Free When Marnie Was There by Joan G. Robinson

you describe it?” reminded Anna of Miss Davison’s English exercises at school, and her resistance was aroused. In any case, how could you describe the smell of the beach? It just smelled of the sea, or seaweed – though occasionally, if the wind were in the wrong direction, and nature had done her worst – of a dead seal. But who wanted to hear about the smell of a dead seal on a postcard? Instead, she gave an accurate account of the weather and (since this was uppermost in her mind) the state of the tides during the last few days.
    After dinner she went out again, waited until the tide was low enough, then paddled across to the marsh to pick her sea lavender.
    Mrs Pegg, seeing Anna’s postcard still on the mantelpiece, stamped and ready for posting, clicked her tongue. Really, the child would forget her head one of these days! She had specially reminded her to post it when she went out. She picked it up and looked at it curiously, with her eyes screwed up, turning it in all directions.
    “Well, I don’t know!” she said. “I never were no scholar, but – here, you read that.” She handed it to Sam. “What does that say?”
    Sam read aloud, laboriously, “The – beach – doesn’t – smell.”
    “There!” said Mrs Pegg triumphantly. “That’s what I thought it said!”
    “Well, that don’t smell, do it?”
    “No. And the moon ain’t blue. And cows don’t dance. And some folks ain’t got the sense they was born with. You, for one, Sam Pegg. Don’t it strike you that’s a queer way for a child to start a letter?”
    “Oh, ah! Happen she’d other things on her mind,” said Sam.
    “Happen she had,” said Mrs Pegg, shaking her head in a vaguely bewildered way. “Happen she always has, if you ask me.” Then she went out, posted the card, and forgot about it.
    That evening, as soon as the Peggs had settled down to their evening television, Anna fetched a book and sat reading near them on a low stool. After a while she began yawning and let the book slip sideways. When she had sat there long enough for her boredom with the book and her weariness with the programme to be noticed by the Peggs – or so she hoped – she rose and yawned again. Then, to the accompaniment of massed brass bands from an agricultural hall somewhere in East Anglia, she tiptoed hurriedly, with ostentatious quietness, towards the stairs.
    Once in her own room, she undressed and put on her nightdress. Then she pulled on her shorts, tucking the nightdress inside, and put on her jersey on top. Now she was ready. She waited until she judged the tide would be well on the way up, then picking up the bunch of sea lavender, she opened her door and listened. Then, stillunder cover of the noise from the television, she crept downstairs and slipped out through the scullery door.
    The Peggs, sitting like two ancient monuments in the flickering blue light, had their backs towards her and never even turned round.



Chapter Thirteen
T HE B EGGAR G IRL
    T HE BOAT WAS waiting. Anna stepped in and cast off the rope. In a moment, almost before she had time to dip the oars, she was drifting steadily along in the direction of The Marsh House. She scarcely needed to row; the boat seemed to know its own way.
    She was nearly opposite the house when she was startled to see there were lights in all the windows. What could it mean? And the sound of music was coming over the water! She rested on the oars and held her breath. This was whatshe had dreamed of – a party going on in the old house! As the little boat drifted slowly past, she saw, through the windows, the great staircase ablaze with light, and the bright colours of the ladies’ dresses moving about inside. And in the dark water, just as she had imagined it, she saw it all reflected, the lights spearing down in trembling points almost to the very edge of the boat.
    Then she had passed the house. Turning, she saw, in the darkness behind her, a small white figure standing at the top of the