Aunt Effie's Ark Read Online Free

big alleys we couldn’t afford, and not one of them chipped. He cried when he lost, and we liked watching his tears run into his beard.
    But that morning, even though we played kingaseeny hard, the icicles on the little ones’ noses grew longer. When Mr Jones rang the bell to finish playtime, it was frozen and wouldn’t ding. He put it on top of the stove. “It’ll thaw out,” he shouted, “and we’ll hear it ring all the dings then.”
    â€œPlease, sir, when’s Arithmetic?” asked Daisy.
    Mr Jones pulled a pound note from his pocket. “Run over to the billiard saloon. Give this quid to Mrs Doleman and tell her I want ten bob each way on Phar Lap in the first race at Te Aroha.”
    â€œPlease, sir, are we going to do any Nature Study today ?” asked Alwyn.
    â€œEveryone run and pull ten weeds out of my vegie garden !” shouted Mr Jones. As we gave him our weeds, Daisy came puffing in the door, and she counted and made sure we each had ten.
    â€œThat’s Nature Study and Arithmetic for today!” bellowed Mr Jones. “Now – Science!” And he showed us how to make gunpowder. By the time we came back inside, after blowing a stump out of the middle of the basketball court, the little ones were so cold their fingers had frozen together.
    â€œSocial Studies!” shouted Mr Jones. “Has anyone gotany news?”
    â€œPlease, sir,” Marie said, “the Prime Minister called all our names on the wireless last Friday.”
    Mr Jones looked nervously at the wireless set over the door.
    â€œShe told us to behave ourselves,” said Lizzie. “Please, sir. And she called Aunt Effie by The Name We Dare Not Say, twice! And then she went to sleep for the winter.”
    Mr Jones looked at Peter. “Is that true?”
    â€œPlease, sir, we heard her snoring. And they played ‘Now Is the Hour’, and the wireless went off the air.”
    Mr Jones still wasn’t sure. We knew he was scared of the Prime Minister.
    â€œWe could sing ‘Po Kare Kare Ana’,” said Alwyn. “She likes that.”
    â€œMusical Appreciation!” Mr Jones stood on his chair, sang loudly in a deep voice and waved his arms, and we all waved back. We sang “Po Kare Kare Ana”. We sang “As We Trek Along Together”. We sang “By The Light of the Peat-Fire Flame”. We sang most of the songs in the old brown Broadcasting Book. To finish, we sang “God Defend Waharoa” right into the wireless, but no sound came back.
    â€œYou’re right,” shouted Mr Jones. “The Prime Minister must be hibernating. She usually stamps her feet and joins in when we sing ‘God Defend Waharoa’.”
    The little ones were even colder, and the icicles on their noses grew longer till Alwyn told them they looked like glass Pinocchios.
    â€œI’ll tell you what,” Mr Jones said to them, “I’ll get my strap and give you all six of the best on each hand. That should warm you up! It always warms me!” he laughed callously. The little ones cried because they didn’t know Mr Jones yet.
    He opened the drawer, pulled out the strap, and gave his table a huge whack. “Ow!” he cried.
    â€œOw!” Alwyn yelled.
    Mr Jones winced, shook his hand in the air above his head, and picked up the strap from the floor. The leather had frozen so hard it wouldn’t bend. “I can’t give anyone the cuts with that!” said Mr Jones. “It jars my hand!” We all cheered, and Mr Jones cheered, too. He was really a very kind man.
    â€œI can’t teach without a strap. Can you keep a secret?” he shouted at us.
    â€œYes!” we shouted back, all but Daisy.
    â€œSure?”
    â€œSure!”
    â€œPromise you won’t tell the Prime Minister when she wakes up?”
    â€œWe promise!” said everyone but Daisy.
    â€œFair dinkum?”
    â€œFair