The Borrowers Aloft (15 page)

"We were furious. We called him all sorts of names. We threatened him with every kind of punishment. We implored him to take the Thing away. But all he did was to giggle a little and keep on saying, in that silly singsong voice: "Taste it ... taste it ... it's lovely!"

"Oh," breathed Arrietty, "did you dare?"

Homily frowned. "Yes. In the end. And it was lovely," she admitted grudgingly. "It was a licorice bootlace."

"But where had he been all that time?"

"In the village shop."

"But—" Arrietty looked incredulous. "How did he get there?"

"It was all quite simple really. Mrs. Driver had left her shopping basket on the scullery table, with a pair of shoes to be heeled. Stainless, on his way to the parsley, heard her coming and nipped inside a shoe. Mrs. Driver put the shoes in the basket and carried them off to the village. She put down the basket on the shop counter while she gossiped awhile with the postmistress, and seizing the right opportunity, Stainless scrambled out."

"But how did he get back home again?"

"The next time Mrs. Driver went in for the groceries, of course. He was in a box of haircombs at the time, but he recognized the basket."

Arrietty looked thoughtful. "Poor Stainless," she said, after a moment, "what an experience! He must have been terrified."

"Terrified! Stainless! Not he! He'd enjoyed every minute of it!" Homily's voice rose. "He'd had one wild, wicked, wonderful, never-to-be-forgotten week of absolute, glorious freedom—living on jujubes, walnut whips, chocolate bars, bulls'-eyes, hundreds and thousands, and still lemonade. And what had he done to deserve it?" The chiffon between Homily's fingers seemed to dance with indignation. "That's what we asked ourselves! We didn't like it. Not after all we'd been through: we never did think it was fair!" Crossly, she shook out the chiffon and, with lips set, began to fold it. But gradually, as she smoothed her hands across the frail silk, her movements became more gentle: she looked thoughtful suddenly, and as Arrietty watched, a little smile began to form at the corners of her mouth. "There was one thing, though, that we all took note of...," she said slowly, after a moment.

"What was that?" asked Arrietty.

"His cheeks had gone all pasty-like, and his eyes looked"—she hesitated, seeking the word—"sort of
piggy.
There was a big red spot on his nose and a pink one on his chin. Yes," she went on, thinking this over, "all that sugar, you see! Poor Stainless! Pity, really, when you come to think of it"—she smiled again and slightly shook her head—"good times or no good times, to have lost that wonderful complexion."

* Barbola is a modeling material that hardens after use.

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1. Landing Zone.

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2. Take-Off Point.

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3. Chosen Altitude.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Front

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

A Bonus Story about The Borrowers

Where, we sometimes ask ourselves, do all the sewing needles go? And the drawing pins, the matchboxes, the hairpins, the thimbles, the safety pins? Factories go on making safety pins, and people go on buying safety pins, and yet there never is a safety pin just when you want one. Where are they all? Now, at this minute? They cannot all just be lying somewhere about the house. Who takes them and why? It must—one begins to realize—be something or someone who is living quite close beside us, under the same roof; something or someone with human tastes and almost human needs; something (or someone) very secret, very hidden—under the floorboards, maybe, or behind the wall paneling. Very small, of course—that stands to reason—and very busy, always improvising, always "making do." And brave—they must be very brave to venture out into the vast human rooms (as dangerous to them as such rooms are to mice) seeking the wherewithal on which to sustain their lives. Who could grudge them the odd pencil stub, the occasional bottle top, the used postage stamp, or the leftover sliver of cheese? No (it takes all kinds, as they say, to make a world): we should accept their hidden presence and gently leave them alone. Children call them "The Borrowers."

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