all pieces—" Homily wailed, then clapped her hands to her temples and looked from side to side with wild eyes.
"It's nothing, Mother," Arrietty explained, irritated. "There's a lane just below the spinney: I saw it from the top of the hedge. It's people passing, that's all. They're bound to pass sometimes...."
"That's right," agreed Pod. "You don't want to worry. You eat up your grain—"
Homily stared distasefully at the bitten-into grain of corn (dry and hard as a breakfast roll three days after a picnic). "Me teeth ain't up to it," she said unhappily.
"According to Arrietty," explained Pod, holding up the spread fingers of his left hand and knocking each back in turn, "between us and that lane we got five barriers—the stream down at the corner—one; them posts with rusty wire across the stream—two; a fair-sized wood—three; another hedge—four; and a bit o' rough grazing ground—five." He turned to Arrietty. "Ain't that right, lass? You been up the hedge?"
Arrietty agreed. "But that bit of grazing ground belongs to the lane—a kind of grass verge."
"There you are then," exclaimed Pod triumphantly, slapping Homily on the back. "Common land! And someone's tethered a donkey there. What's wrong with that? Donkeys don't eat you—no more don't horses."
"A dog might," said Homily. "I heard a dog."
"And what of it?" exclaimed Pod. "It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. When I was a lad, down at the big house, the place was awash with setters, as you might say. Dogs is all right: you can talk to dogs."
Homily was silent a moment, rolling the wheat grain backwards and forwards on the flat piece of slate which they used as a table.
"It's no good," she said at last.
"What's no good?" asked Pod, dismayed.
"Going on like this," said Homily. "We got to do something before winter."
"Well, we are doing something, aren't we?" said Pod. He nodded toward Arrietty. "Like it says in her book-Rome weren't built in a day."
"Find some kind of human habitation," went on Homily, "that's what we've got to do—where there's fires and pickings and proper sort of cover." She hesitated. "Or," she went on in a set determined voice, "we got to go back home."
There was a stunned silence. "We got to do what?" asked Pod weakly, when he could find his voice; and Arrietty deeply upset, breathed, "Oh, Mother—"
"You heard me, Pod," said Homily. "All these hips and haws and watercress and dogs barking and foxes in the badger's set and creeping in the night and stealing and rain coming up and nothing to cook on. You see what I mean? Back home, in the big house, it wouldn't take us no time to put a few partitions up and get kind of straight again under the kitchen. We did it once, that time the boiler burst: we can do it again."
Pod stared across at her and when he spoke he spoke with the utmost gravity. "You don't know what you're saying, Homily. It's not just that they'll be waiting for us; that they've got the cat; set traps; laid down poison and all that caper. It's just that you don't go back, Homily, not once you've come out, you don't. And we ain't got a home. That's all over and done with. Like it or not, we got to go on now. See what I mean?" When Homily did not reply, he turned his grave face to Arrietty.
"I'm not saying we're not up against it; we are—right up against it. More than I like to let on. And if we don't stick together, we're finished—see? And it will be the end—like you once said, Arrietty—the end of our race! Never let me hear another word from either one of you, you or your mother, about"—with great solemnity he slightly raised his voice, stressing each word—"going back anywhere—let alone under the floor!"
They were very impressed; they both stared back at him unable, for the moment, to speak.
"Understand?" asked Pod sternly.
"Yes, Papa," whispered Arrietty; and Homily swallowed, nodding her head.
"That's right," Pod told them more gently. "Like it says in your book, Arrietty, 'A
"It's nothing, Mother," Arrietty explained, irritated. "There's a lane just below the spinney: I saw it from the top of the hedge. It's people passing, that's all. They're bound to pass sometimes...."
"That's right," agreed Pod. "You don't want to worry. You eat up your grain—"
Homily stared distasefully at the bitten-into grain of corn (dry and hard as a breakfast roll three days after a picnic). "Me teeth ain't up to it," she said unhappily.
"According to Arrietty," explained Pod, holding up the spread fingers of his left hand and knocking each back in turn, "between us and that lane we got five barriers—the stream down at the corner—one; them posts with rusty wire across the stream—two; a fair-sized wood—three; another hedge—four; and a bit o' rough grazing ground—five." He turned to Arrietty. "Ain't that right, lass? You been up the hedge?"
Arrietty agreed. "But that bit of grazing ground belongs to the lane—a kind of grass verge."
"There you are then," exclaimed Pod triumphantly, slapping Homily on the back. "Common land! And someone's tethered a donkey there. What's wrong with that? Donkeys don't eat you—no more don't horses."
"A dog might," said Homily. "I heard a dog."
"And what of it?" exclaimed Pod. "It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. When I was a lad, down at the big house, the place was awash with setters, as you might say. Dogs is all right: you can talk to dogs."
Homily was silent a moment, rolling the wheat grain backwards and forwards on the flat piece of slate which they used as a table.
"It's no good," she said at last.
"What's no good?" asked Pod, dismayed.
"Going on like this," said Homily. "We got to do something before winter."
"Well, we are doing something, aren't we?" said Pod. He nodded toward Arrietty. "Like it says in her book-Rome weren't built in a day."
"Find some kind of human habitation," went on Homily, "that's what we've got to do—where there's fires and pickings and proper sort of cover." She hesitated. "Or," she went on in a set determined voice, "we got to go back home."
There was a stunned silence. "We got to do what?" asked Pod weakly, when he could find his voice; and Arrietty deeply upset, breathed, "Oh, Mother—"
"You heard me, Pod," said Homily. "All these hips and haws and watercress and dogs barking and foxes in the badger's set and creeping in the night and stealing and rain coming up and nothing to cook on. You see what I mean? Back home, in the big house, it wouldn't take us no time to put a few partitions up and get kind of straight again under the kitchen. We did it once, that time the boiler burst: we can do it again."
Pod stared across at her and when he spoke he spoke with the utmost gravity. "You don't know what you're saying, Homily. It's not just that they'll be waiting for us; that they've got the cat; set traps; laid down poison and all that caper. It's just that you don't go back, Homily, not once you've come out, you don't. And we ain't got a home. That's all over and done with. Like it or not, we got to go on now. See what I mean?" When Homily did not reply, he turned his grave face to Arrietty.
"I'm not saying we're not up against it; we are—right up against it. More than I like to let on. And if we don't stick together, we're finished—see? And it will be the end—like you once said, Arrietty—the end of our race! Never let me hear another word from either one of you, you or your mother, about"—with great solemnity he slightly raised his voice, stressing each word—"going back anywhere—let alone under the floor!"
They were very impressed; they both stared back at him unable, for the moment, to speak.
"Understand?" asked Pod sternly.
"Yes, Papa," whispered Arrietty; and Homily swallowed, nodding her head.
"That's right," Pod told them more gently. "Like it says in your book, Arrietty, 'A
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