Pip and the Twilight Seekers Read Free

but he felt himself drifting helplessly into slumber.

Now the snow had died it was safe for Mister and Mrs. McCreedy to move into the riverside cottage. The McCreedys had worked long and hard to escape their circumstances and finally they were ready to move into a home of their own.
    They had more space here for their basket weaving and they would be close to the market square where they plied their trade. Now, while the revelers drank at the inn, they were wheeling their small cart across the city to the new place. Sure, it needed work done. But it was better than the cramped hovel they had previously been in and so they had packed up their things and begun to move.
    They wheeled their cart nervously through the streets, knowing that should they be caught in the act, they would suffer at the hands of the authorities. A suspicious Mister Jarvis leaving the tavern was not helpful.
    “Mrs. McCreedy, you seem to be struggling there. Perhaps I can help.”
    Jarvis tipped the cart onto its side and rifled through their belongings.

    “No, please, Mister Jarvis, I can manage, thank you,” Mrs. McCreedy insisted, knowing that he was eager to uncover her secret.
    “You’re lucky this time,” he said. “But in the end, I’ll have them all. I’m not stupid, Mrs. McCreedy. I know a maternal woman when I see one. I can see it in your face. As sure as eggs is eggs, you got kiddies hidden away somewhere, I know it.” He grinned.
    “Excuse us,” said Mister McCreedy, shoving his weedy frame past Jarvis and picking up the spilled belongings before heading indoors.
    “No one likes a mess,” said Mrs. McCreedy. “But at least we have space for our little treasure. You can come out now,” she said. “We’re home and dry.”
    And then, like a surprise from a jack-in-a-box, out popped the youngest of the McCreedys, revealing that the bottom of the wheeled cart, which now sat in front of the fire, was a false one.
    Young Edgar must have been no more than four years old but already he was aware of his status in the hollow. He knew when to keep his head down and stay quiet.
    A pile of discarded rubbish was pulled out from the fireplace. A couple of boxes, a dust-covered sack, and a heap of odds and ends. Dry wood took its place in the hearth and a spark of life sent the twigs and branches glowing and blistering. Candles were lit around the parlor and a pan of water was hung over the warming fire.
    Edgar climbed up on to the chair and retrieved what had until now been perched on the mantelpiece. An old wooden soldier, smart as could be in his little red coat and shiny black boots. He stared hard at the little fellow until a feeling of horror came over him. The eyes stared back at him and they seemed to hold his gaze until his own eyes watered. They shone like tiny moons and he found that he was unable to let go of the little wooden man.
    And then Edgar could have sworn that the soldier spoke his name. “Master McCreedy, first-born son of the wickerwork man. His mother carries a sibling, yet she doesn’t know just yet. Time will tell. Let’s hope she is careful, down in the hollow.”
    Edgar stared, unsure about what had just been said. Then, without knowing why, he tucked the captain into his jerkin. When he finally went to sleep at the end of the day, the small wooden figure sat perched on the end of his bed.
    The cellar was dark and dingy. It was no place for a young boy. But there was to be no choice. In the darkness of the room while Edgar slept, the eyes of the wooden soldier still glowed.

Before Frankie’s family had been taken by the authorities, they had supplied the inn with bread. For some time now Sam had been struggling by on his own. But since Frankie had arrived she was making her mark on the place and showing him just how it was done.
    When Pip and Toad were still sleeping through sunrise Frankie would be up and about in the scullery, mixing the dough and warming up the clay oven. She was not afraid to work and