The Tale of Applebeck Orchard Read Online Free

Rascal trotted up next to Crumpet. “Nice try, old girl,” he said with a chuckle.
    “Oh, shut up,” Crumpet snarled, perfectly out of temper.
    So our friends are off to see the ferret. But since it will take them some little time to locate Fritz and begin their inquiries, we shall turn our attention elsewhere—to Mathilda Crook, who has just come out of the kitchen at Belle Green with a basket of freshly washed laundry.

2

    The Crisis Deepens
    Mathilda had been up with the washing since well before dawn on this Monday morning, and was hurrying to hang out her sheets and tea towels before Agnes Llewellyn, who lived just next door at High Green Gate, could hang out hers. It was always a contest to see who would be the first to get her Monday morning laundry out of her washing tub and onto the clothesline. Whilst there were no prizes in this weekly competition, the glow of Monday morning’s triumph always warmed the winner’s heart right through to the following Sunday night.
    Agnes had won the previous week, by the patently unfair expedient (or so Mathilda saw it) of washing only half a load of white things and leaving the other half to soak whilst she rushed her half-filled laundry basket out to the clothesline. This week, Mathilda had filled her copper wash boiler and put it on the kitchen range the night before, so when she got up on Monday morning, she did not have to wait for it to heat. When her first load was finished, she wrung it out as fast as she could, dumped it into the basket, and raced out to the clothesline.
    But Mathilda’s was a hollow victory, for Agnes was nowhere to be seen. Mathilda hung up her sheets and towels, then, killing time while she waited for Agnes to emerge with her laundry, brought out a bowl and began picking blackberries for a pie for George’s supper.
    Five or so minutes later, Agnes came out of her wash-house at a leisurely pace, carrying her wicker basket. She put it down, took a handful of wooden pins out of her apron pocket, and began pinning up tea towels, carefully smoothing the wrinkles from each one. She did not appear to notice that Mathilda’s clothesline was already full.
    Mathilda looked up from the blackberry bush, feigning great surprise. “Why, Agnes,” she said, in the broad dialect of the Lake folk. “Wot’s kept thi this mornin’? Tha’rt verra late with t’ washin’.”
    Agnes took a clothespin out of her mouth. “Oh, aye,” she said airily. “I lingered a lit’le long o’er breakfast. Mr. Llewellyn had a reet int’restin’ bit o’ news to tell. I thought t’ washin’ cud wait.” She shook out the last towel and pegged it to the line. “Doan’t nivver hurt to be a wee bit late wi’ t’ wash noo an’ then, do it?”
    Mathilda felt a twinge of irritation. “News? Wot news?”
    Agnes appeared surprised. “Why, I reckon’d tha’d heard it by now, Tildy. I’d uv laid money on’t, informed as tha’rt.” She allowed herself a small smile. “Most of t’ time.”
    “Heard wot?” Mathilda demanded, hands on hips. She had gone to help a niece with a new baby on Saturday and hadn’t got back until late the previous night. Obviously, something important had happened while she was gone—something Agnes knew and she did not. “Heard wot?” she repeated sharply.
    Agnes pursed her lips. “Aboot t’ Applebeck Footpath. Mappen thi doan’t know, after all, Tildy.”
    “Wot aboot t’ Applebeck Footpath?” cried Mathilda, by now feeling desperate. “Tell me, Agnes!”
    “Mr. Harmsworth has closed it off,” Agnes replied briskly. “Satiddy mornin’, ’twas. Bertha Stubbs and me went to t’ church to do t’ flowers fer Sunday, and t’ gate was gone. There was a tangle of barbed wire and wood stakes, all poured o’er wi’ tar, an’ laid reet across t’ path. ’Twere put there by Mr. Harmsworth, we reckoned. We had to go t’ long way round, by Church Lane.”
    “Barbed wire?” Mathilda was aghast. “But he can’t. That’s