Free The Tale of Hill Top Farm by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

fine sheep for the fells, strong and hardy. They’re heafed to their home places and thrive on even a poor pasture.”
    “Heafed?” Beatrix asked.
    “They know where they belong, and they doan’t wander.”
    “An admirable quality,” Beatrix murmured. She thought to herself that it was a gift to know where home was, whether you were a sheep or a person.
    “Aye. And when t’ winter storms come roarin’ down t’ fells, they can live in a snowdrift for nigh on a fortnight—on their own wool, if need be.”
    Still thinking about the Herdwicks whose wool was no longer wanted, Beatrix followed Mr. Jennings through the meadow and up the slope to the garden, or, rather, where she hoped to put the new garden. The existing garden, with its raggedy flay-crow (the Lakelanders’ name for a scarecrow), was small and terribly untidy. There were disappointingly few animals, too, although that could be easily remedied. Hill Top seemed to have specialized in pigs that year, for there had been quite a number. Most had already been sold—and a good thing, too, Mr. Jennings remarked with a wry smile, since the pigs had eaten nearly all the potatoes. Any that remained should have to go on short rations.
    “What do you think, Mr. Jennings?” Beatrix inquired seriously, as they paused at the barnyard fence. “Shall we have pigs again next year?”
    “Oh, aye,” Jennings agreed, not looking at her. “Allus good to have pigs. If they does well, tha can get a name, sellin’ pigs here and there.” Leaning against the fence, he took his pipe out of his pocket and began to fill it with tobacco from a leather pouch. “But afore tha has more pigs, tha’ll need to put some money into fixin’ t’ broken boards on t’ pigsty. Can’t have pigs runnin’ loose and frettin’ t’ village, now, can we?”
    “No, of course not,” Beatrix said, although she privately thought that, as far as the villagers were concerned, a few loose pigs might provide a welcome distraction on a dull day. She reached down to pet Rascal, who had been following them on their walk. “And cows?” she pressed. “I counted only four.”
    “Aye, cows.” Jennings nodded impassively. “O’ course, tha’d have to buy t’ right stock—Ayrshires, I’d say. And if tha has more cows, tha’ll need a new stone floor in t’ dairy, and a new roof. T’ missus sez t’ old dairy isna fit t’ keep cheese and butter in, for t’ rats. Rats is so big, they could just about carry off t’ cats.”
    “D’you hear that?” Rascal said to the ginger cat . “Why aren’t you out in the barn, taking care of those rats?”
    “That’s the barn cats’ job,” Felicia Frummety explained . “We all have our territories, you know, and the barn cats don’t much like it if I trespass. I’m responsible for the house—and believe you me, no rat dares to show his whiskers whilst I’m on duty. Or her whiskers,” she added, thinking of Rosabelle Rat, who lived in the attic and had so far proved too wily to catch.
    “I see,” Beatrix said, mentally adding the cost of a new dairy to the cost of the pigsty and the cost of the Ayrshires. It was clear that the next few books would have to return enough royalties to manage the improvements she wanted to make. “I noticed that there aren’t any sheep,” she added after a moment. “It would be good to have at least a few Herdwicks, wouldn’t you say? It would be a pity to see a fine breed die out.”
    “Herdwicks?” Rascal said in some surprise. He personally liked the Herdwicks, who seemed to him more intelligent than most other sheep. But the farmers always complained that they couldn’t make any money from their wool, and there wasn’t any market for the meat. Didn’t Miss Potter intend to turn a profit from her farm?
    “Herdwicks, then,” Jennings said, seeming pleased. He tamped the tobacco in his pipe. “ ’Tis a bit late in t’ year, but we might find four or five draft ewes for sale at Penrith. November