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Dorothy Gravelle [Paradox Lov Paradox Love (epub)
[kinder] Butters, Dorothy Gilma Das Maedchen aus der Pearl Stre
Dorothy Clark Gold Rush Baby [LIH 91, Alaskan
Dorothy Porter The Bee Hut (retail) (epub)
Dorothy Garlock [Dolan Brothe After the Parade (epub)
Dorothy Love The Bracelet (retail) (epub) id
Dorothy Garlock Wayward Wind (epub)
Cannell, Dorothy Der Putzteufel geht um
Blackwood Farm Vampire Chronicl Anne Rice
Code Name Cassandra Jenny Carroll

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.“I guess we’re distant cousins or something.My name’s Pat.”“You’re Pat Hargreaves? But you’re a girl!”Pat reached for a chain at her neck and toyed nervously with the ring that hung on it.“Well, yes, I—,” she started to say.“That’s all I need.My only neighbor is a girl!” I muttered.I guess I muttered louder than usual, because she gave me a hurt look, got up, and walked away.I felt bad, but after all, it wasn’t my fault Aunt Cass had bamboozled me again.Someone else sat down by me—the cowboy, unfortunately.“If you live anywhere near Patty Hargreaves, you must still be a hick.She’s really out in the boondocks,” he said.“Yeah,” I replied, clenching my fist in an effort to keep my temper.“We live at a place called Penncroft Farm.”Eddie jumped up so fast his cowboy hat fell off.“You’ve moved to Penncroft Farm? Just wait until I tell my dad!” he shouted.I wondered if he were crazy or something.Mrs.Hettrick came back with an armload of books.“Eddie,” she said sternly, “one more outburst from you and I’ll have to tell your father a thing or two.Here, Lars, this should get you started.” She handed me the stack of books.Eddie picked up his hat and left, but as he walked off he whispered, “Just wait till my dad finds out.”I picked up one of the books Mrs.Hettrick had given me, opened it at random, and stared blindly at the page.The rest of the day dragged by.I was so embarrassed by the stupid things I’d said and so angry at the teasing I’d received that I didn’t speak to anyone.When the bell finally rang, I followed the others out to the circular drive where the buses were lined up.I found the number eight bus and walked stiffly to the backseat.It appeared that I lived the farthest away from school because almost everyone got off the bus before I did.Only Pat Hargreaves remained, sitting up in front near the driver.I hoped she’d forgotten what I’d said to her, but the look she gave me as she climbed down from the bus said plainly she remembered it all.It was only a little farther to my stop, and, with a sigh of relief, I jumped down from the bus.No school until Monday, I thought happily as I started down the pike.There was still a half-mile walk to Penncroft Farm, but I dawdled along.I was in no great hurry to get home to Mom’s questions about my first day at school.Besides, it was a really nice day, and I didn’t want to waste it unpacking cartons.I gave a tentative kick to a good-size stone on the shoulder of the road.It skittered nicely across the blacktop, so I kicked it down the narrow, winding road.I was so intent on what I was doing that I didn’t pay attention to anything else.I suppose that’s why, when I came to the old covered bridge, I didn’t notice anybody standing inside, until my rock disappeared under the roof of the bridge, and I looked up.Someone about my age or a little older stood facing the other direction.Even in the shadows, I could tell it was a girl—the ponytail and puffy sleeves made that obvious.I was determined not to get off on the wrong foot with this girl.“Hi,” I said shyly.“I didn’t see you there.Hope I didn’t hit you with my rock.”She turned around.There was nothing female about the face that grinned at me, or the gruff voice.“Nay, you missed me by a furlong.”I was astonished.This was a boy all right, but he was wearing the weirdest clothes I’d ever seen.Besides the white shirt with billowy sleeves, he had on pants that ended at his knees, long white socks, and black shoes with big buckles.In his hand was a hat—a three-cornered hat.Boy, Pennsylvania kids really go all out for Halloween, I thought.And do they talk funny.“Furlong?” I echoed, wondering if it meant far or long or whatever.“Want to join me in a game of huzzlecap?” the boy said.“Sure,” I said, grateful for the invitation, even if I didn’t know what it was for.We fell into step and crossed the bridge.There we stopped.The kid put his hat down on the ground and took some coins from his pocket.“Huzzlecap’s easy enough,” he explained.“You need only pitch a farthing into the tricorne.” His accent sounded as foreign as his words.“Ah,” I said, trying to sound as if I understood.When the kid threw a coin at the three-cornered hat, I began to get an idea of what he meant, even though the coin didn’t land anywhere near the target.“You.um.missed it by a furlong,” I said.“Aye, but it’s a sight trickier than it looks.You try.” He handed me one of the coins.I rubbed my finger over the raised letters: F-A-R-T-H-I-N-G.The rest of the letters were too worn to read, but now I remembered what a farthing was.I also recognized the boy’s clipped accent.“Hey, are you British or something’? My folks have been to England.They brought me back one of each kind of coin—a farthing, sort of like this one, and a tuppence, and even a ha’penny like in the ‘Christmas Is A-Coming’ song.”The boy looked at me with such an odd expression that I thought I’d put my foot in my mouth again.I plunged on awkwardly.“You’re not British, right? Sorry.I’m new here myself, and.” I figured I’d better change the subject.“Uh, I like your costume.Where did you get it?”“My mother made it—from start to finish.It took her well nigh a fortnight just to weave the linsey-woolsey on her loom.”Again I was impressed by how much Pennsylvanians did for Halloween.Then I recalled that even in Minnesota, I knew some moms who were into weaving.“What are you supposed to be?” I asked.My mother’s words about Uncle George’s long-haired phase popped into my head, and I made a wild guess.“A hippie?”“Nay,” said the boy with a smile and a shake of his head.“Now, don’t tell me—let me guess.Are you supposed to be George Washington? He wore a funny hat like that—but you know, your hair is all wrong.His was all curly and white.”The boy chuckled.“That was a wig, Lars.I feared you would be ignorant, but not as ignorant as that!”My jaw must have dropped to my knees.“H-how did you know my name?” I managed to ask.He picked up his hat and put the farthings in his pocket.“I heard your mother call you that,” he said nonchalantly.“But how did you hear.”He ignored my question.“Come play ducks and drakes,” he said.“Yonder’s a prime spot for it—the run’s wider there.” He quickly walked toward the stream.I followed, intrigued, and soon learned that ducks and drakes was his name for skipping rocks, something I was really good at, having grown up in the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.My companion told me I was a “dab hand at ducks and drakes.” I figured that was a compliment and returned it, because he was a good rock skipper, too.Unfortunately, he bounced away from my questions as expertly as he skipped stones.After we were about skipped out, he turned to me and said, “’Tis good you’ve moved into Penncroft Farm.” Suddenly he plucked the tricorne off his head and sailed it into the air.I dashed forward, caught it, and lobbed it back to him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]