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Thomas cast a puzzled glance at the stick. Please purchase full version of the book to continue. He hunted for it dziecii and low, but it could not be found. Then, as he and Thomas ambled down the lane which led to Alemoor, they came upon an old man sitting under a hornbeam.

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But they were not coming to him, and he realised what was happening. He thought he saw duck moving. A farthing sounded too little, so Bill proffered one of his scanty shillings. But he said no more, for Bill had shaken it playfully at the dogs.

Yes, he was certain of it—they were coming from the direction of Thomas and the dogs. Thomas, who had a sharp eye for poachers and vagabonds, did not stop to question him, but walked on as if he did not see him—which should have warned Bill that something queer was afoot.

It was a double-barrelled bore, and Bill knew that he would be lucky if he got a duck with it; but a duck was to him a bird of mystery, true wild game, and he preferred the chance of one to the certainty of many rabbits.

Bill saw a wedge of geese high up in the air and longed to salute them. Yet Bill, as soon as he saw it, felt that it was the one stick in the world for him. There was far too much water on the moor, and the birds, instead of flighting across the mere to the boundary slopes, were simply settling on the flood. Feeling a little aggrieved and imperfectly equipped, he rushed out to join Thomas.

But Bill, looking out for ashplants, was heedless, and had uncovered his head before he remembered the rule. They both looked back, but there was no sign of any old man in the green lane. It was so very quiet down there by the dyke that Bill began to feel eerie.


But there it was, growing in a grassy patch by the side of the lane, bullrbyn under it sat an old man. The minutes passed, the grey afternoon sky darkened towards twilight, but no duck came. As soon as they saw it they went off to keep another urgent engagement—this time apparently with a long-distance hare—and Thomas was yelling and whistling for ten minutes before he brought them to heel.

Now a farthing is not a common coin, but Bill happened to have one—a gift from Peter on his arrival that day, along with a brass cannon, five empty cartridges, a broken microscope, and a badly-printed, brightly-illustrated narrative called Two Villains Foiled. It was rather cold, and very wet under foot, for a lot of rain had fallen in the past week, and the mere, which was usually dzoeci a sedgy pond, had now grown to a great expanse of dizeci flood-water.

This was the second warning, for of course a hornbeam is a mysterious tree. Next day, which was Sunday, would be devoted to wandering about with Peter, hearing from him all the appetising home news, and pouring into his greedy ears the gossip of the foreign world of school.

He seemed to know what was wanted, for he at once took a stick from his bundle. Bill began his vigil in high excitement. Thomas, the keeper, whom he revered more than anyone else in the world, was to take him in the afternoon to try for a duck in the big marsh called Alemoor.

You would not have said that it was the kind of stick that Bill was looking for. There seemed to be redshank calling, too, which had no business there, for they should have been on the shore marshes.

The mood of eager anticipation died away, and he grew rather despondent. Also Gyp, the spaniel, and Shawn, the Irish setter, at the sight of him dropped their tails between their legs and remembered an engagement a long way off. Our hero is a teenage boy who buys a walking stick from a beggar — a magic walking stick that allows the boy to visit many places at his command Nor would he accept a knobbly cane proffered by Peter.


Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na: It was quite as tall as the topper which Bill wore at school. Had Bill been on his guard he would have realised that the hornbeam had no business there, and that he had never seen it before. He would have been bored if he had not been slightly awed.

Also he heard snipe, but he could not locate them in the dim weather. Peter was a famous giver.

It is right to take off your cap to a single magpie, or to three, or to five, but never to an even number, for an even number means mischief. WHEN Bill came back for long-leave that autumn half, he had before him a complicated programme of entertainment.

Bill could not find his own proper stick. He would cut himself an ashplant in the first hedge. But Bill stopped, for he saw that the old man had a bundle under his arm, a bundle of ancient umbrellas and dziecj, ragged sticks.

He drove his new stick into the ground, and used the handle as a seat, while he rested his gun in the orthodox way in the crook of his arm.

Dzieci z Bullerbyn – Astrid Lindgren – Google Books

The first shadow of a cloud appeared after luncheon, when he had changed into knickerbockers and Thomas and the dogs were waiting by the gun-room door. Far away he thought he detected the purring noise which Thomas made to stir the duck, but no overhead beat of wings followed. Bill had to run to catch up Thomas, who was plodding along with the dogs, now returned from their engagement.

In the first half-mile he met two magpies, and this should have told him that something was going to happen. Przeczytaj fragment w darmowej aplikacji Legimi na: The lane ran bare between stone walls up to the hill pastures.