The Picts & the Martyrs. Arthur Ransome

Cook’.”

      “Shiver my timbers!” said Nancy, and altered the telegram again. “Not alone. Cook here. Mother returns thirteenth. Ruth.” “Ugh! Ruth! That makes twelve words with the address.”

      She showed the telegram to Cook.

      Cook read it aloud, word by word. “You ought to tell her there’s nowt amiss,” she said.

      “Extra words,” said Nancy. “But perhaps I’d better. After ‘Cook here,’ I’ll put in ‘Everything scrumptious’.”

      “Slang,” said Peggy, doubtfully. “She won’t like that.”

      “Everything splendid,” said Nancy. “She won’t really like that either. I’ll just put ‘All very well.’ Three words. Only threepence anyhow. Worth it. And it’ll be in the telephone account. Mother won’t mind.”

      She went to the telephone with Peggy and Cook, neither of whom could think of any improvements. She rang up the exchange, asked for “Telegrams”, gave the Beckfoot number, explained that this was the answer to the reply-paid telegram, gave Miss Turner’s address in Harrogate, and read out the final version:

      “Not alone. Cook here. All very well. Mother returns thirteenth. Ruth.”

      She waited while the telegraph clerk repeated the message, said that it was all right, and put down the receiver. She looked at Cook. “I hope it is all right,” she said. “Anyway, it’s the best we could do.”

      “You can’t do better,” said Cook. “Eh, but I’d like a word with the meddlesome busybody that let Miss Turner know your mother was away.”

      “She can’t do anything about it now,” said Nancy, “but I bet she’ll go and be beastly to Mother as soon as she comes back.”

      “Mother’ll have had her holiday by then, so it won’t matter,” said Peggy. “At least not as much as if she’d got at her before she started.”

      “Bother Aunt Maria,” said Nancy. “Keel haul her. Fry, frizzle and boil her.”

      “You’ve sent your telegram now,” said Cook. “Best forget it. Time’s running on and we’ve enough to do with them two coming.”

      “Giminy!” said Nancy. “It’s a good thing whoever told her Mother was away didn’t tell her we were going to have visitors.”

      “They’ll be here before you’re ready for them,” said Cook. “One of you ought to run round to Mrs. Lewthwaite’s to tell Billy he’ll be wanted to drive the car.”

      “We’re not going to meet them in Rattletrap,” said Nancy. “They wouldn’t care twopence about driving round the head of the lake. They’ll want to sail across. And they’ll want to look at the new boat.”

      “And what about their luggage?”

      “They won’t bring much. We’ll get it down to the steamer pier in the bus.”

      “And if there’s more than what you can carry?”

      “Billy Lewthwaite can fetch it in Rattletrap to-morrow. Come on, Peggy. We haven’t finished the decorations yet. And we’ve got the boathouse to get ready for Scarab. And we didn’t finish Amazon’s rigging.”

      “It won’t do for you to be late at the station,” said Cook.

      “We aren’t going to be. Come on, Peggy. That black paint’ll be dry by now.”

CHAPTER II

      THE VISITORS ARRIVE

      WHILE NANCY AND Peggy at Beckfoot were making ready for their visitors, the train for the North, flashing through all but the biggest stations, was bringing Dick and Dorothea. Dorothea had been seen off by her mother at Euston. Dick, coming straight from school, had joined the train at Crewe, after a frantic run along the platform before he had found the through carriage and seen Dorothea waving from a window. After the first few minutes of exchanging news, and rejoicing that they had been allowed to go North at once instead of having to waste the first fortnight of the holidays sweltering in London, Dick had opened his suitcase and taken out a thin blue book, Sailing, by E. F. Knight, on which he meant to put in some hard work during the journey.

      “What are the other books?” asked Dorothea.

      “Pocket Book of Birds,” said Dick, “and Common Objects of the Countryside … ”

      “Oh,” said Dorothea. “Nothing to read at all?”

      “You really ought to read the sailing book, too,” said Dick. “Perhaps we’ll be launching Scarab tonight, and it’ll be awful to make mistakes with Nancy and Peggy watching.”

      “I’m halfway through The Sea Hawk,” said Dorothea.

      “Telescope, compass, microscope, collecting box,” said Dick, making sure he had forgotten nothing that mattered.

      “Are those all the clothes you’ve brought?” said Dorothea.

      “I shan’t want any more,” said Dick, closing the suitcase and pushing it away under the seat. “And there wasn’t room anyhow. All the rest have gone home.”

      “Have you had anything to eat? Mother told me to have lunch in the train.”

      “I had mine at Crewe. I had thirty-seven minutes to wait before your train came in.”

      “Good,” said Dorothea, and, while the train rushed northward, the two of them settled to their books.

      Dick was a slow reader, Dorothea a fast one. Dick read the chapter on the theory of sailing, three careful times, then the chapter on small boats. He had gone back to the chapter on knots and was trying each one of them with a bit of string and being polite but firm to an old man sitting next to him, who knew no more about knots than Dick but kept on wanting to show him how to tie them, when, as the train slowed down for the last time, Dorothea closed The Sea Hawk with a sigh.

      “It all came right in the end,” she said. “The horrid brother had to own up and everybody knew Sir Oliver wasn’t a murderer. Dick! There’s the lake! We’re nearly there.”

      Books were hurriedly stowed. Dorothea wrote “Arrived safely Dick and Dorothea” on the addressed postcard her mother had given her to be sent off from the station. The train jerked to a standstill. The old man said “Good afternoon” and stepped down to the platform, and they saw the red caps of Nancy and Peggy dodging quickly through the crowd.

      “Scarabs, ahoy!” cried Nancy.

      “Hullo!” called Dorothea.

      And then, it was as if Nancy had suddenly remembered something she had forgotten. She became a different Nancy.

      “We are delighted to see you. I do hope you had a pleasant journey.”

      Dorothea stared. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “It was very kind of you to invite us. I am so glad we were able to come.” She had understood that Nancy, who was very good at being a pirate, was now being a hostess instead.

      Nancy laughed. Nobody could keep up that sort of thing for more than a sentence or two.

      “Heave it out,” she said. “And the next.”

      Between them she and Peggy swung the two suitcases down to the platform. “Is this all you’ve got?” she asked.

      “Yes,” said Dorothea.

      “Well done. We can manage these easily. Cook thought you’d have a ton of luggage. She wanted to send Billy Lewthwaite with Rattletrap. Come on. Two to a suitcase. We’ve got to lug them to the bus.”

      “We’re going down to the boat landing,” said Peggy.

      “Is Scarab ready?” asked Dick.

      “She