Read Online Down Daisy Street by Katie Flynn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Flynn
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long drooping ears and soulful eyes. ‘I disremember ever knowing a red setter with an ounce of sense and I reckon this one won’t be no different,’ she said musingly. ‘So I reckon we’ll call her Loopy. I suppose thass too much to expect you ha’ picked the sprouts your dad wants for market tomorrow?’ she added, with more than a trace of sarcasm. ‘An’ I take it you’ve brought Bessie and Buttercup and the rest in for milking?’
Alec grinned guiltily and set down the dish of bread and milk in front of the new pup, who began to attack it at once. He had gone down to Horsey Gap, meaning to see if there was anywhere from which he might fish, but the strong east wind had made it impossible. Instead, he had walked along the shore, battling against the elements, enjoying the wildness of the wind until the rain had started. Then he had simply turned for home, meaning to pick a sackful of sprouts before fetching the cows in from the Five Acre. And what had he done? He had swathed his head and shoulders in the empty sprout sack and had been crossing the Five Acre when he spotted the puppy. From that moment on he had simply forgotten his responsibilities and had made his way home. Sighing deeply, he reached for his still wet jacket and the soaking sack. ‘Sorry, Ma,’ he said humbly. ‘I went to the shore to see if I could chuck out a line, get a fish or two, but there were no chance. I thought I’d pick the sprouts first, then bring the cows in, only . . . only.’
‘Only you were in a dream, same as always,’ his mother said grimly. ‘You’re a good hard worker, Alec, I wouldn’t deny that, but you don’t always concentrate too good. Best get them sprouts right away, then bring the cows in. This evening we’ll make some butter; Dad can take that to market with him tomorrow. He brought in half a dozen rabbits earlier and they’re all dressed and ready and I’ve boxed up a few eggs, though the hens never lay good at this time of year. But it should be enough to pay the rent, especially if this damned rain lets up.’
‘Right, Ma. I’ll fetch the sprouts and then get the cows in an’ I’ll work like a perishin’ slave to do it afore Dad comes for his tea,’ Alec said remorsefully. The life of a tenant farmer was a hard one and he was well aware that his parents needed every bit of help he could give. Slogging out to the sprout field, he reminded himself of how he loved the land and everything to do with it. In summer, he revelled in the hard work, the heat of the hayfield, the constant, never ceasing round of daily tasks. Spring and autumn were bearable, and sometimes enjoyable, but he and his parents simply loathed the winter. Despite Mr Hewitt’s care, a field of winter cabbage had rotted in the ground because of the constant onslaught of the rain and the Five Acre, normally an excellent meadow full of sweet grass, had become poached and marshy for the same reason. Clark and Gable, the two mighty shire horses who shared the work of the farm, were apt to hang around by the gate at the lower end of the meadow and the mud there was so deep that only last week Alec had all but lost a wellington boot in it. He had managed to dredge it up from the depths, full of mud and small stones, and his mother had cleaned it up for him so that he was able to wear it once more, but now he avoided the lower end of the Five Acre, not wanting to risk a similar occurrence in which he might be unable to retrieve the boot.
He reached the sprout field, eyeing the long rows unenthusiastically. As each plant was picked clean, he cut the stem down with the knife he always carried, so he knew where he should start. The trouble was that the sprouts came to marketable size at different times, which meant that all along a row which had been mostly cut down there would be odd plants still waiting to be harvested. He knew he should really start on them, get them out of the way, but in view of the violence of the weather he
Alec grinned guiltily and set down the dish of bread and milk in front of the new pup, who began to attack it at once. He had gone down to Horsey Gap, meaning to see if there was anywhere from which he might fish, but the strong east wind had made it impossible. Instead, he had walked along the shore, battling against the elements, enjoying the wildness of the wind until the rain had started. Then he had simply turned for home, meaning to pick a sackful of sprouts before fetching the cows in from the Five Acre. And what had he done? He had swathed his head and shoulders in the empty sprout sack and had been crossing the Five Acre when he spotted the puppy. From that moment on he had simply forgotten his responsibilities and had made his way home. Sighing deeply, he reached for his still wet jacket and the soaking sack. ‘Sorry, Ma,’ he said humbly. ‘I went to the shore to see if I could chuck out a line, get a fish or two, but there were no chance. I thought I’d pick the sprouts first, then bring the cows in, only . . . only.’
‘Only you were in a dream, same as always,’ his mother said grimly. ‘You’re a good hard worker, Alec, I wouldn’t deny that, but you don’t always concentrate too good. Best get them sprouts right away, then bring the cows in. This evening we’ll make some butter; Dad can take that to market with him tomorrow. He brought in half a dozen rabbits earlier and they’re all dressed and ready and I’ve boxed up a few eggs, though the hens never lay good at this time of year. But it should be enough to pay the rent, especially if this damned rain lets up.’
‘Right, Ma. I’ll fetch the sprouts and then get the cows in an’ I’ll work like a perishin’ slave to do it afore Dad comes for his tea,’ Alec said remorsefully. The life of a tenant farmer was a hard one and he was well aware that his parents needed every bit of help he could give. Slogging out to the sprout field, he reminded himself of how he loved the land and everything to do with it. In summer, he revelled in the hard work, the heat of the hayfield, the constant, never ceasing round of daily tasks. Spring and autumn were bearable, and sometimes enjoyable, but he and his parents simply loathed the winter. Despite Mr Hewitt’s care, a field of winter cabbage had rotted in the ground because of the constant onslaught of the rain and the Five Acre, normally an excellent meadow full of sweet grass, had become poached and marshy for the same reason. Clark and Gable, the two mighty shire horses who shared the work of the farm, were apt to hang around by the gate at the lower end of the meadow and the mud there was so deep that only last week Alec had all but lost a wellington boot in it. He had managed to dredge it up from the depths, full of mud and small stones, and his mother had cleaned it up for him so that he was able to wear it once more, but now he avoided the lower end of the Five Acre, not wanting to risk a similar occurrence in which he might be unable to retrieve the boot.
He reached the sprout field, eyeing the long rows unenthusiastically. As each plant was picked clean, he cut the stem down with the knife he always carried, so he knew where he should start. The trouble was that the sprouts came to marketable size at different times, which meant that all along a row which had been mostly cut down there would be odd plants still waiting to be harvested. He knew he should really start on them, get them out of the way, but in view of the violence of the weather he
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