The Borrowers Collection by Mary Norton

Author:Mary Norton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HMH Books

Pod drew a sigh of relief. “That’s better,” he said, relaxing slightly and using his normal voice.

“But where is Spiller?” fussed Homily, her teeth chattering with cold. “Maybe he’s met with an accident.”

“But that was Spiller,” put in Arrietty eagerly, “coming down the tree with the nail scissor. He’d have it slung by the handle on his shoulder.”

“You mean you saw him?”

“No, you don’t see Spiller. Not when he doesn’t want you to.”

“He’d kind of match up with the bark,” explained Pod.

“Then if you didn’t see him,” said Homily after a moment, “how can you be certain?”

“Well, you can’t be certain,” agreed Pod.

Homily seemed perturbed. “You think it was Spiller cut the rope?”

“Seemingly,” said Pod. “Shinned up the tree by that loose bit of leftover. Like I used to with my name tape, remember?”

Homily peered at the brambles. “Say that is his boat under there, which I doubt—why didn’t he just come and fetch us?”

“Like I told you,” said Pod wearily, “he was laying up till dark. Use your head, Homily. Spiller needs this river—it’s his livelihood, like. True, he might have got us off. But—say he was spotted by Mild Eye: he’d be marked down by the gypsies from then on—boat and all. See what I mean? They’d be on the watch for him. Sometimes,” Pod went on, “you don’t talk like a borrower. You and Arrietty both—you go on at times as though you never heard about cover and such-like, let alone about being seen. You go on, the both of you, like a couple of human beings. . . .”

“Now, Pod,” protested Homily, “no need to get insulting.”

“But I mean it,” said Pod. “And as far as Spiller knew, we was all right here till dark. Once the hook had gone.”

They were quiet a moment, listening to the splashes across the water. Homily, caught by the sound of that brisk, familiar voice, moved away from Pod in order to hear what was happening. “Come on, now,” Ernie Runacre was saying, “get your foot on that root. That’s right. Give us your hand. . . . Bit early, I’d say, for a dip. Wouldn’t choose it myself. Sooner try me hand at a bit of fishing . . . providing, of course, I weren’t too particular about the bylaws. Come on now”—he caught his breath as though to heave—“one, two, three—hup! Well, there you are! Now, let’s take a look at this basket. . . .”

Homily, to get a glimpse of them, had hauled herself up on a twig when she felt Pod’s hand on her arm. “Watch,” she exclaimed excitedly, gripping his fingers with hers, “he’ll find that borrowed fish! That rainbow trout or whatever it’s called. . . .”

“Come on, now,” whispered Pod.

“Just a minute, Pod—”

“But he’s waiting,” insisted Pod. “Better we go now, he says, while they’re taken up with that basket. . . . And that light on the bank, he says, will make the river seem darker.”

Homily turned slowly: there was Spiller’s boat, bobbing alongside, with Spiller and Arrietty in the stern.

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