The Runaways Read Free Page A

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 thebirds 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 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