Noah Barleywater Runs Away by John Boyne Read Free Book Online

into an immediate smile. ‘Or puppets!’ he said. ‘There wouldn’t be any puppets.’
    ‘That’s very true,’ said the old man, nodding slowly.
    ‘And for every tree that he cuts down, he plants ten more,’ added Noah. ‘So it’s a good thing really.’
    ‘Then maybe one day, when you’re as old as I am, you’ll be able to walk past them and remember your father in the same way that I remember mine.’
    Noah nodded but frowned a little; he didn’t like to think of things like that.
    ‘But I haven’t introduced myself,’ said the old man a moment later, extending his hand and offering the boy his name.
    ‘Noah Barleywater,’ said Noah in reply.
    ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noah Barleywater,’ said the old man, smiling a little.
    The boy was about to say the same thing and opened his mouth, but then closed it almost immediately, for a wooden fly had been buzzing around his head just waiting for an opportunity toswoop inside. He remained silent for a few moments, but finally, after staring at the old man for so long he thought he could hear his own hair starting to grow, Noah searched his brain and found his next question hiding away just over his left ear.

    ‘What are you making?’ he asked, looking at the piece of wood the old man had picked up again and was chiselling away at even as they spoke, small flakes of wood falling at his feet and being gathered up and carried away by a wooden brush and pan that moved across the floor with the grace of a pair of ballroom dancers.
    ‘It looks like some sort of rabbit, doesn’t it?’ said the old man, holding it up, and sure enough, it did look like a rabbit. With very large ears and a fine set of wooden whiskers. ‘It wasn’t what I was intending to make, but there we are,’ he added with a sigh. ‘It happens every time. I start out with one idea in mind and it ends up as something else entirely.’
    ‘Why, what were you intending to make?’ asked Noah.
    ‘Ah,’ said the old man, smiling a little and then whistling a little tune to himself, ‘I’m not sure you’d believe me if I said.’
    ‘Oh, I probably would,’ said Noah quickly. ‘My mother says I believe everything I’m told and that’s why I get into so much trouble.’
    ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ asked the old man.
    ‘Please tell me,’ said Noah, intrigued now.
    ‘You’re not a gossip, are you?’ he asked. ‘You won’t go around telling people?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ said Noah. ‘I won’t tell a single person.’
    The old man smiled and seemed to consider it. ‘I wonder if I can trust you,’ he said quietly. ‘What do you think? Are you a trustworthy little boy, Noah Barleywater?’

Chapter Six

The Clock, the Door and the Box of Memories
    Noah didn’t have an opportunity to tell the old man just how trustworthy he was, for just at that moment a clock that was standing on the counter next to him began to make some very strange sounds indeed. At first it was just a sort of quiet moaning, as if the clock wasn’t feeling very well and wanted to go straight to bed and hide under the blankets until the pain passed. Then silence. Then the moaning transformed itself into a sort of
chugga-chugga-chugga
sound before settling into a series of curious and rather embarrassing rumbles, as if all the internal sprockets and springs were having a tremendous argument with each other and it could end in violence at any moment.
    ‘Oh dear me,’ said the old man, turning round and glancing at it. ‘How embarrassing! You’ll have to forgive me.’
    ‘Forgive
you
?’ asked Noah, surprised. ‘But it’s the clock that’s making the noises.’
    At that, the clock issued an offended squeakand Noah started to giggle, putting his hand over his mouth as he did so. The noises reminded him of Charlie Charlton, whose stomach always started to make the strangest sounds when it was coming up to lunch time, and that was the cue for Miss Bright to look at her watch and say,