what's needed. The first rule, of course, is obedience..."
"Of course," nodded Homily, squeezing Arrietty's hand.
"...and the second rule—this is the thing that came to me—is: we must none of us speak a word."
"Now, Pod—" began Homily reasonably, aware of her own limitations.
Arrietty saw the point. "He means to Mabel and Sidney."
Pod smiled again at her tone, albeit rather wryly. "Yes, them," he said. "Never let 'em know we can speak. Because"—he struck his left palm with two fingers of his right to emphasize his meaning—"if they don't think we can speak, they'll think we don't understand. Just as they are with animals. And if they think we don't understand, they'll talk before us. Now do you get my meaning?"
Homily nodded several times in quick succession; she felt very proud of Pod.
"Well," he went on in a more relaxed tone, "let's take a look at this food, and after we've eaten, we're going to begin a tour of this room—explore every crack and cranny of it from floor to ceiling. May take us several days...."
Arrietty helped her mother to her feet. Pod, at the box edge, swung a leg and lightly dropped to the floor. Then he turned to help Homily. Arrietty followed and made at once for the plate.
"Cold rice pudding," she said, walking around it, "a bit of mince, cold cabbage, bread." She put out a finger to touch something black. She sucked the finger. "And half a pickled walnut."
"Careful, Arrietty," warned Homily, "it may be poisoned."
"I wouldn't reckon so," said Pod. "Seems like they want us alive. Wish I knew for why."
"But how are we supposed to drink this milk?" complained Homily.
"Well, take it up in your hands, like."
Homily knelt down and cupped her hands. Her face became very milky, but as she drank, a reviving warmth seemed to flow through her veins, and her spirits lifted. "Brandy," she said. "Back home at Firbank, they kept it in the morning room, and those Overmantels used to—"
"Now, Homily," said Pod, "this is no time for gossip. And that was whisky."
"Something anyway, and dead drunk they used to be ... or so they say ... every time the bailiff came in to do the accounts. What's the mince like, Arrietty?"
Chapter Twelve
"Now," said Pod sometime later when they had finished eating, "we better start on the room."
He looked upward. In each sharply sloping wall was set a dormer window, at what seemed a dizzy height; the windows were casement-latched and each had a vertical bolt. Above each was a naked brass curtain rail, hung with rusted rings. Through one window, Pod could see the bough of an ilex tree tossing in the wind.
"It's odd," Arrietty remarked, "how from starting under the floor we seem to get higher and higher..."
"And it isn't natural," put in Homily quickly, "for borrowers to get high. Never leads to no good. Look at those Overmantels, for instance, back in the morning room at Firbank. Stuck up they were, through living high. Never so much as give you good day, say you were on the floor. It was as though they couldn't see you. Those windows are no good," she remarked. "Doubt if even a human being could reach up there. Wonder how they clean them?"
"They'd stand on a chair," said Pod.
"What about the gas fire?" Homily suggested.
"No hope there," said Pod. "It's soldered in to the chimney surround."
It was a small iron gas fire with a separate ring—on which, in a pan, stood a battered gluepot.
"What about the door?" said Arrietty. "Suppose we cut a piece out of the bottom?"
"What with?" asked Pod, who was still examining the fireplace.
"We might find something," said Arrietty, looking about her.
There were plenty of objects in the room. Beside the fireplace stood a dressmaker's dummy, upholstered in a dark green rep; it was shaped like an hour glass, had a knob for a head, and below the swelling hips a kind of wire-frame petticoat—a support for the fitting of skirts. It stood on three curved legs with swivel wheels. Its dark green bosom was stuck with
"Of course," nodded Homily, squeezing Arrietty's hand.
"...and the second rule—this is the thing that came to me—is: we must none of us speak a word."
"Now, Pod—" began Homily reasonably, aware of her own limitations.
Arrietty saw the point. "He means to Mabel and Sidney."
Pod smiled again at her tone, albeit rather wryly. "Yes, them," he said. "Never let 'em know we can speak. Because"—he struck his left palm with two fingers of his right to emphasize his meaning—"if they don't think we can speak, they'll think we don't understand. Just as they are with animals. And if they think we don't understand, they'll talk before us. Now do you get my meaning?"
Homily nodded several times in quick succession; she felt very proud of Pod.
"Well," he went on in a more relaxed tone, "let's take a look at this food, and after we've eaten, we're going to begin a tour of this room—explore every crack and cranny of it from floor to ceiling. May take us several days...."
Arrietty helped her mother to her feet. Pod, at the box edge, swung a leg and lightly dropped to the floor. Then he turned to help Homily. Arrietty followed and made at once for the plate.
"Cold rice pudding," she said, walking around it, "a bit of mince, cold cabbage, bread." She put out a finger to touch something black. She sucked the finger. "And half a pickled walnut."
"Careful, Arrietty," warned Homily, "it may be poisoned."
"I wouldn't reckon so," said Pod. "Seems like they want us alive. Wish I knew for why."
"But how are we supposed to drink this milk?" complained Homily.
"Well, take it up in your hands, like."
Homily knelt down and cupped her hands. Her face became very milky, but as she drank, a reviving warmth seemed to flow through her veins, and her spirits lifted. "Brandy," she said. "Back home at Firbank, they kept it in the morning room, and those Overmantels used to—"
"Now, Homily," said Pod, "this is no time for gossip. And that was whisky."
"Something anyway, and dead drunk they used to be ... or so they say ... every time the bailiff came in to do the accounts. What's the mince like, Arrietty?"
Chapter Twelve
"Now," said Pod sometime later when they had finished eating, "we better start on the room."
He looked upward. In each sharply sloping wall was set a dormer window, at what seemed a dizzy height; the windows were casement-latched and each had a vertical bolt. Above each was a naked brass curtain rail, hung with rusted rings. Through one window, Pod could see the bough of an ilex tree tossing in the wind.
"It's odd," Arrietty remarked, "how from starting under the floor we seem to get higher and higher..."
"And it isn't natural," put in Homily quickly, "for borrowers to get high. Never leads to no good. Look at those Overmantels, for instance, back in the morning room at Firbank. Stuck up they were, through living high. Never so much as give you good day, say you were on the floor. It was as though they couldn't see you. Those windows are no good," she remarked. "Doubt if even a human being could reach up there. Wonder how they clean them?"
"They'd stand on a chair," said Pod.
"What about the gas fire?" Homily suggested.
"No hope there," said Pod. "It's soldered in to the chimney surround."
It was a small iron gas fire with a separate ring—on which, in a pan, stood a battered gluepot.
"What about the door?" said Arrietty. "Suppose we cut a piece out of the bottom?"
"What with?" asked Pod, who was still examining the fireplace.
"We might find something," said Arrietty, looking about her.
There were plenty of objects in the room. Beside the fireplace stood a dressmaker's dummy, upholstered in a dark green rep; it was shaped like an hour glass, had a knob for a head, and below the swelling hips a kind of wire-frame petticoat—a support for the fitting of skirts. It stood on three curved legs with swivel wheels. Its dark green bosom was stuck with
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