Cress Watercress by Gregory Maguire

Author:Gregory Maguire [Litchfield, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781536224559
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2022-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Mama loped in, droopy and flustered. She set down a small pot of warm honey.

“Are you kidding me?” asked Cress. “After hunting for us all night, you went out again?”

“We were low on honey, and I wanted to beat Tunk to the supply,” said Mama, yawning. “I knew you’d be safe with a guest in the house.” She didn’t notice the eggs. She fell asleep facedown on the carpet.

“Let’s go grab some grubs for breakfast,” said Fricassee. “We’ll let her catch forty winks.”

“Okay,” said Cress. “Can you teach me how to lay an egg?”

“No,” said the hen. “It’s a trade secret. Oops, here comes a third. Excuse me just a moment.”

“I wonder if Mr. Owl would like eggs,” said Cress. “We’re way behind on our rent. Mama is too tired to harvest moths every night. She falls asleep.”

“He wants them, he can have them. Works for me,” said Fricassee. But Kip, out of his crib, had rushed to the eggs to hold them and love them and sit on them. And then he needed a bath, because the eggs were no longer of this world. Cress nearly said “Yolk!”

So Fricassee and Cress each took Kip by the paw and tiptoed out of the flat, leaving Mama in snores on the floor.

“Wait,” called Mr. Owl, that busybody from on high. “You’d better leave your mama a note about where you’re going. She’s been through enough as it is.”

“There’s no privacy in this place,” whispered Cress to Fricassee.

“I heard that,” said Mr. Owl. “Make a note of it. In fact, take one of those small hinged pages that Dr. Oakleaf gave you and write your mother. Make a note of it. Joke!”

“Everyone is saying that now,” said Cress. “It’s so tired.” Still, she took the landlord’s advice. She went inside and wrote: We’re going out.

On the other side of the paper, she drew a musical note. She stuck it on the loom where her mother would see it.

Back outside, she called to Mr. Owl, “I made a note of it.”

“That’s the ticket,” he replied.

The Broken Arms was low-key this morning. The Oakleaf family was sleeping off the party of the night before. The songbirds hadn’t sung matins; they were still resting their heads under their wings. Manny and Sophie Crabgrass sat on their fire escape, warming their fur in the sunshine. Sophie groomed her tail, and Manny was reciting baseball scores to her in a low voice. They waved but didn’t holler.

Fricassee Sunday settled under the willow tree and worried nits out of her pinfeathers. In the shallows where the willow leaves dragged in the water, Cress splashed Kip clean of eggy mess.

“It’s peaceful here,” said Fricassee. “No blunder to speak of? I hardly know what to do with myself.” A couple of beavers were heading downstream, probably intending to build a new dam, cause a flood, create havoc of some sort. Blunder always seemed to be in the schedule, sooner or later. But not right now. “What do you call this neighborhood?” asked the hen.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.