On Mother Brown's Doorstep Read Online Free Page B

comes in, I bet ’e’ll make you sing a different tune.’
    ‘I bet ’e won’t,’ said Freddy, ‘I bet Dad wouldn’t wear no trousers, either, if Mum tried to put ’im in shorts for Susie’s weddin’.’
    ‘Dad’s a man, you soppy date,’ said Sally, ‘you’re only a boy.’
    ‘Can’t ’elp that,’ said Freddy, ‘me mind’s made up.’
    ‘Now, Freddy love, stop actin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘Crikey, what a life,’ said Freddy. ‘Me mate Daisy’s moved and me mum won’t let me wear long trousers. I ’ope this kind of bad luck ain’t goin’ to last me all year.’
    ‘I’ll speak sympathetic to your dad,’ said Mrs Brown placatingly, ‘but as for Daisy, she and her fam’ly couldn’t help ’aving to move, love.’
    Young Daisy Cook had been Freddy’s best street pal. She and her family had moved because their house had a rather unhappy history. A grisly murder had taken place there twelve years ago, in 1914.
    Freddy, eyeing his sister, took on a puzzled expression.
    ‘What’s ’appening to Sally?’ he asked. His young sister, who had fair curly hair and hazel eyes, was getting pretty. And something else. Crikey, she’d stopped growing short, she was shooting up. He’d been taller than her, even though three years younger. Now she was suddenly above him. All in a few months. ‘Here, what’re you wearin’, sis?’
    ‘Me?’ said Sally, her blue school gymslip short. 1926 was the year of exceptionally short hemlines. Legs were in. Or legs had come out, according to how one thought about the fashion. ‘What d’you mean, what’m I wearin’?’
    ‘Whose legs you wearin’?’ asked Freddy.
    ‘Not yours,’ said Sally, ‘or Susie’s.’
    ‘Look at ’er, Mum,’ said Freddy, ‘she’s standin’ on some kind of stilts.’
    ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ said Mrs Brown, and smiled proudly at Sally. ‘Yes, she’s goin’ to be as tall as our Susie.’
    ‘Something’s goin’ on,’ said Freddy. ‘Come on, you Sally, let’s ’ave a proper look at them legs of yours, I don’t want me friends sayin’ you’re walkin’ on someone else’s.’
    ‘Keep off,’ said Sally. Freddy, as larky as any Walworth boy, sped around the kitchen table to get at her. Sally yelled and rushed.
    ‘Mum, stop ’im!’
    ‘Now, Freddy, leave Sally be, there’s a good boy,’ said Mrs Brown placidly. In all her forty-three years, nothing had ever seriously ruffled her, except the possibility, during the war, that her husband Jim might not survive his terrible life in the trenches.
    ‘Mum!’ shrieked Sally, as Freddy kept after her.
    ‘Freddy, stop teasin’ her,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘Someone’s got to see whose legs she’s wearin’,’ said Freddy, but gave up when Sally put herself behind their plump mother.
    ‘Oh, yer daft ha’porth,’ said Sally, ‘how can anyone be wearin’ someone else’s legs?’
    ‘Yes, it beats me,’ said Freddy, ‘unless you bought a pair of long wooden ones down the market. I dunno what I’m goin’ to do if me mates find out one of me sisters is walkin’ about on wooden legs.’
    ‘Now you’re talkin’ silly, love,’ said Mrs Brown, going into the scullery to peel potatoes at the sink, ‘our Sally’s got nice natural legs.’
    ‘Yes, but ’ave yer seen what’s been ’appening to them lately?’ asked Freddy.
    ‘Sally’s growin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
    ‘I remember Susie growin’ up once,’ said Freddy.
    ‘Now how could anyone remember Susie only growin’ up once?’ asked Sally.
    ‘Well, I was only little at the time,’ said Freddy.
    ‘You’re potty,’ said Sally. ‘Mum, don’t you think it’s lovely our Will bein’ ’ome for the weddin’? Susie nearly cried when she saw ’im.’
    ‘It beats me, girls nearly cryin’ when they’re ’appy,’ said Freddy. ‘Mind you, Mum, I dunno that me brother’s all that well.’
    ‘He’s just got a bit of a chest,’ said Sally.
    ‘He’ll be all right now he’s home