Free Night Birds On Nantucket by Joan Aiken

of them, on the corner of Main and Union streets, was a store with windows still brightly lit up and a sign that said: ‘Bracy and Starbuck, Ships’ Outfitters and General Soft Goods’.
    â€˜I’m a-going in here,’ Dido said, and did so, ignoring Pen’s apprehensive squeak. She addressed herself to a man behind the counter.
    â€˜Hey, mister, I’ve got a load of clobber here that I don’t want, will you buy it off me?’
    To Pen’s horror the man was quite prepared to buy the carefully-made dresses and frilly underwear considered suitable by Cousin Ann. ‘What do I want with’em?’ Dido said. ‘I’d sooner have a pair of britches any day.’ She bought herself a red flannel shirt and a pair of denim trousers for one dollar sixty-two cents, and still had two dollars left. ‘Come on, Pen,’ she said, ‘we’ll go get us some prog. By the way,’ she asked the outfitter, ‘you don’t know if there’s anybody in town a-waiting for Miss Pen Casket, does you?’
    â€˜Little Miss Casket for the Casket farm?’ he said. ‘Why yes, the old mule’s been in every day this week. Guess he’s still around; Mr Hussey at the Grampus Inn knows not to loose him till the packet’s been in an hour. Are you little Miss Casket then? My, how you have growed!’
    Dido didn’t wait to chat. ‘Which way’s the Grampus Inn?’ she asked. ‘Come on, Pen, hurry!’ Slipping and stumbling, they ran along the cobbled streets, scaring a number of sheep which appeared to have come into the town to take shelter, and reached a building with a wildly swinging sign that showed a grampus in full spout. Below the sign was tethered a mule-cart; the dejected mule, his coat sleek with rain, seemed to be trying to keep his head dry by hiding it between his forelegs.
    â€˜Is that your pa’s cart?’ asked Dido.
    â€˜I – I’m not sure,’ Penitence confessed. ‘It’s such a long time since I was at home. There
was
a mule – I think he was called Mungo – but I used to be scared of him, I never noticed what he was like.’
    â€˜Oy,’ said Dido, going round to the mule’s front end. ‘Psst, you! Hey! Is your name Mungo?’
    The mule made no response, except to give her adespising glance from one white-rimmed eye, backwards, between his legs.
    â€˜I’m going in to ask,’ Dido said.
    â€˜Oh dear, I’m sure you shouldn’t go into an inn!’ Pen lamented. ‘There will be dreadful people. It isn’t ladylike behaviour!’
    â€˜Oh,
scrape
ladylike behaviour!’ Dido snapped impatiently. ‘If you want to get soaked and starved,
I
don’t!’
    She marched into the inn. Having ascertained that it was indeed Captain Casket’s mule and cart standing outside, she said: ‘Well, if he’s waited for us every day this week it won’t kill him to wait another twenty minutes,’ and to Pen’s fright she ordered three bowls of clam chowder. However, the chowder was so welcome when it came, savoury and hot, full of tender little clams, that Pen at length overcame her qualms and consented to eat it.
    â€˜Who’s the third bowl for?’ she asked.
    â€˜Why, poor old Mungo, o’ course,’ Dido said reprovingly. ‘If he’s got nine miles to go through the wet he ought to have summat to stay his stomach.’
    â€˜Will he like it?’ Pen quavered.
    â€˜We’ll soon see, won’t us? If he don’t, I dessay you can do with a second help.’
    However, the mule seemed quite willing to accept a helping of chowder and appeared to improve greatly in his spirits once he had snuffled it down. The dish was returned to the inn, Dido helped Pen into the cart and wrapped her in a quantity of sheepskins which were found under the seat. Then she untied Mungo’s head, slapped him with the reins,