Cindy Jones by Margaret Pearce Read Free Book Online

was a humble note in her voice. Cindy handed over the bowl. Mayberry slurped all the milk and bleated for more.
    â€œShe’s still hungry,” Prunella exclaimed.
    â€œIf she has too much, it will make her sick. We can give her more in a few hours.”
    â€œNo need to,” said Gretta from behind them. “I’ve found a foster mother. Like to come down to Seaview for the drive?”
    â€œMe too?” Prunella asked.
    Cindy tried to say she didn’t want her, but the words stuck. She couldn’t be nasty to Prunella with that eager expectant look on her face. It would be like being unkind to fat old Hooper.
    Seaview was a small fishing town down the coast about an hour’s drive away. Gretta explained that a friend with a herd of milking goats was taking Mayberry.
    When they arrived they admired the herd of goats, introduced Mayberry to her new mother, and met a new foal. They were given hot scones with jam and cream for morning tea, and then Gretta had to examine a sick cow.
    â€œI’m going to be at least another hour,” Gretta said, looking at her watch. “Can you both amuse yourselves until I’ve finished?”
    â€œPrunella and I will take a walk down to the jetty,” Cindy replied.
    â€œThis is the nicest day I’ve ever spent,” Prunella said. “Weren’t those hot scones delicious? Isn’t this a lovely place? Wish we lived somewhere like this.”
    Cindy let Prunella’s chatter wash over her. They reached the jetty. A short, stout, old lady wearing a loose stained shirt over rolled up trousers was fishing with her bare feet dangling over the edge. A man’s battered old felt hat was perched on the back of her head.
    â€œIsn’t that Miss Hopkins?”
    â€œIt’s an old lady tramp,” Prunella scoffed. “What would Miss Hopkins be doing here wearing such peculiar clothes?”
    It was Miss Hopkins, however, and she glanced around as they approached. The sun shone across her blank, round glasses.
    â€œHello, Miss Hopkins,” the two girls chorused.
    â€œHello, Cindy and Prunella. What brings you both to Seaview?”
    â€œWe came with Gretta Carson. She had to bring a baby goat down,” Cindy explained.
    â€œGretta! I didn’t think of her. She will do,” Miss Hopkins said.
    Cindy couldn’t think of any reason why Miss Hopkins should think Gretta would do and do for what? Miss Hopkins caught two fish while they watched.
    â€œI enjoy fishing,” she told them. “I have a weekend place down here.” She darted a look at Cindy. “How’s your cooking going?”
    â€œImproving,” Cindy replied. “I made an Irish stew the other night.”
    â€œGood,” Miss Hopkins replied.
    She stared at the water as though she had forgotten the girls were there, so they strolled off. After awhile they got bored and headed back from the beach.
    The street running from the jetty was lined with small cottages with upturned dinghies and drying nets across their front yards. Prunella stopped to look at the large cage of canaries hanging from the front porch of one of the cottages.
    â€œI just love canaries. Look at that red one.”
    â€œIt’s orange,” Cindy said.
    â€œI know, but it’s called red, and they’re very expensive.”
    â€œYou like birds, missy?” called an old fellow mending nets in the front yard.
    â€œI think they’re so nice,” Prunella said eagerly. “My father used to breed them.”
    Cindy nudged at her. The old man’s dirty feet were stuck in holey old slippers, and a ragged flannel shirt hung over paint-stained baggy trousers. He was bald with untidy gray whiskers covering most of his wrinkled brown face. Three broken stained bottom teeth showed when he spoke.
    â€œYour father, hey?” the old man repeated.
    â€œHe died years ago,” Prunella said eagerly. “He was the cleverest and nicest