Free Night Birds On Nantucket by Joan Aiken Page A

and they were off.

    â€˜Whizzo!’ she said, as they rattled through the dimly lit streets. ‘This is something like, ain’t it? I loves drivin’ – if only it didn’t rain and blow
quite
so hard. I say, Pen, does you know the way?’
    â€˜Mungo knows it, I dare say,’ said Pen faintly – she had soon left the box and was huddled down in the bottom of the cart trying to keep herself from slipping about. ‘Mamma used to send him in to market on his own with the eggs and stuff. Just give him his head, he’ll find his way home.’
    In no time they were out of the little town and making their way along a high and exposed sandy track in open country. The wind and rain buffeted them and it was too dark to see anything except some low-growing shrubs by the roadside. A distant, continuous roar could be heard to their right, and from ahead of them came louder, but intermittent booming.
    â€˜What’s all that row?’ Dido said.
    â€˜It’s the waves.’
    â€˜But we’ve just come from the sea.’
    â€˜Nantucket’s an island, don’t forget,’ Pen sighed drearily. ‘What you can hear is the breakers on the south and east shores. Oh, how I hate it!’
    â€˜Now,
Pen
, cheer up, do!’ Dido said. ‘How about asong to keep ourselves cheerful, one o’ Nate’s?’ And she began to sing in a hoarse but tuneful voice:
    â€˜Oh, fierce is the Ocean and wild is the Sound,
    But the isle of Nantucket is where I am bound,
    Sweet isle of Nantucket! where the grapes are so red,
    And the light flashes nightly on Sankaty Head!’
    Inspired by this, Mungo the mule actually broke into a canter and so they went briskly on their way through the storm.
    â€˜Hey,’ said Dido, at last, ‘Pen, here’s a gate. Croopus, did you ever see sich a peculiar one? Is this your pa’s place?’
    â€˜I think so,’ Pen sighed faintly, peering forward in the gloom. ‘Yes, he put up the gate; it is made of a spermwhale’s jawbone. Oh, I am so cold and wet and miserable.’
    â€˜Ne’mind, in ten minutes you’ll be tucked in bed with a warming-pan. There’s a barn, anyhows; Mungo seems to think he lives here.’
    In fact, after they had passed the gate, which was like an enormous wish-bone, Mungo trotted into the big barn without worrying any further about his human passengers; Penitence was rather impatient when Dido insisted on unharnessing him and giving him a rub with a wisp of hay, ‘Just in case,’ she said, ‘your Auntie Trib don’t fancy stepping out into the wet. All right, come on now, bring your traps.’
    There appeared to be quite a group of farm buildings set in a hollow of the hillside with a few trees roundabout. Not a light showed anywhere and it was hard to be sure which was the dwelling-house.
    At last they found what seemed to be a house door and Pen, a sudden memory returning from earlier childhood, stood on tiptoe and discovered a key hanging on a nail.
    â€˜Hooroar,’ Dido said as they stepped inside. ‘Ain’t I glad to get in out o’ the wet. Know where the candles is kept, Pen?’
    â€˜N-no, I forget,’ Pen said dolefully. ‘Oh, isn’t it dark and cold!’
    Luckily, feeling about, Dido chanced to knock over a candle; when it was restored and lit they saw that they were in a large, old-fashioned kitchen which, given warmth and light, would have been a cheerful place enough. There was a big potbellied stove, black, unlit, and unwelcoming; a brightly-coloured braided rug, and a dresser covered with dishes. An enormous grandfather clock ticked solemnly against the wall. The place was clean and tidy but silent, empty, and deathly cold.
    â€˜Oh,’ whispered Pen. ‘What shall we do now?’
    â€˜Do? Why, go to bed. Things’ll be better in the morning,’ Dido said stoutly. ‘Where’s the stairs?’
    Pen