Stop Them Dead Peter James

Visit to download the full and correct content document:

https://ebookmass.com/product/stop-them-dead-peter-james/
STOP THEM DEAD

PETER JAMES
Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113

GLOSSARY
CHART OF POLICE RANKS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THEY THOUGHT I WAS DEAD
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
To all our canine friends who have been, or still are, victims
of the illegal trade in dogs.
I hope this helps give you a voice.
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

Although the time period of this novel is set when the world was
suffering from the effects of the Covid pandemic, this is a work of
fiction. I hope, dear reader, you will forgive me for taking the liberty
of making amendments to some events, dates and timings that
would have been affected by the government restrictions.
 1

Thursday, 25 March 2021

Tim Ruddle was a reluctant disciple of Winston Churchill’s maxim

that success is the ability to go from failure to failure with no loss of
enthusiasm. And if failure had been an Olympic sport, he could have
taken gold countless times over, he rued as he lay in bed unable to
sleep on this stormy late March night, unlike his wife, Sharon, who
was as usual lost to the world beside him. She could sleep for
England and if sleeping was an Olympic sport, she would sure as hell
be on that podium.
He so envied her that ability. He could not remember when he’d
last had a good night’s sleep, a night when he hadn’t lain awake
worrying about this latest chapter in their life, then needed to get up
and pee. Once, moving to the countryside and buying a farm had
been their dream. The good life. Their two kids brought up away
from all the violence and the other crap that London threw at you.
Back to nature. The idyll that existed only in the pages of books. Not
the grim reality of a farmer’s life. The regulations. The subsidies that
everyone else seemed eligible for except themselves.
They’d tried diversifying, opening a farm shop, and had recently
been granted planning application to create a petting zoo and cafe.
Both of them loved animals and had created a small revenue stream
from alpaca-walking. But so far their biggest source of income from
Old Homestead Farm was quite by accident and a very welcome
surprise. Thanks to the massive rise in demand for dogs due to the
lockdowns, the blue French bulldog puppies their beloved pet,
Brayley, had given birth to just seven weeks ago, were worth a
staggering £3,000 each.
 In breeding her, it had originally been their intention to keep a
least one of the puppies, but the injection of badly needed cash they
would get from the sales would help considerably with their new
project. The five puppies were awaiting collection by their new
owners in a week’s time, after their inoculations.
Outside in the barn across the farmyard below their bedroom
window, Rudi, the proud father, had begun barking. Rudi regularly
barked at the wind, at rustling leaves, and most of all at Enemy No.
1, the aircraft that regularly flew overhead on their flight path to
Gatwick Airport whenever the wind was blowing from the east, as it
was tonight. Sharon frequently joked that Rudi was pretty effective:
during the year they had been here not a single aeroplane had
landed on their fields!
But Rudi’s bark was different tonight. Ferocious, as if he was
genuinely troubled by something out there in the darkness. And
after a few moments, Sally, their female Labrador, who rarely ever
made a sound – as if she had a mute button permanently pressed –
started up too.
Worried the noise would wake their kids, Tim slipped out of bed
and padded, naked, across to the window, parted the curtains and
peered out into the darkness. As he did so he heard a sound, faint
but distinct. The rumble of a diesel engine. One, or was it two? He
glanced at his watch: 1.23 a.m.
Their farm was down a track, over a mile from the road – and that
was just a quiet country lane. They had never been troubled by cold
callers and no one ever drove up the rutted, potholed track by
mistake. Anyone who came here had a reason and the last nocturnal
visitors, a couple of months ago, had been a bunch of youths from a
nearby caravan site, lamping rabbits.
Norris Denning, their elderly farmhand, who had come with the
farm as a long-time employee – and had been a godsend to them –
lived with his wife in the former gamekeeper’s cottage, a few
hundred yards back down the track. He’d sent the lampers packing.
The sound of the engines became louder. Nearer. And as it did so
the barking of the dogs became more manic. Then Tim saw the
silhouette of an off-roader vehicle, with no lights on, enter his
farmyard. It was followed by another, a pickup truck.
He felt a stab of fear. What the hell was going on? These weren’t
lampers.
Then he saw the flare of a flashlight behind them. Heard a shout,
an angry shout. Norris’s voice. ‘HEY!’ the farmhand shouted.
Sharon stirred. ‘Was going on?’ she murmured sleepily.
‘Call the police,’ Tim said, quietly and urgently. ‘Call 999 and say
we have intruders.’
He pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt, hurried downstairs,
and shoved his feet into his wellingtons. Then he grabbed his
Barbour jacket and the large torch from the shelf above the boot
rack by the front door, switched it on, opened the door and shone
the powerful beam ahead.
And stared in bewilderment, anger momentarily masking his fear.
In the beam he saw Norris standing, feet planted, torch crooked
under one arm and pointing a shotgun at the intruders. ‘What the
hell do you think you are doing?’ he yelled in his Sussex burr. ‘You
clear off right away, you hear me?’
‘Fuck off, Grandad, go back to bed,’ one of them jeered at the
elderly farmhand. Then he grabbed the shotgun by the barrel and
ripped it out of Norris’s hands.
 2

Thursday 25 March

Through the blustery drizzle, behind the man now holding Norris’s
shotgun, Tim saw the barn doors were open, and figures were
moving around inside. Parked outside, engines still running, were an
old Range Rover with its tailgate up and a Ford Ranger pickup in
front of it. Two dogs, Rudi and Brayley, were barking furiously.
Striding forward, Tim called out more assuredly than he felt right
now, ‘Norris, it’s all right, I can handle this.’ Turning to the man with
the shotgun, he shouted, ‘What do you want?’ As he did so, two
men came out of the barn, holding a net full of wriggling creatures.
The puppies, Tim saw to his horror. ‘Those are my dogs, what do
you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his voice masking his fear
and sense of utter helplessness.
Over to his left he saw Norris’s jigging flashlight and a moment
later heard him shout, ‘No, Tim, leave this to me, I’ll stop them.’
Norris, who walked with a limp from a tractor accident years back,
hobbled forward several paces. ‘Give me my gun back and clear off
NOW, the bloody lot of you!’
Tim felt momentarily helpless and terrified, as if he was trapped in
one of those nightmares he sometimes had where he wanted to run
but his legs wouldn’t work and couldn’t get any traction. His brain
was spinning. He had a shotgun and a rifle, but they were locked in
a cabinet down in the cellar. If Sharon had called the police, it would
be a good while before they got here, far too long.
‘YOU!’ Norris yelled, lumbering towards the Range Rover as one of
the men closed the tailgate then jumped into the back of the car.
The engines of both vehicles were gunning now. Norris, wielding his
flashlight, hurried to the front of the Range Rover and stood
resolutely in front of it, shining the beam straight into the eyes of
the driver.
Tim heard the roar of an engine and the slithering of tyres
spinning. Horrified, he could see what was about to happen. Not
even thinking about his own safely, the former rugby player hurled
himself at the farmhand and with all his considerable strength
shoved him away to the side, watching him fall clear of the vehicle,
the torch clattering to the ground beside him.
Then he turned and, standing between its glaring headlights,
faced the Range Rover, putting his arms up in furious defiance,
shining the torch straight through the windscreen at two ugly,
scowling faces. ‘You stop right there!’ he shouted.
From somewhere behind him he heard Sharon scream, ‘Tim, no!
Tim, no! The police are on their way!’
Before he had time to react, and to his shocked disbelief, the
Range Rover began moving forward, striking him firmly, with the
force of a concrete wall, in the midriff. Were they seriously trying to
run him over? As the vehicle slowly picked up speed, pushing him
backwards faster and faster, he panicked. This could not be
happening, not here in this beautiful sanctuary. Please God. There
was no way he could jump clear. In desperation, he pressed his
hands on the warm bonnet, frantically trying to get a grip on the
metal surface and running backwards, faster and faster to try to stay
upright and not go under the front bumper. Faster.
The torch fell from his hands.
Faster.
He could not keep it up. He was going – going to go – falling—
Then his back struck something hard. Sharp edges against his
calves and his back. The Ford Ranger pickup, he realized.
‘No!’ he screamed. ‘NO!’
And heard Sharon’s scream, too.
The Range Rover crushed his midriff agonizingly, jetting all the air
out of his lungs, as searing flames of pain burned up through his
chest and down through his whole body.
 He stared in agony and disbelief as the vehicle began backing
away now. The headlights were no longer dazzling. As if the
batteries in them were exhausted and giving out. No brighter than
two candles now. His legs were no longer supporting him. He flailed
with his arms, falling, falling. It seemed to be an age before he
landed on his face in the mud.
Again he heard his wife’s voice. A torchlight momentarily shone in
his eyes, blinding him. Then he heard Sharon’s screaming. ‘Oh God,
no. Stay with me, Tim.’
‘I’m – I’m OK, he said, but was struggling through the pain to
speak. ‘I feel a – a bit – faint.’
He was dimly aware she was kneeling beside him, opening his
coat. He heard her say, as if she were somewhere in the distance, ‘I
can’t see any blood, that’s good.’
‘That’s good,’ he gasped weakly.
‘I’ve called the police,’ she repeated. ‘They’re on the way. I’m
calling an ambulance.’
‘Ambulance,’ he echoed. And dimly heard three pips. She was
dialling, he realized.
‘Open your eyes, darling,’ he heard. And felt a faint squeeze on his
hand. Heard her say, ‘Ambulance.’ And then some moments later,
‘Hello, please, we need an ambulance – I just called the police who
are on their way and we need an ambulance urgently, please.’
‘Ambulance,’ he murmured. He heard Sharon give the address and
directions. Heard her say, ‘Crushed between two vehicles.’
Her voice was getting fainter.
‘He’s breathing, but he’s pale and very clammy.’
‘I’ll – I’ll be OK,’ he wheezed. ‘Just a bit – a bit—’
‘Yes, I’ll get a blanket, keep him warm. No, I won’t, I won’t try to
move him, but it’s cold. Please ask them to hurry.’
‘I love you,’ he rasped.
‘I love you. Stay strong, you’re OK, the ambulance is on its way.’
Her voice was faint now. Somewhere in the distance. So faint.
Fading.
The pain, at least, was fading now too.
 3

Thursday 25 March

Eldhos Matthew had wanted to be a police officer since he was nine

years old and had watched a reality cop show on television. He’d
been glued to the screen as two officers had pursued a stolen car
across a city – he could not remember where; he just remembered
the excitement as the stolen car had driven on the wrong side of the
road, against the oncoming traffic and then out into a dark rural
road, and listening, enthralled, to the voices of the police over the
radios.
The pursuit had continued with a helicopter watching the chase
through a night vision camera, before the car had crashed on a
bend, and two shadowy figures had leaped from the vehicle and
were chased on foot, under the glare of the helicopter’s searchlight,
and each brought to the ground.
That’s what I want to do! he had thought right then. And from
then on, until his mid-teens, pretty much the only television
programmes he watched were cop shows – real-life or drama. When
his parents or brothers and sisters wanted to watch something else,
he retreated to his room in the family home in Brighton and watched
them on his laptop. While all his school friends were absorbed in
gaming in their free time, he just binge-watched anything that had
police in it.
At some point his interest switched from the officers carrying out
traffic stops, pursuits, drugs raids, to those solving murders,
especially dramas like Line Of Duty, CSI and Endeavour. He found he
had a natural talent for getting ahead of the detectives in most of
the dramas.
 He’d always loved solving puzzles, and his mother, a
psychotherapist who worked as a marriage guidance counsellor, told
him he had a sharp brain. From an early age he regularly played
chess with his father, a mortgage broker, who had taught him, and
from around the age of twelve Eldhos began beating him regularly.
At fifteen he had become chess champion of the Dorothy Stringer
school, and when he had the time, between schoolwork and the
endless detective shows, he played chess on the internet with
several opponents around the world.
But neither of his parents were enamoured by the notion, as he
approached school leaving age, of his joining the police. His mother
feared for his safety; his father, a pragmatic man, who had brought
his family to England from their native India in search of a more
prosperous life, was unhappy with his eldest son’s ambition. In a
heart-to-heart conversation he warned Eldhos he would never
become rich working for the police, and in an organization that in his
opinion was still institutionally racist, he would always struggle for
promotion.
Eldhos had replied that he wasn’t interested in becoming rich, that
what he wanted was a career where he could make a difference to
the world, and he genuinely believed he could make a difference. As
to the racism, he could deal with that if it happened, and it seemed
all of those prejudices were changing, and he was determined to
play a part in that.
He was now, at twenty-one, two years and three weeks into his
career with Sussex Police. Just three weeks out of his probationary
period, and due to several members of his section being off with
Covid, he was single crewed in a response car, based out of
Haywards Heath. He had already put in his application for a transfer
to CID and at the moment, with a shortage of detectives in the
force, the future for his chosen path was looking good.
And on this drizzly March night, as he cruised the dark, silent
streets of the small county town ten or so miles north of the city of
Brighton and Hove, he was waiting, as he did every night he was on
patrol, for a shout from the Control Room to send him off on the
kind of action he craved, but which rarely happened.
 So far tonight he had stopped a car with a tail-light out, and
leaned in to smell the driver’s breath for alcohol, but there was no
trace. The young woman, a shift worker, was heading home from
Gatwick Airport. He politely told her to get the bulb replaced and
allowed her on her way without breathalysing her. Then he’d had a
short Grade One blue light run, after a report of two men acting
suspiciously outside a computer store in the High Street, where a
burglar alarm was ringing. But when he got there, it turned out to
be a fault and the manager and a work colleague were trying to
deactivate it.
Eldhos had just made up his mind to head back to the nick for a
coffee and to eat the chicken salad and chocolate bar that he’d
brought along for his supper, when he heard the calm voice of a
controller over the radio.
‘Whisky Mike One-Seven-One.’
He clicked the button on his mic and responded with pride,
‘Whisky Mike One-Seven-One.’
‘Whisky Mike One-Seven-One, we have a report of intruders at Old
Homestead Farm, Balcombe. We have the caller on the line and
she’s very frightened.’
‘Old Homestead Farm, Balcombe?’ He pulled over.
‘Do you know the location?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll give you the What3Words location.’ She read them out.
Eldhos repeated them, pulling his phone from his chest cradle and
tapping the words into the app. Instantly the location came to life on
a map. ‘OK, got it, I’m about five miles away.’
‘Please attend, Grade One. I’ll have backup for you but they are
twenty minutes away.’
‘En route now.’ He entered an approximate address into the car’s
satnav system. He hadn’t yet completed the pursuit driving course,
but he held an amber ticket, which qualified him to drive to a scene
on blue lights and siren. Excitedly, for only the third time since
getting this permit, he leaned forward and punched a button on the
dash-mounted control panel. Instantly, shards of blue strobed the
dark country road around him. As he accelerated away hard, he
debated whether to switch on the siren. Would it scare off the
intruders? Would he have a better chance of catching them if he
approached silently?
That was his decision, he realized, feeling apprehensive suddenly
and wishing he had an experienced officer beside him. He decided
against the siren. The countdown to the location reduced rapidly.
Four minutes. Three. Two. Headlamps flared ahead of him then
passed. The ANPR – Automatic Number Plate Recognition – cameras
readout on his dash display gave the registration but did not indicate
anything wrong with the BMW saloon. It was the same with a
second vehicle, a Mazda, a few seconds later.
One minute.
He slowed right down, peering out at the narrow country lane.
Again, he wished for a crewmate who could shine a torch. Shortly
ahead he saw a small, tatty sign.
OLD HOMESTEAD FARM.
He turned into the driveway, a potholed cart track.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
THE SURPRISE
 CHAPTER XI
THE SURPRISE

A few days after this John McClure, as he was still called, set sail
for Europe, and in his place came a quiet young man of whom the
children saw little, as he did not take his meals with them. Since they
were to stay at the Dallas place till November, Mrs. Law thought it
was not worth while for the children to lose all that time from school,
but though Jerry was perfectly willing to go back to his old
classmates, Cassy begged that she might be sent to another school,
and really was quite naughty and rebellious when her mother first
spoke of her going back. But finally, seeing that the child actually
suffered at the thought, her mother decided that she might be sent to
another school not very much further away, and the little girl was
highly pleased to think that she would be known as Catherine Law
and not as Miss Oddity. Her old patched frock had before this been
thrown aside, and she was now able to appear as well-dressed as
her schoolmates, who were in general of a better class than those
who attended the school near Orchard Street, therefore Cassy felt
that matters had bettered in every direction.
She missed her uncle very much, but as time went on they heard
frequently from him, and he wrote that he hoped to be with them
again in November. Before he went away he had had many long
talks with his sister, and they had made many plans.
Just what these were Mrs. Law did not say, but Cassy knew some
of the things that her uncle had decided upon, and her imagination
saw long rows of greenhouses, and a garden in which all manner of
flowers grew. She also knew that her mother was very bright and
happy and that her uncle had said that his sister ought by rights to
have a share in his good fortune, and that he should consider the
half of it belonged to her. Cassy wondered where they would live, but
when she asked her mother about it she only smiled and shook her
head.
 However, one day in the early part of November, Mrs. Law asked,
“How would you children like to take a little journey with me to-
morrow?”
“We’d like it ever so much,” they both exclaimed. “Where is it that
we are going, mother?”
“Shall I tell you or will you have a little surprise?”
“What do you say, Jerry? Shall we have it a surprise?” Cassy
asked.
Jerry thought it over.
“Is it much of a trip?” he inquired; “for if it is, I don’t think I could
keep wanting to know, very long, but if it’s short I could stand it, and I
think it would be fun not to know where we were going.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Cassy.
“It isn’t much of a trip,” Mrs. Law told them; “about an hour by
train.”
“I could stand that, I reckon,” said Jerry. “Couldn’t you, Cassy?”
“Yes, I think I could. Don’t you wonder where it is, Jerry?”
“’Course I do.”
“What are we going for? Can you tell us that much, mother?”
“Do you really want me to?”
Cassy looked at Jerry.
“You might tell us just a little bit, only enough to make it
interesting,” Jerry decided.
“Well, we are going to look at a house. You know we can’t stay
here forever.”
The children looked at each other with dancing eyes.
“I am wild to know more, but I’ll not ask,” said Cassy. “It is too
exciting for anything. Have we got to move before Uncle John comes
back?”
 “No, I don’t think so, but we want to know where we are to go, and
I have heard of this place, so I am to go and look at it and then write
to your uncle about it.”
“Shall I wear my blue frock?” Cassy asked.
“Yes, and I am going to take you out this afternoon and get a new
jacket for you.”
“Oh, good! good! And you’ll wear your new suit and Jerry will wear
his. How nice we will all look. Oh, isn’t it fine to be able to get things
when you need them? Even if we’re not rich we can have ever so
much more than we used to. Are we going to be gone all day to-
morrow?”
“I can’t tell just how long.”
“Shall we take our lunch with us?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary, for if we need anything we
can get it after we get there.”
“Then it isn’t in the country,” said Cassy, a little disappointed. “But
think of our taking a real journey. ’Scuse me, mother, but I must go
and talk to Miss Morning-Glory about it, or I’ll ask too many
questions.”
“You’d better get ready to go out with me.”
Thus charged Cassy ran off to dress and they soon started out on
their shopping expedition. Then when a dark-blue jacket had been
selected, Mrs. Law said she must get two or three other things, so
Cassy skipped along very happily by her side. The experience of
going shopping was a rare one, and to see her mother with any
money to spend was such a pleasure that the child enjoyed her
afternoon hugely.
They started about nine o’clock the next morning upon their little
journey. After an hour’s ride, which was by no means a dull one to
the children, they left the train and found themselves at a small
station. Their feet had hardly touched the platform before they heard
a voice call,
 “There they are!” And who should appear but Rock and Eleanor.
“Oh, you did come, didn’t you? We’ve been down here half an hour,”
exclaimed Eleanor. “We were so afraid we’d miss you.”
“Did you know we were coming? Is this where you live?” asked
Cassy, eagerly.
“Yes will answer both those questions,” Eleanor replied. “Come
right along; we’re going up in the stage; it passes the place where
you have to get out. Weren’t you surprised when your mother told
you where you were coming?”
“She didn’t tell us. We had the surprise when we got here.”
“Oh, what fun! Then you don’t know the rest, and I’ll not tell you.
This is the stage; climb in.”
They all took their places and the stage rattled up the long street.
Just where the houses were beginning to be quite far apart, at the
turn of a lane, Rock exclaimed: “Here we are! Tumble out, Jerry.” He
got out himself first and stood politely to see that Mrs. Law and the
two girls were safely helped down, then they turned into the lane and
Rock led the way, with Mrs. Law and Jerry, while the girls followed.
Cassy looked around her with observant eyes.
“I never knew the country was so lovely at this time of year,” she
said. “It doesn’t look bare and ugly at all, and Miss Morning-Glory
said it would.”
Eleanor laughed.
“You see Miss Morning-Glory didn’t know what she was talking
about. Do you see her often now?”
“Not very. If we come up here, I don’t believe she will come at all.”
Eleanor laughed again; this idea of Cassy’s friend, that was only
an imaginary being, always amused her very much.
“If she doesn’t like the country all the year around I think she’d
better not come,” she said.
“It is lovely,” repeated Cassy; “the trees are all purple ’way off
there, and some of them are dark red near by, and the grass looks
all sort of golden, and the sky is so blue, and off that way it is smoky
purple. I like it.”
“Now that we’re almost there I’m going to tell you that this is the
place we talked about, don’t you remember?” said Eleanor.
“Oh, is it? I am so glad. I wonder where the greenhouses will be.”
“The greenhouses? What greenhouses?” Eleanor looked
astonished.
“Oh, I forgot, you don’t know.”
Rock heard her, and speaking over his shoulder said: “The
greenhouses will have to be built, Cassy. There is room enough for
them, as you’ll see. Look right ahead through those trees and you
will see the cottage.”
“Come,” cried Eleanor, catching Cassy by the hand, “let’s get there
first.” They ran ahead through the crisp brown leaves and stood
panting on the porch, that porch of which they had talked, and to
which still clung the morning-glory vines now withered and dry, but
showing rustling seed pods.
Rock produced the key of the house and they all went in. Mrs. Law
looked around critically. A hall ran through the middle of the house,
and on each side were two rooms. Above stairs there were four
comfortable bedrooms and a small one over the hall; an unfinished
garret gave plenty of storeroom.
Rock watched Mrs. Law’s face. This place was his special
discovery, and he was very anxious that it should be appreciated. He
showed off the various good points with the air of one who has a
personal interest. The view from the windows, the advantage of a
porch both front and back, the dry cellar, the closets in each room; all
these things were pointed out and Mrs. Law declared that, so far as
she was concerned, the house would be all that one could wish
when certain repairs had been made.
“The only point,” she said, “is the land. If that suits John’s purpose
I am more than satisfied. I will describe it to him as nearly as
possible, and I hope he will make up his mind to come, but I rather
think he will want to see it himself first.”
Rock looked a little disappointed.
“I did hope you could get settled right off.”
“We couldn’t do that anyhow,” Mrs. Law told him, “for there are
repairs to be made. I think as long as the place has been standing
idle for some time, and as you say, there are no applicants, that very
likely we can get the refusal of it, and I know when John comes he
will lose no time in looking at it.”
This seemed the best that could be done and they started back
towards the town.
“You are coming to our house to lunch, you know,” said Eleanor. “It
isn’t very far to walk.”
“Oh, my dear,” expostulated Mrs. Law, “I couldn’t think of such a
thing.”
“Oh, but you see,” said Eleanor, with decision, “mamma expects
you. She would have come down to the train herself, but she
couldn’t; she had a caller on very particular business, but she will be
looking for us, and Bubbles is just wild to see Cassy, and I promised
May Garland that I would bring Cassy over there to see the baby and
the chickens and everything. Then Rock wants to show Jerry where
he will go to school, and, oh my, if you don’t stay what will we do?”
Mrs. Law had to smile at her look of distress, and Cassy looked up
at her mother pleadingly. She did so very much want to see all these
people and the things of which she had heard Eleanor talk so much.
“There comes mamma now,” cried Eleanor. “She has driven out to
meet us with the pony. Now, Mrs. Law, you can get in and drive back
with her, and we will walk.”
Cassy had heard of this wonderful Shetland pony, Eleanor’s
dearest possession, and she drew a long breath of pleasure. She
would dearly have liked to drive behind him herself, and as if reading
her thought, Eleanor said: “We will go for a little drive this afternoon,
you and Jerry and Rock and I. You will not have to go till the late
train, I know.”
Cassy bestowed a beaming smile upon her.
“I don’t believe Miss Morning-Glory will want to come,” she said
with conviction.
By the time they had reached the gate, Mrs. Law and Eleanor’s
mother had gone in and it was evidently settled that the visitors were
to remain till after lunch.
“And please say you will not go till the late train,” Eleanor begged
Mrs. Law. “We’ve got so much to do.”
“And it will not keep till another time, I suppose,” returned Mrs.
Law.
“Your Aunt Dora promised to come over this afternoon; she wants
to see Mrs. Law, and I think we can persuade these friends to stay,”
said Eleanor’s mother.
“You will stay, won’t you, mother?” begged both Cassy and Jerry.
“Please,” added Rock and Eleanor. And Mrs. Dallas smiling,
repeated, “Please.” So Mrs. Law declared herself more than
persuaded, and that matter was settled.
“Which shall we do first, go over to May Garland’s or to drive?”
Eleanor asked Cassy.
“I think you’d better take your drive first,” suggested her mother.
“The days are so short and you’d best be near home when it gets
dark.”
“All right, we will do that. You must come right back after lunch,
Rock,” called Eleanor, as the boy was about to go.
Just then a smiling little colored girl appeared at the door. She
rolled her eyes delightedly in Cassy’s direction as she announced,
“Lunch ready, Mis’ Dallas.”
Cassy knew that this must be Bubbles, and she smiled in return.
Bubbles was so overcome with pleasure that she ducked her head
and giggled as she disappeared.
 “I think you’ve two of the nicest things in the world,” said Cassy, as
they went into the dining-room, “and they’re both black; a Bubbles
and a pony.”
Eleanor laughed.
“I don’t know what I should do without them. Bubbles says she is
going to live with me when I grow up, but she’s getting pretty big
now, and I am so afraid she will get married first and will go off and
leave me.”
After lunch Eleanor showed her guest her little bedroom and her
playhouse in the yard where she kept her dolls, her books and many
of her treasures, and Cassy thought that in all her life she had never
dreamed of such a favored child as Eleanor Dallas.
“Aren’t you ’most happy enough to fly?” she asked.
“Why?” said Eleanor.
“I would be, if I had all these things and this lovely place to live in
and a papa.”
Eleanor put her arm around her.
“You have an Uncle John, and he will be just like a papa, I know.”
Cassy agreed that it was indeed something to be thankful for, and
then Rock called them to say that Spice was getting impatient, and
when were they coming.
So off they set, the little pony’s short quick steps taking them along
at a good rate. The sparkling November air made them all as lively
as possible; Cassy alone was almost too happy for words, but the
others chattered without stopping, and at last, on their return to town,
they stopped at May Garland’s gate and the drive was over. The girls
went in and the two boys drove around to put Spice in the stable.
May Garland with her dog, her cats, her chickens, and last, but not
least, her sweet baby sister, Rosalie, was a very desirable
acquaintance, Cassy thought, and when Bubbles came flying in with
the message that they must come back at once as it was nearly train
time, Cassy thought she had never known so short an afternoon.
 As May Garland lived in the next house to the Dallas’s they had
not far to go, and arrived to find Mrs. Law ready to start for the train.
“I hate to have you go,” said Eleanor at parting, “but I am going to
think you are coming back again soon; and oh, I do hope you will go
to our school, you nice, funny girl, and I am so very, very glad that
everybody is happy and that everything is happening so beautifully
for you.”
UNCLE JOHN ARRIVES
 CHAPTER XII
UNCLE JOHN ARRIVES

The next great thing to look for was the return of Uncle John. He
was not one to waste his time, and he had been able to arrange his
affairs more quickly than Mrs. Law had dared to hope, for he wrote
that they might look for him the latter part of November, and Mrs.
Law busied herself in making her preparations to leave the Dallas
place.
There had been a sharp frost, which even the chrysanthemums
had not withstood, so the garden looked bare and dreary. The arbor
vitæ hedge alone kept its green, and as Cassy stood looking at the
wisps of straw which covered the rose-bushes, she told herself that
she really felt less sorry to leave than she had ever thought she
could. The prospect of that other garden near to Eleanor and to May
Garland, that cottage which overlooked a shining strip of river, and in
sight of which were the purple hills, all this made her feel that she
was to gain more than she was to lose.
“Although I am going away, I shall always love you very, very
much, you dear garden,” she whispered. “I will never forget you, and
you must take good care of my mouse and my spiders, and some
day I will come back and see you, roses, dear, when you come out of
your funny little straw houses. In a few days we shall all be gone and
I will be outside your brick wall, you dear garden.”
She walked slowly back to the house, though Jerry was calling:
“Hurry, hurry, Cassy.” Then it suddenly occurred to her that maybe
her Uncle John had come, and she ran very fast up the garden path
towards the house. Sure enough, that was why Jerry had called, for
before she had reached the porch steps she was caught up by a pair
of strong arms and her own clasped her uncle’s neck.
“I am so glad, so glad to see you, you dear, dearest uncle,” she
said.
 “And I am glad to see my little lassie again. I was homesick for her
many a time, my little Cassy.”
“And you’ll never, never go back there again.”
“Not unless I take you with me. When you’re a young lady,
perhaps, we’ll all go over and have a look at things together.”
Cassy gave him a hug and he put her down.
There was much to talk about, so much to do and to see that for
the next week they seemed in a whirl. First there was a mysterious
package of presents which Uncle John had brought with him, and
which was found to contain a piece of soft wool material, a true
Scotch plaid, for a new frock for Cassy, and a new doll from London,
which Cassy admired very much, but which she played with only on
special occasions, for her beloved Flora was not to be cast aside for
any newcomer. For Jerry there was a suit of Scotch tweed and a little
silver watch, while for Mrs. Law there was a piece of silk for a new
gown and some other things, mementoes of her childhood, a bit of
heather, a pin in which was set a Scotch pebble, and a lot of
photographs of her old home and the surrounding country. These
last were a great source of pleasure to the children, especially to
Cassy, who sat and dreamed over them, imagining her mother a tiny
child with her sturdy little brother by her side playing in that home
over the sea.
The very next day after his arrival Uncle John went to look at the
place upon which they had all set their hearts.
“I can scarcely wait till he comes back, can you, mother?” said
Jerry.
“Don’t you want dreadfully to go there?” asked Cassy.
“Not dreadfully. I should be content anywhere, I think, with my dear
children and my brother; but for your sakes, my darlings, I’d like to
go.”
“Then I think we will,” said Cassy, “for Uncle John loves me very
much, and I told him I’d be dreadfully disappointed if he didn’t like
the place.”
 Her mother laughed.
“I think then he’ll try very hard to like it.”
“Isn’t it funny when he went away he was John McClure, and when
he came back he was John Kennedy; I like him best to be John
Kennedy, because he has a part of my name,” said Cassy.
She was right in supposing that her uncle would try to like the
place, and it is quite true also, that Rock’s eagerness and Cassy’s
desire in the matter had much to do with his decision. At all events
when he did return that evening, he told them that he had not only
bought the place, but that he had set the painters and carpenters to
work, and that he wanted his sister and Cassy to go down town with
him the next day to choose the papers for the walls, and that he
hoped in a couple of weeks they could move in.
“I’ve a deal of work to get done before spring,” he said, “and so I
can’t afford to lose any time, besides I have so set my heart on a
little home for us all that I am as impatient as the children.”
“I’m glad you are impatient,” said Cassy with satisfaction.
The choosing of the wall papers was a most bewildering and
fascinating work, and when Cassy saw a certain design of roses on
a cream ground she begged to have that for her room.
“And what am I to have?” asked her uncle.
Cassy gravely considered chrysanthemums and buttercups and
purple clematis.
“Which do you like best?” she asked.
“Yours,” he returned.
The shopman unrolled another paper, and Cassy gave a little
scream of delight.
“You can have the other,” she cried, for here were morning-glories,
delicately trailing up a creamy white paper; curling tendrils, heart
shaped leaves, and all, looked so very natural.
 “I’ll agree,” said her uncle. “I will take the roses,” and so with
buttercups for Jerry and chrysanthemums for Mrs. Law they were all
satisfied.
Then came the buying of furniture, for Mrs. Law’s poor little stock
would go only a very little way towards being enough, and next there
were carpets and curtains and many other things, and finally there
came a day when Mrs. Law went up to the cottage with her brother
to set up the furniture which had been unpacked and stood ready to
be placed in the different rooms.
At last came the time when they were to leave the Dallas place to
take possession of their new home. Martha had been on hand for
several days getting Mrs. Dallas’s rooms all in order, uncovering the
furniture and pictures and getting out the ornaments; the
upholsterers had been at work putting up the curtains and putting
down the carpets and rugs so that the house, when they left it,
appeared very much as it did that day when Cassy had first seen it,
and was less familiar to her than it had been in its summer aspect.
Along the garden walks gusts of wind were sweeping the dry leaves
and it looked wintry and cold out there.
“I’d rather see our purple hills and the river than brick walls; we
have ever so much more view,” said Cassy, triumphantly.
“You are getting very top-lofty,” returned her mother. “I remember a
little girl who, not a year ago, thought it would be paradise to get
inside this place, and now she thinks it is rather contracted.”
“Oh, but I love it, too, though I like my own home better.” She sat
with folded hands looking very thoughtful after this. Her mother
watched her for a little while.
“A penny for your thoughts,” she said, gaily. She was often quite
gay and smiling these days, different from that quiet, patient, gentle
mother who had always smiled so sadly and who had to work so
hard for her children.
Cassy held out her hand.
“The penny, please,” she said. “I was thinking about Mrs. Boyle
and the parrot and Billy Miles and all those people, and I was
wondering whether I ought to go and say good-bye to them.”
“Do you want to?”
“Not exactly. I do for some reasons.”
“What reasons?” Her mother looked at her with a half smile.
“I believe you know, mother.” She hung her head. “I would like
them to know we are going to have our own lovely little home, and I
would like to show off before the girls a little.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. It is perfectly natural that you should
feel so, but after all I think I wouldn’t do it. Jerry has let the boys
know of all the pleasant things that have happened and I think we
need not do any more.”
“I think after all I’m rather glad not to. I never, never want to see
that back yard again; do you?”
“No, my dear, no.”
Cassy’s Uncle John had already gone up to take possession of the
new home and was there to welcome them when they arrived. He
had bought a comfortable dayton and a pair of strong horses and
was at the station to meet them. Cassy’s heart beat so fast and she
was so overcome when they came within sight of the house that she
slipped down on the floor of the dayton and buried her face in her
mother’s lap. Mrs. Law laid her hand gently on the child’s. She
understood the excitable, intense nature.
John Kennedy, looking over his shoulder at the back seat, missed
his little niece.
“Where’s Cassy?” he asked.
She lifted her head and he saw her trembling lips and moist eyes.
“Not crying, Cassy?” he said.
“I’m not crying because I am sorry, Uncle John, but I’m so glad I
can’t help it.”
As they stopped before the gate, after turning in from the long
lane, there came a shout and a hallo, and around the corner of the
house came Rock, Eleanor, May Garland and Bubbles, all capering
about in delight and calling out a dozen things before the newcomers
had left their places. Jerry was the first to scramble down. He viewed
the house now spick and span in its new coat of paint.
“My, doesn’t it look fine?” he cried. And he made a rush for the
porch.
“May and I were coming down for you in the pony carriage, but we
thought maybe you’d rather ride up in your uncle’s new dayton,”
Eleanor said to Cassy, who hadn’t a word to say. She only looked
from one to the other smiling. “We haven’t been all over the house
yet,” Eleanor went on to say. “Your uncle said you would like to show
it to us yourself. Isn’t it funny that we’ve got to learn to call him Mr.
Kennedy?”
They all went in and Cassy led them from room to room. It was all
neat and comfortable with no attempt at show, but very cheerful and
homelike, “just as a cottage should be,” Mrs. Law had said.
When the house was fully viewed and they had peeped into all the
closets and corners, Eleanor gave Rock a look and he said, “We’ve
got something to show you out in the stable. Just wait a minute, you
and Jerry, and then come out there. You needn’t wait but five
minutes.” Then the four visitors ran out, leaving Jerry and Cassy to
wonder what was coming next.
They were so happy over all these delightful new things that as
soon as the other children disappeared they hugged each other and
danced up and down repeating in a singsong: “We’ve got a new
home! We’ve got a new home!” for the want of something better to
do and finding no other way to give vent to their feelings.
“It’s five minutes,” said Jerry, looking at his new watch. “Come on,”
and they ran out to the stable, but, before they reached it, out came
Rock bearing a Skye-terrier puppy in his arms. It was as much as
possible like Ragged Robin and about the size he was when Jerry
rescued him.
“It’s for you, old fellow,” said Rock, and then, boy-like, he turned
away before Jerry could say a word of thanks.
 After Rock came Eleanor carrying in her arms a dear little kitten
with the bluest eyes and with soft gray fur. She gave it carefully into
Cassy’s arms.
“Miss Morning-Glory told me that she thought you would like to
have a kitty,” she said, laughing.
Then came May Garland, a little shy, but with eyes full of laughter.
She had a basket in her hand.
“You can’t hold this, too,” she said, “but you see it is a little hen.”
She opened the basket and Cassy laughed as the buff hen cocked
her head to one side and made the remark: “Caw; caw!”
Not to be outdone by the others, Bubbles, chuckling and trying to
swallow her laugh, held a small box in her hand. There was a
scrambling and a scurrying inside. Cassy wondered what it could be.
“Miss Dimple say you lak mouses,” said Bubbles, “and I fetch yuh
dis one.”
Cassy put her kitten into Eleanor’s arms.
“Hold it for me,” she said, “and don’t let it go.” She took the box,
but too late heeded Bubbles’ warning. “Take keer!” for Miss Mouse
giving a sudden spring lifted the lid of the box as Cassy was
preparing to peep in, and leaping out scurried away out of sight as
fast as she could go.
“Oh!” exclaimed Cassy dismayed and hardly aware of what had
happened. But Bubbles threw up her hands and brought them
together with a shout of delight. It was just the kind of sensation that
she enjoyed.
“Ne’min’, Miss Cassy,” she said. “I reckons hit’s a good thing fo’
Miss Mouse she git away, fur de kitten mought git her.”
“Let’s make a house for the hen,” said Rock to Jerry who had
followed up Rock and now had returned to see what all this fun was
about.
“All right,” said Jerry, glad for some excuse to exercise his
energies. “I’m going to keep the puppy right with me all the time. I tell
you, he is a dandy. I am awfully glad to have him.”
“You’ll call him Ragged Robin, won’t you?”
“Yes, but I’ll call him Robin for short.”
The boys went into the stable to find something for the hen-coop,
and the girls went to the house. They found a pleasant-looking, rosy-
cheeked maid installed in the kitchen, and passing through they went
on up to Cassy’s morning-glory room. But by the time the boys had
settled the hen in her new home it was growing late and the visitors
took their leave with many friendly good-byes and neighborly
invitations. Cassy watched them depart and then went to her mother.
Out of doors Jerry and his uncle were looking over the land on
which would soon appear the rows of greenhouses. A shining line of
silver showed through the trees, telling where the river was. Behind
the purple hills the sun had set, and there was a gorgeous western
sky. With her head on her mother’s shoulder Cassy watched the
clouds of amethyst and gold and red.
“The sun has walked through his garden,” she said. “See all the
bunches of flowers in the sky. Aren’t you so happy it most hurts you,
mother?”
“I am very thankful and content,” she said.
“Monday morning Eleanor is going to call for me to take me to
school; she is coming with her pony carriage. Isn’t it good of Uncle
John to want me to go to that school? I must go and tell him. Kiss
me, mother, I am going to find Uncle John.”
Her mother kissed her and presently saw her stepping carefully
over the clods of earth, her face aglow with the rosy light from the
sky. She was singing in a shrill little voice: “Home sweet home.” Jerry
had forsaken his uncle and had gone to his beloved puppy, but
Uncle John heard Cassy and held out his hand. She went to him and
together they watched the daylight fade.
“But there’s such a beautiful to-morrow coming,” said Cassy, as
they walked towards the cottage in the waning light.