Milo and the Pirate Sisters Read Online Free
Author: Mary Arrigan
was a woman in it and Dad said she was just like you, Miss.’
‘Which war, Willie?’ Miss Lee asked, with a puzzled frown.
‘The big one, Miss,’ Willie went on. ‘The one with Hitler. What did you do when the bombs dropped, Miss?’
‘Willie,’ Miss Lee said calmly. ‘When was that war?’
‘Dunno, Miss.’
‘It started in 1939,’ Miss Lee said slowly. ‘And it finished in 1945, Willie. How old do you think I am?’
Willie thought for a while, his face blank.
‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she went on. ‘Now, do the maths, Willie.’
Willie screwed up his eyes as he tried to work out the sums, but the lights in his head were switched off. ‘Dunno, Miss,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘go on with the war, Miss. What was it like to be in it?’
We all laughed, especially Miss Lee.
After we settled down, Shane put up his hand. I bit my lip in fear that the question he’d cough up might make everyone holler again.
‘Miss,’ he began. ‘Do you know that old mill near the river?’
‘I do indeed know it, Shane,’ she said.
Good thinking, I thought, giving him an approving nod.
‘Could you tell us a bit about it?’ Shane continued. ‘You know everything about the history of the town,’ he added, just to get on her good side.
There were groans of ‘boring’ and ‘poncy’ from some of the hard guys. Miss Lee quietened them when she suggested switching to sums. There was a hush and we all sighed when she began. Not that the class were interested; it was the dossing that delighted most of them.
Miss Lee cleared her throat. ‘All that land around the mill was owned by the rich Maguire clan, who lived there in a fine house from the sixteen hundreds until the eighteen sixties.’ She went on. ‘They even had their own burial place in a mausoleum they had built on their land—’
‘Us too!’ interrupted Willie Jones. ‘We bury all our cats on our land.’
‘I hope they’re dead,’ someone from the back shouted.
Even Miss Lee laughed at that.
‘Go on with the story, Miss,’ said Shane. ‘Tell us about the mill.’
‘Indeed,’ said Miss Lee. ‘I’m coming to that, Shane. Well, the last of the family was a reclusive old man, Niall Maguire—’
Another hand went up. ‘What does reclusive mean, Miss?’
Miss Lee gave a big sigh. ‘It means thathe didn’t mix with people. Apart from a delivery boy who brought him his groceries from the town, nobody was welcomed into the big, rambling house, which gradually began to deteriorate with dampness and crumbling plaster. When he died, Niall was buried with his ancestors.’
‘What happened the house, Miss?’ I asked.
‘A distant cousin from Kildare took over,’ she said. ‘His name was Timothy McDonnell Maguire.’
‘That’s two surnames, Miss,’ someone interrupted. ‘That’s real posh.’
Miss Lee nodded. ‘Some people still like to keep family names from the mother’s side,’ she explained.
‘Well,’ said Tim McCarthy, the guy who sits near me, ‘if people still used two surnames, I would be Timothy Harty McCarthy.’
‘Indeed,’ Miss Lee sighed.
Quick as a flash, Willie Jones called out that Tim could even have THREE surnames. ‘That’d be well posh,’ he added.
Tim grinned with pride. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Cool.’
Guessing exactly where Willie was going with rhyming names, Miss Lee said sharply, ‘That’s enough for now. Get out your maths workbooks.’
We all glared at Willie.
‘But, Miss,’ Shane wailed. ‘What about the mill?’
‘Yes, go on, Miss,’ I added in support.
‘That can wait for another time,’ she said, ‘when we can have a mature conversation.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BEES
A fter school, Shane and me were heading home when we spotted Crunch coming out of the supermarket with his mum. His nose was still dotted with green cream. He scowled at us when Shane said hello and asked him sweetly how he was feeling. What was Shane thinking, being all
‘Which war, Willie?’ Miss Lee asked, with a puzzled frown.
‘The big one, Miss,’ Willie went on. ‘The one with Hitler. What did you do when the bombs dropped, Miss?’
‘Willie,’ Miss Lee said calmly. ‘When was that war?’
‘Dunno, Miss.’
‘It started in 1939,’ Miss Lee said slowly. ‘And it finished in 1945, Willie. How old do you think I am?’
Willie thought for a while, his face blank.
‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she went on. ‘Now, do the maths, Willie.’
Willie screwed up his eyes as he tried to work out the sums, but the lights in his head were switched off. ‘Dunno, Miss,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘go on with the war, Miss. What was it like to be in it?’
We all laughed, especially Miss Lee.
After we settled down, Shane put up his hand. I bit my lip in fear that the question he’d cough up might make everyone holler again.
‘Miss,’ he began. ‘Do you know that old mill near the river?’
‘I do indeed know it, Shane,’ she said.
Good thinking, I thought, giving him an approving nod.
‘Could you tell us a bit about it?’ Shane continued. ‘You know everything about the history of the town,’ he added, just to get on her good side.
There were groans of ‘boring’ and ‘poncy’ from some of the hard guys. Miss Lee quietened them when she suggested switching to sums. There was a hush and we all sighed when she began. Not that the class were interested; it was the dossing that delighted most of them.
Miss Lee cleared her throat. ‘All that land around the mill was owned by the rich Maguire clan, who lived there in a fine house from the sixteen hundreds until the eighteen sixties.’ She went on. ‘They even had their own burial place in a mausoleum they had built on their land—’
‘Us too!’ interrupted Willie Jones. ‘We bury all our cats on our land.’
‘I hope they’re dead,’ someone from the back shouted.
Even Miss Lee laughed at that.
‘Go on with the story, Miss,’ said Shane. ‘Tell us about the mill.’
‘Indeed,’ said Miss Lee. ‘I’m coming to that, Shane. Well, the last of the family was a reclusive old man, Niall Maguire—’
Another hand went up. ‘What does reclusive mean, Miss?’
Miss Lee gave a big sigh. ‘It means thathe didn’t mix with people. Apart from a delivery boy who brought him his groceries from the town, nobody was welcomed into the big, rambling house, which gradually began to deteriorate with dampness and crumbling plaster. When he died, Niall was buried with his ancestors.’
‘What happened the house, Miss?’ I asked.
‘A distant cousin from Kildare took over,’ she said. ‘His name was Timothy McDonnell Maguire.’
‘That’s two surnames, Miss,’ someone interrupted. ‘That’s real posh.’
Miss Lee nodded. ‘Some people still like to keep family names from the mother’s side,’ she explained.
‘Well,’ said Tim McCarthy, the guy who sits near me, ‘if people still used two surnames, I would be Timothy Harty McCarthy.’
‘Indeed,’ Miss Lee sighed.
Quick as a flash, Willie Jones called out that Tim could even have THREE surnames. ‘That’d be well posh,’ he added.
Tim grinned with pride. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Cool.’
Guessing exactly where Willie was going with rhyming names, Miss Lee said sharply, ‘That’s enough for now. Get out your maths workbooks.’
We all glared at Willie.
‘But, Miss,’ Shane wailed. ‘What about the mill?’
‘Yes, go on, Miss,’ I added in support.
‘That can wait for another time,’ she said, ‘when we can have a mature conversation.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BEES
A fter school, Shane and me were heading home when we spotted Crunch coming out of the supermarket with his mum. His nose was still dotted with green cream. He scowled at us when Shane said hello and asked him sweetly how he was feeling. What was Shane thinking, being all