The Tale of Applebeck Orchard Read Online Free Page A

a public footpath!”
    “Well, he has. Both ends o’ it. Oh, and there’s t’ Applebeck ghost, too.”
    “T’ ghost!” Mathilda exclaimed, by now almost beside herself. “Has somebody seen her again?”
    “So says Auld Dolly. Which is a sign o’ evil to come, o’ course. T’ ghost nivver shows hersel’ unless bad times is comin’. Who knows wot’ll be happenin’ next? Another fire? Mebee t’ church or t’ schoolhouse this time? T’ ghost is al lus right.”
    “Now, Agnes,” Mathilda said in a comforting tone. Agnes, the village doomsayer, was always imagining one disaster after another. “Likely it won’t be that bad.”
    But Agnes was paying no attention. She was scowling at Sarah Barwick and her green bicycle, as Sarah whizzed down Market Street on her way back to her bakery, her brown hair loose from its pins and flying.
    “Jes’ look at them trousers and that wild hair,” she muttered darkly. “These mod’rn women. ’Tis a disgrace to t’ whole village. Near as bad as Grace and t’ vicar.”
    It was tempting to digress to the subject of Grace Lythecoe and the vicar of St. Peter’s, but Mathilda went back to the subject at hand. “Well, I doan’t know about t’ ghost, but somebody ought to do somethin’ aboot t’ path. It needs to be opened up, that it does, and straightaway. I’ll march reet to t’ smithy and ask my George what’s best to be done.”
    Agnes picked up her empty basket. “No cause to bodder yer George aboot it,” she said loftily. “My Dick has gone to take Captain Woodcock his milk. They’ll manage t’ problem, ’tween ’em.” She looked over Mathilda’s shoulder and widened her eyes. “Why, Tildy,” she said, with a mournful relish. “Such a shame. And yer best ’broidered, too. It’ll nivver be t’ same agin, t’ poor thing.”
    Mathilda turned. To her dismay, she saw that her finest embroidered tea towel had fallen from the line and was draped across the blackberry bush, a large, juicy purple stain spreading across its snowy middle.
     
     
    Dick Llewellyn made it a regular practice to take a bottle of fresh milk from the High Green Gate cows to the Tower Bank House kitchen twice a week, where he gave it to Elsa Grape for Captain Miles Woodcock’s breakfast. This morning, however, the kitchen was dark and Elsa was nowhere to be seen. Dick ventured to put his head into the dining room to interrupt the captain, who appeared to be breakfasting on bread and jam and coffee. With him was Mr. Will Heelis, a well-respected local solicitor.
    “Elsa’s gone away again,” Captain Woodcock said, in response to Dick’s question. Dick understood and commiserated. He, too, went without hot meals when his Agnes was off visiting her sister in Carlisle. “This time, she’s taking care of her niece, who’s just had a baby,” the captain went on. “What’s more, she gave the maid the day off. Just leave the milk in the kitchen, Dick. I’ll put it away.”
    “I’ve summat to tell thi, Cap’n,” Dick said, and told his story. “I saw t’ barrier m’self,” he added. “Means bus’ness, it do. Noboddy can get on t’ path without rippin’ it down, an’ that woan’t be easy, I wager.”
    “Ah, yes,” the captain remarked thoughtfully. “Lester Barrow spoke to me about this last night at the pub. He was quite incensed about it.” To Mr. Heelis, he said, “Barrow is a member of the Claife Heights Ramblers Association, y’know. He says there may be trouble over the matter.”
    “I wudna be s’prised,” Dick said wisely. “Summat’s got to be done afore sumbody tears t’ barricades down or Mrs. Stubbs heaves a rock through Mr. Harmsworth’s window, as she’s promisin’ to do. And cert’nly afore next Sunday, when ever’body’ll have to walk t’ extra way to church.”
    “Right,” the captain remarked thoughtfully. “Well, it’s probably got to be done sooner than that.”
    Miles had been justice of the peace for Sawrey District