The Penderwicks on Gardam Street Read Online Free Page A

down Gardam Street.

CHAPTER THREE
    Bedtime Stories
    “— A ND HE HUNG HIS NEW COAT on the hook for his coat, and his new handkerchief on the hook for his handkerchief, and his pants on the hook for his pants, and his new rope on the hook for his rope, and himself he put in his bunk,” read Mr. Penderwick.
    “You left out Scuppers’s shoes.” Batty was in her bed, listening intently.
    “So you did,” said Aunt Claire.
    Mr. Penderwick went back a line or two. “His new shoes he put under his bunk, and then himself he put in his bunk.”
    “And here he is where he wants to be—a sailor sailing the deep green sea,” finished up Batty. “Now for the song.”
    “It’s late for songs. Time for sleep, Battikins.”
    “Rosalind always sings the song. Doesn’t she, Hound?”
    Hound barked nervously from his spot beside the bed. He liked to side with Batty, but after all, it was Mr. Penderwick who fed him.
    “Traitor beast,” said Mr. Penderwick.
    “Come on, Martin,” said Aunt Claire. “Let’s raise our voices in—I guess ‘celebration’ wouldn’t be quite the word for tonight. Let’s just raise our voices.”
    “As usual, I am outnumbered and outmaneuvered. I will sing, but only once, mind you.”
    And together all three sang, with Hound barking along:

    I am Scuppers the Sailor Dog—
    I’m Scuppers the Sailor Dog
    I can sail in a gale
    right over a whale
    under full sail
    in a fog.

    I am Scuppers the Sailor Dog—
    I’m Scuppers the Sailor Dog
    with a shake and a snort
    I can sail into port
    under full sail
    in a fog.

    When they finished, the two grown-ups tucked in Batty’s unicorn blanket and kissed her good night. She snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes, and stayed that way while they turned off the light and left the room, and then for another few moments, to give them enough time to go downstairs. Then she turned the light back on, slid out of bed, and tiptoed across the room to her new red wagon. It was the best wagon she’d ever seen, and she wondered how she could have lived without it until now.
    “I’ll sit in it and wait for Rosalind to come say good night,” she told Hound.
    This was such a good idea that she climbed right into the wagon. And there she sat, certain that Rosalind would be along any minute. True, Rosalind had left the house in a big hurry, even slamming the door—Rosalind, who never slammed doors—but she would be back soon to tell Batty a story like she did every night. Though Daddy and Aunt Claire had read about Scuppers very nicely, it just wasn’t the same.
    She sat and she sat, humming the Sailor Dog song to herself, and she sat so long that Hound fell asleep, and still she sat, but Rosalind didn’t come. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. She climbed out of the wagon and pulled it down the hall to the room Skye and Jane shared. She knocked, and the door opened and a pair of binoculars peered out.
    “Oh, it’s only you,” said Skye from behind the binoculars. “I thought you were Rosalind come home.”
    “I need another story.”
    “I don’t know any stories. Go back to bed.”
    But Skye stepped aside and let Batty and her wagon into the room. It was a room divided dramatically in half. Skye’s side was tidy, with white walls and a plain blue coverlet on the bed. The only decoration was a framed chart showing how to convert from U.S. to metric measurements. Jane’s side was not at all tidy, and lavender, with a flowery coverlet that should have been on the bed but was instead in a heap on the floor. Scattered everywhere was stuff: books, piles of paper, old school projects, and more books. And then there were the dolls, for Jane had kept not only every doll she’d ever been given, but every doll ever given to Skye, too.
    Batty pulled her wagon into Jane’s half of the room. There was more space for it on Skye’s side, but Skye would get upset if she knocked against anything, and Batty was still unsure about steering. And, in fact,