The Tale of Castle Cottage Read Online Free

“an’ put us all out in t’ lane, bag an’ baggage.”
    Beatrix had to laugh when she heard that. She didn’t blame the villagers, for she knew how much they hated any sort of change. But she had hoped they might be glad that she had bought Castle Farm and kept it from falling into the hands of a greedy real-estate speculator. He would have built a row of ugly cottages and sold them off to people from the cities who would want to modernize the village. Which in Beatrix’s opinion would not do at all, for she loved Near Sawrey (in spite of itself) and wanted to keep it exactly as it was.
    The grandfather clock beside the stairs hesitantly cleared its throat, as if begging pardon for interrupting her, and began to chime. Beatrix glanced up in surprise. When she was working the minutes flew past, and she’d no idea that it was so late. It was time she began to think about lunch.
    She was clearing a place to put down her plate when she was interrupted by a quick rap-rap at the door. She opened it to Sarah Barwick, who was dressed in her usual blouse and sweater and belted green corduroy trousers, which the villagers still found scandalous. The green bicycle she rode to make her bakery deliveries was leaning against the stone wall, and Sarah’s brown hair was mussed from her ride. She was holding a white-paper package.
    “Hullo, Bea,” she said in her usual gruff way. “I’ve brought us each a pork pie. Haven’t seen you for an eternity and hoped you’d be free for a bite and some talk.”
    Beatrix opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said with a laugh. “I was just thinking that I should do something about lunch, and here you are.” She gestured toward the littered table. “But I’m afraid I’ve occupied every possible inch. It’s a warm day, and the grass is dry. If you don’t mind, let’s eat in the garden.”
    “Exactly what I had in mind,” Sarah replied. She slanted a look at Beatrix. “There’s something giving me a fair case of the dithers, I’m afraid, and I’d like to talk to you about it. But it can wait until we’ve had our lunch.”

2
    Sarah Barwick Asks a Serious Question
    The chickens are deplorable in the hail & rain—& the
last ill-luck is that a rat has taken 10 fine turkey eggs
last night. The silly hen was sitting calmly on nothing,
Mr. S. Whiskers having tunneled underneath the coop,
& removed the eggs down the hole!
    —Beatrix Potter to Harold Warne, 1913
     
     
    A few minutes later, the two friends were sitting on a plaid blanket spread on the grass under an apple tree in the Hill Top orchard, beside the garden. Beatrix had brought out a red tray laden with a square chunk of Mrs. Jennings’ yellow farm cheese, a blue earthenware mustard pot, two pretty red apples, and two glasses of fresh milk, as well as plates and knives and forks and napkins. Sarah unwrapped the cold pork pies she had brought, one of the most popular items she sold in her bakery at Anvil Cottage. They ate and chatted, whilst Felicia Frummety (the Jennings’ ginger-colored cat) and Crumpet (a smart-looking gray tabby with a tiny gold bell on her red leather collar) watched and listened from their usual vantage point on the nearby stone wall.
    “I heard that you’d got back to the village,” Sarah remarked, “and I expected to see you out and about.” She stole a look at her friend, whose bright blue eyes and fresh color she had always admired. But Beatrix was pale, and she seemed to have lost weight. Sarah, who never hesitated to speak her mind, said bluntly, “You’re looking peaky, Bea. You’re still not well, after spending the spring flat on your back? Sorry I didn’t write,” she added ruefully. “Meant to, but the bakery keeps me hopping. There’s not much time for writing letters.”
    Crumpet twitched her sleek gray tail. “That’s the truth of it,” she remarked sagely. “Miss Barwick is even too busy to keep her account