Read Long Lankin: Stories for Free Online Page A

glanced over her shoulder at him nervously, and he winked.
    They moved swiftly now, the hedges flew past on either side and the tyres threw up water that drenched her legs. She looked into the sky, at the swirling clouds, and the wild wind rushed in her hair.
    — Allez up! he cried out gaily, and the little girl shrieked with laughter, and plucked the red scarf from around his neck and waved it in the wind. Down they went, and down, faster and faster, until at the bottom of the hill the front wheel began to wobble and when he tried to hold it still the machine twisted and ran wildly across the road to tumble them both in the ditch.
    She lay smiling with her face buried in the thick wet grass. A hand pulled at her arm, but she shook it off and pressed herself against the ground. All was quiet now, and somewhere above her a bird was singing.
    —Eh, listen, little girl. Are you hurt? Hey.
    She turned on her back and looked up at him, her fingers on her lips. She smiled and shook her head.
    —I’m all right.
    He brushed the grass and flecks of mud from his jacket, and all the while he was looking worriedly about. He began to wipe his shoes with his handkerchief. The girl sat up and took the cloth from him and rubbed at the damp leather. He put his hands on his hips and watched her.
    —Now, she said, and gave him back his handkerchief.
    He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Hurriedly he retrieved his bicycle from the ditch and wiped the saddle with his sleeve. He paused with his foot on the pedal and turned to look at her. She stood with her hands joined before her, and there were leaves and bits of grass in her hair, and a long streak of mud on her cheek. He put a hand into his pocket.
    —Here.
    She took the little glass ball from him and looked at it. On one side two dark circles were painted, the pupils of an eye.
    —Thank you.
    He grinned, showing his yellow teeth, and said:
    —They weren’t real.
    —What harm.
    Now he cast another look around, and whispered urgently:
    —Listen, you won’t say you saw me, will you? I mean you won’t say I took you on the bike. I might get into trouble.
    She shook her head, and he gave her a wink.
    She watched him go away down the road. He did not look back, and soon he was gone around a bend. She turned and walked slowly up the hill. The sun had fallen behind the mountains, and the clouds, like bruised blood, were massing.
    Tantey stood in the doorway, and when she saw the little girl come wandering along she cried:
    —There you are. Come here to me. Where have you been? And look at the state of you! I should box your ears.
    She caught the girl by the shoulder and gave her a shake.
    —I went for a walk, the girl muttered sullenly.
    —Went for a walk indeed.
    She led her down the hall, and to the kitchen. While the girl scrubbed her hands at the sink the old woman fussed about her, straightening her dress and pulling the pieces of leaf from her hair.
    —Were you rolling around in the fields or what? An infant wouldn’t be the trouble. A nice sight you’ll be to greet your papa.
    The girl turned from the sink and stared with wide eyes at the old woman.
    —Has he come? she asked, and her lip trembled.
    —Yes child, he’s come. Now tidy yourself up and we’ll go in to him.
    The girl slowly dried her hands, staring before her thoughtfully. At last she said:
    —I don’t want to see him.
    —What are you saying? Hurry up now.
    —I won’t go near him.
    —Have you lost the bit of sense you had? He’s come all the way from London just to see you.
    —I don’t care.
    The old woman stepped forward with her lips shut tight and caught the girl’s hair in her hand.
    —If you won’t come by yourself I’ll drag you. Come on and stop this nonsense, you little rip.
    She pulled the girl struggling out into the passage and along the hall.
    —No Tantey, I don’t want to see him! No Tantey, you’re hurting me!
    The old woman pushed open the door of the dining-room. Inside,