Cindy Jones by Margaret Pearce Read Free Book Online Page A

person in the world.”
    â€œWas he now,” said the old man, and then he took another puff of his pipe, and the smoke streamed upwards, veiling his face.
    â€œHe was a bank manager, you know,” Prunella gabbled. “He wore beautiful gray suits. He was very good looking and terribly important, and he bred red canaries and let me have one for my very own.”
    â€œFancy now,” said the old man. “And you still got it?”
    â€œOh no! Mother sold it, but I’m sure it was as red as one of yours.”
    â€œShe shouldn’t have done that!” the old man muttered.
    He bent over his nets and went on mending, ignoring the girls.
    â€œWe met Miss Hopkins,” Cindy told Gretta when they reached the car. “And Prunella got talking to an old fisherman who breeds red canaries.”
    â€œSeaview is full of retired people who do a bit of fishing,” Gretta said. “Was he a professional fisherman?”
    â€œHe had nets all over the place,” Cindy explained. “But he didn’t look very successful. He wore the most dreadful old rags, and he needed new bottom teeth.”
    The conversation returned to the red canaries. Gretta spent the rest of their drive back explaining about the difficulties of breeding canaries to hold their red color.
    â€œIt’s been raining up here,” Prunella exclaimed, as the car turned into Turkscap Drive. “Look at all the water running down the gutter.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” Cindy said. “The sky is as clear as anything.”
    Gretta stopped the car in front of Number Six. A large flexible pipe snaked around the side of the house and disgorged muddy water into the gutter.
    â€œAll that water is coming from our place.” Cindy was suddenly uneasy.
    â€œInteresting,” Gretta commented. “I’ll see you both later.”
    She drove off. Cindy and Prunella hurried around the back. A motor chugged by the side of the swimming pool. The shallow end of the pool was dry, and the pipe slurped in the puddle of muddy water remaining at the deep end.
    â€œWe put the turtles and the carp into the fishpond, miss,” a man called when he saw them.
    â€œMy tadpoles,” Cindy groaned.
    She rushed over to the fishpond. In the crystal clear water the turtles drifted around lazily. There was no sign of the carp or the tadpoles, but Horace and Pearl sat by the fishpond with smug contented expressions on their faces.
    Cindy breathed hard. It was no use getting upset! It wasn’t the fault of the workmen. Her tadpoles and carp were just more casualties of Mrs. Barry’s campaign to marry her father.

 
    Chapter Ten
    Â 
    Cindy watched her father over breakfast. He was eating rice bubbles and correcting essays.
    The puzzling question nagged at her again. What had caused her sensible normal father to want to marry Mrs. Barry? Jennifer was much more likable, attractive, and intelligent.
    â€œDad?”
    â€œFourteen minus, I suppose,” he muttered, placing another essay aside.
    â€œDo you really like Mrs. Barry?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDo you really like Mrs. Barry?”
    â€œA very nice human being.”
    â€œDo you kiss her?”
    The professor gave all his attention to Cindy. His face went dull red. “You’re being impertinent.” He gathered up his papers and shuffled them into the briefcase. “Remember, we’re having dinner at Guinevere’s tonight. I don’t want any ill-mannered or embarrassing performances from you.”
    He grabbed his car keys and rushed off before she could answer.
    ****
    â€œDo you think he really likes her?” Cindy asked Gretta when she dropped into the surgery on her way to school.
    Gretta gave the tiniest of sighs. She was sprawled at her desk checking her appointment book.
    â€œHe’s marrying her, isn’t he?”
    â€œThat doesn’t prove anything.”
    â€œYour father knows what