warmth in dirt. And still they were not up in Robert’s mountains but only climbing their lower slopes, and the slopes of mountains can last a long time, Nan knew. It would be dark when they got there, and how did they know if they would find anywhere to sleep or anything to eat when they arrived? She began to think that Robert’s latest idea had not been one of his best, but she did not say so because when an idea has hardened into consequences it is too late to change it for another. That is why ideas should never be put into practice the moment you have them. They should be chewed like cud for twenty-four hours.

      But the children tonight were to have a luck greater than they deserved, for rounding a corner they saw a thatched inn beside the road, with light shining from a curtained window. They knew it was an inn because the painted sign of a wheatsheaf hung over the door. A pony and trap stood outside. The trap was the type known in those days as a governess-cart and there was plenty of room in it for four children and a dog. The pony was looking at them over his shoulder and he seemed to like them, for he whinnied softly. He was piebald, chestnut and white, fat but not too fat. There was no one with him and the reins were loosely knotted round an old thorn tree. He was the pony of Robert’s dreams, and before he knew what he was doing he had spilled Betsy off his back on to the seat of the trap and untied the reins from the tree. Then he picked up Absolom and dropped him on top of Betsy. ‘Get in,’ he said to the other two. Timothy scrambled in at once, but Nan hesitated. ‘It’s stealing,’ she said.

      ‘Borrowing,’ said Robert. ‘There is a difference.’

      Nan thought to herself that it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes, but she got in because just at that moment her loving anxiety to get Timothy and Betsy and Absolom to wherever it was they were going rather got the better of her honesty.

      They drove off at a good pace, Robert holding the reins. There was no whip, but they did not need it, so eager was the strong brisk little pony to take them to wherever it was they were going. He seemed to know exactly where that was, for whenever they came to a turn in the road he did not hesitate. Robert was in an ecstasy. His red hair lifted on his head with the wind of their going and his green eyes shone like lamps. He had never driven a pony and trap before, but he did it as though to the manner born. He felt as though he and the pony were one person. ‘He’s called Roy,’ he shouted to the others. ‘Rob-Roy. Rob’s Roy. I’m Rob and he’s Roy.’ And throwing back his head he began to sing again. Over their heads the sky was a mysterious green and a few stars were showing.

      The others were glad to be off their feet but less ecstatic because they were cold and hungry. However, Timothy, flung off the seat to the floor as Rob-Roy

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