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Our hero is dzeici 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 WHEN Bill came back for long-leave bullerbyyn autumn half, he had before him a complicated programme of entertainment. 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.
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. On Monday morning, after a walk with the dogs, he was to motor to London, lunch with Aunt Alice, and then, after a noble tea, return to school in time for lock-up. This seemed to Bill to be all that could be desired in the way of excitement.
But he did not know just how exciting that long-leave was destined to be. 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.
Bullerbbyn could not find his own proper stick. It was a long hazel staff, given him by the second stalker at Glenmore the year before—a staff rather taller than Bill, a glossy hazel, with a shapely polished crook, and without a ferrule, like all good stalking-sticks. He hunted for it high and low, but it could not be found. Nor would he accept a knobbly cane proffered by Peter.
Feeling a little aggrieved and imperfectly equipped, he rushed out to join Thomas. He would cut himself an ashplant in the first hedge. In the first half-mile he met two magpies, and this should have told him that something was going to happen. 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. But Bill, looking out for ashplants, was ebooj, and had uncovered his head before he remembered the rule.
Then, as he and Thomas ambled down the lane which led to Alemoor, they came upon an old man sitting under a hornbeam.
Editions of Die Kinder aus Bullerbü by Astrid Lindgren
This was the second warning, for of course a hornbeam is a mysterious tree. 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.
But there it was, growing in a grassy patch by the side of the lane, and under it sat an old man. He was a funny little wizened old man, in a shabby long green overcoat which had once been black; and he wore on his head the oldest and tallest and greenest bowler hat that ever graced a human head.
It was quite as tall as the topper which Bill wore at school. Thomas, who had a sharp eye for poachers and eboo, did bulletbyn stop to question him, but walked on as if he did not see him—which should have warned Bill that something queer was afoot.
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. But Bill stopped, for he saw that the old man had a bundle under his arm, a bundle of ancient umbrellas and odd, ragged sticks.
He seemed to know what was wanted, for he at once took a stick from his bundle. You would not have said that it was the kind of stick that Bill was looking for.
It was short and heavy, and made of some dark foreign wood; and instead of a crook it had a dzeici shaped like a crescent, cut out of a white substance which was neither bone nor ivory. Yet Bill, as soon as he saw it, felt that it was the one stick in the world for him. 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.
Peter was a famous giver.
Bill had to run to catch up Thomas, who was plodding along with the dogs, now returned from their engagement. They both looked back, but there was no sign of any old man in the green lane.
Indeed, if Bill had not been so absorbed in his purchase, he would have noticed that there was no sign of the ebokk either.
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The lane ran bare between stone walls up to the hill pastures. But he said no more, for Bill had shaken it playfully fbook the dogs. As soon as they saw it they went off to keep another urgent engagement—this time apparently beook a long-distance hare—and Thomas was yelling and whistling for ten minutes before he brought them to heel. 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 only a sedgy pond, had now grown to a great expanse of shallow bkllerbyn.
Bill began his vigil in high excitement. 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. 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 wbook, true wild game, and he preferred the chance of one to the certainty of many rabbits.
The minutes passed, the grey afternoon sky darkened towards bulkerbyn, but no duck came. Bill saw a wedge of geese high up in the air and longed to salute them.
Also he heard snipe, but he could not locate them in the dim weather.
There seemed to be redshank calling, too, which had no business there, for they should have been on the shore marshes. Far away he thought he detected the purring noise which Thomas made to stir the duck, but no overhead beat of wings followed. It was so very quiet down there by the dyke that Bill began to feel eerie.
Buullerbyn mood of eager anticipation died away, and he grew rather despondent.
He would have been bored if he had not been slightly awed. He scrambled up the bank of the dyke and strained his eyes over the mere between the bare boughs of the thorn. He thought he saw duck moving. Yes, he was certain of it—they were coming from the direction of Thomas and the dogs. bullerbjn
The Magic Walking Stick – John Buchan – ebook – Legimi online
But they were not coming to him, and he realised what was happening. 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.
From the misty waters came the rumour of many wildfowl. Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na: Przeczytaj fragment w darmowej aplikacji Legimi na: Pobierz fragment dostosowany na: A farthing sounded too little, so Bill proffered one of his scanty shillings.
I bought this stick from him. Thomas cast xzieci puzzled glance at the stick. This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book eblok continue.