A strange company assembled in the Burnells’ washhouse after tea. Round
the table there sat a bull, a rooster, a donkey that kept forgetting it was a
donkey, a sheep and a bee. The washhouse was the perfect place for such a
meeting because they could make as much noise as they liked, and nobody ever
interrupted. It was a small tin shed standing apart from the bungalow. Against
the wall there was a deep trough and in the corner a copper with a basket of
clothes-pegs on top of it. The little window, spun over with cobwebs, had a
piece of candle and a mouse-trap on the dusty sill. There were clotheslines
criss-crossed overhead and, hanging from a peg on the wall, a very big, a huge,
rusty horseshoe. The table was in the middle with a form at either side.
“You can’t be a bee, Kezia. A bee’s not an animal. It’s
a ninseck.”
“Oh, but I do want to be a bee frightfully,” wailed Kezia.... A
tiny bee, all yellow-furry, with striped legs. She drew her legs up under her
and leaned over the table. She felt she was a bee.
“A ninseck must be an animal,” she said stoutly. “It makes a
noise. It’s not like a fish.”
“I’m a bull, I’m a bull!” cried Pip. And he gave such a
tremendous bellow—how did he make that noise?—that Lottie looked
quite alarmed.
“I’ll be a sheep,” said little Rags. “A whole lot of
sheep went past this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“Dad heard them. Baa!” He sounded like the little lamb that trots
behind and seems to wait to be carried.
“Cock-a-doodle-do!” shrilled Isabel. With her red cheeks and bright
eyes she looked like a rooster.
“What’ll I be?” Lottie asked everybody, and she sat there
smiling, waiting for them to decide for her. It had to be an easy one.
“Be a donkey, Lottie.” It was Kezia’s suggestion.
“Hee-haw! You can’t forget that.”
“Hee-haw!” said Lottie solemnly. “When do I have to say
it?”
“I’ll explain, I’ll explain,” said the bull. It was he
who had the cards. He waved them round his head. “All be quiet! All
listen!” And he waited for them. “Look here, Lottie.” He
turned up a card. “It’s got two spots on it—see? Now, if you
put that card in the middle and somebody else has one with two spots as well,
you say ‘Hee-haw,’ and the card’s yours.”
“Mine?” Lottie was round-eyed. “To keep?”
“No, silly. Just for the game, see? Just while we’re
playing.” The bull was very cross with her.
“Oh, Lottie, you are a little silly,” said the proud
rooster.
Lottie looked at both of them. Then she hung her head; her lip quivered.
“I don’t want to play,” she whispered. The others glanced at
one another like conspirators. All of them knew what that meant. She would go
away and be discovered somewhere standing with her pinny thrown over her head,
in a corner, or against a wall, or even behind a chair.
“Yes, you do, Lottie. It’s quite easy,” said Kezia.
And Isabel, repentant, said exactly like a grown-up, “Watch me,
Lottie, and you’ll soon learn.”
“Cheer up, Lot,” said Pip. “There, I know what I’ll do.
I’ll give you the first one. It’s mine, really, but I’ll give
it to you. Here you are.” And he slammed the card down in front of
Lottie.
Lottie revived at that. But now she was in another difficulty. “I
haven’t got a hanky,” she said; “I want one badly,
too.”
“Here, Lottie, you can use mine.” Rags dipped into his sailor
blouse and brought up a very wet-looking one, knotted together. “Be very
careful,” he warned her. “Only use that corner. Don’t undo
it. I’ve got a little starfish inside I’m going to try and
tame.”
“Oh, come on, you girls,” said the bull. “And
mind—you’re not to look at your cards. You’ve got to keep
your hands under the table till I say ‘Go.’”
Smack went the cards round the table. They tried with all their might to see,
but Pip was too quick for them. It was very exciting, sitting there in the
washhouse; it was all they could do not to burst into a little chorus of
animals before Pip had finished dealing.
“Now, Lottie, you begin.”
Timidly Lottie stretched out a hand, took the top card off her pack, had a good
look at it—it was plain she was counting the spots—and put it down.
“No, Lottie, you can’t do that. You mustn’t look first. You
must turn it the other way over.”
“But then everybody will see it the same time as me,” said Lottie.
The game proceeded. Mooe-ooo-er! The bull was terrible. He charged over the
table and seemed to eat the cards up.
Bss-ss! said the bee.
Cock-a-doodle-do! Isabel stood up in her excitement and moved her elbows like
wings.
Baa! Little Rags put down the King of Diamonds and Lottie put down the one they
called the King of Spain. She had hardly any cards left.
“Why don’t you call out, Lottie?”
“I’ve forgotten what I am,” said the donkey woefully.
“Well, change! Be a dog instead! Bow-wow!”
“Oh yes. That’s much easier.” Lottie smiled again. But
when she and Kezia both had a one Kezia waited on purpose. The others made
signs to Lottie and pointed. Lottie turned very red; she looked bewildered, and
at last she said, “Hee-haw! Ke-zia.”
“Ss! Wait a minute!” They were in the very thick of it when the
bull stopped them, holding up his hand. “What’s that? What’s
that noise?”
“What noise? What do you mean?” asked the rooster.
“Ss! Shut up! Listen!” They were mouse-still. “I thought I
heard a—a sort of knocking,” said the bull.
“What was it like?” asked the sheep faintly.
No answer.
The bee gave a shudder. “Whatever did we shut the door for?” she
said softly. Oh, why, why had they shut the door?
While they were playing, the day had faded; the gorgeous sunset had blazed and
died. And now the quick dark came racing over the sea, over the sand-hills, up
the paddock. You were frightened to look in the corners of the washhouse, and
yet you had to look with all your might. And somewhere, far away, grandma was
lighting a lamp. The blinds were being pulled down; the kitchen fire leapt in
the tins on the mantelpiece.
“It would be awful now,” said the bull, “if a spider was to
fall from the ceiling on to the table, wouldn’t it?”
“Spiders don’t fall from ceilings.”
“Yes, they do. Our Min told us she’d seen a spider as big as a
saucer, with long hairs on it like a gooseberry.”
Quickly all the little heads were jerked up; all the little bodies drew
together, pressed together.
“Why doesn’t somebody come and call us?” cried the rooster.
Oh, those grown-ups, laughing and snug, sitting in the lamp-light, drinking out
of cups! They’d forgotten about them. No, not really forgotten. That was
what their smile meant. They had decided to leave them there all by themselves.
Suddenly Lottie gave such a piercing scream that all of them jumped off the
forms, all of them screamed too. “A face—a face looking!”
shrieked Lottie.
It was true, it was real. Pressed against the window was a pale face, black
eyes, a black beard.
“Grandma! Mother! Somebody!”
But they had not got to the door, tumbling over one another, before it opened
for Uncle Jonathan. He had come to take the little boys home.
