"Norton, Mary - Bedknob and Broomstick 01-02 - Bedknob and Broomstick" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Mary)

Miss Price stood aside on the threshold. "Come in," she said. "Go right in."
The children filed past her and then they stood silent, gazing at the shelves.
"Well?" exclaimed Miss Price sharply. "It's very nice, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Carey huskily.
There was no alligator; no chart of the Zodiac; no exercise books; no newts' eyes; no boxes that might have held dried mice. Instead there was row upon row of bottled fruits and vegetables in every shade of color, from the pale jade of gooseberries to the dusky carmine of pickled cabbage.
Miss Price ran her finger along the labels: "Tomatoes, apple pulp, plums, greengages, elderberries-they mix very well with black currants. Do you know that?"
"No," said Carey, "I didn't."
"Red currants, sliced pears, tarragon in vinegar, green tomato chutney. . . . What's this? Oh, I know-mushroom catchup. The label's come off." She held the jar to the light. "Looks a bit mottled-" She pushed the jar back out of sight. "Some of these are last year's," she explained hastily. "Red currants, loganberries, and rose-hip cordial." She rubbed her hands together. "Well?" she said again, as if waiting for praise.
"It's-" Carey swallowed. "It's very nice."
Paul's eyes were round and his face unhappy. "Where's the crocodile?" he asked bluntly.
Miss Price colored. "You see, Paul, I-"
Carey came quickly to her rescue. "People don't keep things for always, Paul." She glanced at the shelves. "Think of the puddings! Think of the lovely, lovely puddings."
"Yes," said Paul.
"You see, Paul," said Miss Price more calmly, "sometimes people do things for a bit and then they give them up. Smoking, for instance. People often give up smoking."
Paul looked bewildered.
"And drink. People give up drink."
Paul looked still more puzzled. Miss Price smiled at him very kindly. "Haven't you ever given up sugar in your tea for Lent?"
AND LOST AGAIN III
Paul blinked his eyes. "Yes, but-"
"You see, Paul," interrupted Carey sharply, "Miss Price has given up alligators. Come on, now." She began to pull him toward the door.
"For ever?" persisted Paul."
Miss Price nodded her head. "For ever and ever," she said.
"Or just for Lent?" put in Paul.
Miss Price glanced at him swiftly. It was a strange look, almost startled; she seemed struck by a sudden idea.
"Lent is over," she said, but seemed to hesitate. Then once more she became firm. "No," she went on. "For ever and ever. If we do things, it shouldn't be by halves."
"But anything's all right," said Charles, "in moderation."
"Not magic," said Miss Price.
"You once said even magic."
"Did I?" asked Miss Price. "Did I really say that?"
"Yes, you did. I remember quite well."
"Did I really?" said Miss Price pensively. "Well. Anyway," she added quickly, "come along now. It's nearly Paul's bedtime. Careful of the step."
Charles wandered out into the garden while Carey bathed Paul. He leaned over the back fence and stared at Tinker's Hill. So she had given up magic! That was what came of looking forward to something too much-a feeling of flatness and disappointment. Finding the bed-knob, which at the time had almost seemed a "sign," now only added to the sense of loss. He thought of Cornwall, and of mackerel-fishing; of rocks and coves and beaches at low tide. Oh, well, he told himself, we're in the country anyway. There would be walks and explorations, and there was always the river. There might even be a boat. And then he felt some-thing move under his shoe. It was a mole, diving upwards through the soft earth and hitting the exact spot where he had placed his foot. In a minute he was on his knees, pulling up the coarse sods of grass that grew down there beside the fence. He dug with his hands into the soft earth, throwing it aside as a dog does, and did not notice Carey until she stood beside him.
"What are you doing?"
"Digging for a mole." He sat back on his heels. "I say, Carey-" He looked up at her face and paused. "What's the matter?"
Carey's expression was odd. She looked half afraid. "I want you to come and look at something," she said.
"Let me just finish this!"
"You'll never catch it now." She paused. "This is important."
"What is it?" asked Charles, half getting up.
"Come and see."
"Can't you tell me what it is?"
Carey turned away and began walking toward the house. Charles followed her. As they reached the front door, he said: "You might tell me-"
Carey turned right round, putting her finger to her lips.
"Ssh-" she said.
"Where's Miss Price?" asked Charles in a loud whisper.
"Ssh-" said Carey again. "She's in the kitchen. Making macaroni cheese. Come on."
He followed her up the stairs.
"It's in here," said Carey, "where Paul sleeps." She threw open a door.
It was Miss Price's bedroom. Very clean, very neat, very fragrant. A large photograph of a military gentleman hung over the mantel. There were silver brushes on the dressing table and a porcelain "tree" for rings. Paul was tucked up in a bed on the sofa, a small Victorian couch with a curved back that just fitted him.
"Well, it's all right," said Charles, staring at Paul, who looked unusually clean and round-eyed.
"What's all right?" asked Carey.