skittering—and Pod's voice shouting, "Dang you ... dang you ... dang you!" Then there was silence.
Arrietty crept along the ankle of the boot and put her head out into the air: their cave was filled with bright moonlight, and every object could be plainly seen. Arrietty stepped out and looked about her. A silvery Pod stood on the lip of the alcove, staring down at the moon-drenched field.
"What was it?" called Homily from the depths of the boot.
"Danged field mice," called Pod, "been at the corn."
And Arrietty saw in that pale, friendly light that the sandy floor of the annex was strewn with empty husks.
"Well, that's that," said Pod, turning back and kicking the scattered husks. "Better get the thistle," he added, "and sweep up the mess."
Arrietty did so, almost dancing. Enchanted, she felt, by this friendly radiance which lent an unfamiliar magic to even the most matter-of-fact objects such as Pod's bell-clapper hanging from its nail and the whitened stitching on the boot. When she had made three neat piles of husks, she joined Pod at the lip of the alcove and they sat silent for a while on the still warm sand, listening to the night.
An owl called from the spinney beside the brook—a fluting, musical note which was answered, at great distance, by a note as haunting in a slightly higher key: weaving a shuttle of sound back and forth across the sleeping pasture, linking the sea of moonlight and the velvet shadowed woods.
Whatever the danger, Arrietty thought, sitting there at peace beside her father, whatever the difficulty, I still am glad we came.
"What we need in this place," said Pod at last, breaking the long silence, "is some kind of tin."
"Tin?" repeated Arrietty vaguely, not sure she had understood.
"Or a couple of tins. A cocoa tin would do. Or one of them they use for 'baccy." He was silent awhile, and then he added, "That pit we dug weren't deep enough: bet them danged field mice have been at the nuts."
"Couldn't you learn to shoot a bow and arrow?" asked Arrietty after a moment.
"Whatever for?" asked Pod.
Arrietty hesitated. Then, all in a breath, she told him about Spiller; the well-sprung bow, the thorn-tipped, deadly arrows. And she described how Spiller had been watching them from the darkness when they played out their scene with the moth on the stage of the lighted alcove.
"I don't like that," said Pod after a moment's thought, "not neighbors watching, I don't like. Can't have that, you know. Not by night nor by day neither; it ain't healthy, if you get my meaning."
Arrietty did get his meaning. "What we want here is some kind of shutter or door. A piece of chicken wire might do. Or that cheese-grater, perhaps—the one we had at home. It would have to be something that lets the light in, I mean," she went on. "We can't go back to living in the dark."
"I got an idea," said Pod suddenly. He stood up and, turning about, craned his neck upwards to the overhang above. The slender sapling, silvery with moonlight, leaned above the bank. Pod stared a moment at the leaves against the sky as though calculating distances; then, looking down, he kicked about the sand with his feet.
"What is it?" whispered Arrietty, thinking he had lost something.
"Ah—" said Pod, in a pleased voice ¿nd went down on his knees. "This 'ould do." And he shoveled about with his hands, uncovering after a moment a snaking loop of tough root, seemingly endless. "Yes," he repeated. "This'll do fine."
"What for?" asked Arrietty, wildly curious.
"Get me the twine," said Pod. "There on that shelf, where the tools are—"
Arrietty, standing on tiptoe, reached her hand into the sandy recess and found the ball of twine.
"Give it here," said Pod, "and get me the bell-clapper."
Arrietty watched her father tie a length of twine on to the bell-clapper and, balancing a little perilously on the very edge of their terrace, take careful aim and, with a violent effort, fling the clapper up into the branches above: it caught
Arrietty crept along the ankle of the boot and put her head out into the air: their cave was filled with bright moonlight, and every object could be plainly seen. Arrietty stepped out and looked about her. A silvery Pod stood on the lip of the alcove, staring down at the moon-drenched field.
"What was it?" called Homily from the depths of the boot.
"Danged field mice," called Pod, "been at the corn."
And Arrietty saw in that pale, friendly light that the sandy floor of the annex was strewn with empty husks.
"Well, that's that," said Pod, turning back and kicking the scattered husks. "Better get the thistle," he added, "and sweep up the mess."
Arrietty did so, almost dancing. Enchanted, she felt, by this friendly radiance which lent an unfamiliar magic to even the most matter-of-fact objects such as Pod's bell-clapper hanging from its nail and the whitened stitching on the boot. When she had made three neat piles of husks, she joined Pod at the lip of the alcove and they sat silent for a while on the still warm sand, listening to the night.
An owl called from the spinney beside the brook—a fluting, musical note which was answered, at great distance, by a note as haunting in a slightly higher key: weaving a shuttle of sound back and forth across the sleeping pasture, linking the sea of moonlight and the velvet shadowed woods.
Whatever the danger, Arrietty thought, sitting there at peace beside her father, whatever the difficulty, I still am glad we came.
"What we need in this place," said Pod at last, breaking the long silence, "is some kind of tin."
"Tin?" repeated Arrietty vaguely, not sure she had understood.
"Or a couple of tins. A cocoa tin would do. Or one of them they use for 'baccy." He was silent awhile, and then he added, "That pit we dug weren't deep enough: bet them danged field mice have been at the nuts."
"Couldn't you learn to shoot a bow and arrow?" asked Arrietty after a moment.
"Whatever for?" asked Pod.
Arrietty hesitated. Then, all in a breath, she told him about Spiller; the well-sprung bow, the thorn-tipped, deadly arrows. And she described how Spiller had been watching them from the darkness when they played out their scene with the moth on the stage of the lighted alcove.
"I don't like that," said Pod after a moment's thought, "not neighbors watching, I don't like. Can't have that, you know. Not by night nor by day neither; it ain't healthy, if you get my meaning."
Arrietty did get his meaning. "What we want here is some kind of shutter or door. A piece of chicken wire might do. Or that cheese-grater, perhaps—the one we had at home. It would have to be something that lets the light in, I mean," she went on. "We can't go back to living in the dark."
"I got an idea," said Pod suddenly. He stood up and, turning about, craned his neck upwards to the overhang above. The slender sapling, silvery with moonlight, leaned above the bank. Pod stared a moment at the leaves against the sky as though calculating distances; then, looking down, he kicked about the sand with his feet.
"What is it?" whispered Arrietty, thinking he had lost something.
"Ah—" said Pod, in a pleased voice ¿nd went down on his knees. "This 'ould do." And he shoveled about with his hands, uncovering after a moment a snaking loop of tough root, seemingly endless. "Yes," he repeated. "This'll do fine."
"What for?" asked Arrietty, wildly curious.
"Get me the twine," said Pod. "There on that shelf, where the tools are—"
Arrietty, standing on tiptoe, reached her hand into the sandy recess and found the ball of twine.
"Give it here," said Pod, "and get me the bell-clapper."
Arrietty watched her father tie a length of twine on to the bell-clapper and, balancing a little perilously on the very edge of their terrace, take careful aim and, with a violent effort, fling the clapper up into the branches above: it caught
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