Escape from Silver Street Farm Read online

  “We’ve come to say that we’re sorry,” said Bish Bosh in a very small voice.

  “Yes,” said Squirt, so quietly that nobody actually heard him.

  At last, Bish Bosh found the courage to look up. “The thing is,” he said, “we’d like to help out. On your farm. Please.”

  There was a long pause, then Flora smiled. “Consider yourselves hired, boys,” she said. “You’ve clearly got a way with livestock. Shake on it, eh?”

  The farm looked almost as beautiful at sunset as it had at dawn. The fences were all in good order, the paths were swept, and the animals were on their best behavior.

  Everything and everyone was ready for the grand opening. Buster and Flinty greeted everyone most politely by wagging their tails and offering their paws. Flora and the children showed the many visitors around, while various reporters and film crews pointed cameras and microphones at almost everything — but especially at the turkeys and Kenny. Everyone seemed to love it all.

  Then the Turkey Rescue Baby, whose name was Ralph, arrived with his mom and dad, and there was another flurry of cameras and lights. Ralph’s mom burst into tears when she saw the turkeys and again when she spoke to the children. Ralph’s dad didn’t say much at all, just pressed a fat envelope stuffed with money into Flora’s hands before they took Ralph home to bed.

  Bish Bosh and Squirt helped out with the evening chores by feeding and watering the animals. Already they seemed part of the team.

  As it got dark, the children lit candles in jam jars and put them all around the farm, lighting the paths and the pens and the buildings. Silver Street Farm gleamed like a fairy tale.

  The grand opening turned into a party. Mr. Khan, who owned the corner shop, had brought his trombone, and Gemma’s dad his accordion. Together, they began playing every old tune they could think of. Everyone sang along between mouthfuls of food.

  And then, just as Meera was wondering if Uncle Sanjay was going to let her down, his old white van trundled into the yard. Flora was talking to Sashi, so luckily she didn’t notice the van arriving or the children slipping away.

  Ten minutes later, Meera, Gemma, and Karl climbed onto an old sofa and stood together in a line. Meera tapped a glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “thank you all for coming to this grand opening.”

  “As I’m sure you know,” said Gemma, “Silver Street Farm would not be ready for its first visitors without Flora MacDonald.”

  Everyone cheered.

  “And,” said Karl, trying hard to speak up in spite of his nervousness in front of so many people, “Meera, Gemma, and I would now like to give Flora her Christmas present.”

  Right on cue, Mr. Khan and Gemma’s dad struck up “Old MacDonald” and everyone trooped outside, with jam-jar lanterns lighting their way. The children led Flora and the guests to the newly refitted tool shed.

  There were lanterns all the way around the wall, and, in the little yard, happily chomping their way through some chopped cabbage mixed with whey from Flora’s cheese making, were two lovely spotted pigs.

  Flora was astonished — and very pleased.

  “They’re just wonderful!” she said. “Gloucester Old Spots — my favorite breed. How on earth did you get them?”

  “Well,” said Meera, “that’s my uncle Sanjay, over there.” Uncle Sanjay waved shyly from the back of the crowd. “He was installing a new boiler in a farm in the country . . .”

  “And he mentioned that his niece was part of the famous Silver Street Farm . . .” said Karl, taking up the story that Meera had finally told them that morning.

  “And the man said he could have two of his young sows . . .” continued Gemma.

  “And Uncle Sanjay brought them here in his van!” Meera said, completing the tale.

  Everyone laughed and cheered. Flora hugged the children and Meera’s uncle. Gemma was sure that she was about to hug the pigs, too, when the sound of high clear voices singing a carol made everyone suddenly quiet.

  Without a word, Flora, the children and the whole crowd of visitors tiptoed toward the sound, which came from Kenny’s pen, where the ram was spending the night outside as usual. There, sitting in a pool of candlelight, were Bish Bosh and Squirt, looking for all the world like a pair of little angels. They were singing:

  “In Bethlehem did shepherds keep

  Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep . . .”

  Their voices blended sweetly, as brothers’ voices often do. The boys looked up at the people gathered along the edge of the old platform and grinned, but they weren’t singing for the Silver Street visitors. Their real audience was Kenelottle Mossworthy Merridale of Morrayside. The ram stood still, no longer grumpy or aggressive, with his big head resting on Bish Bosh’s knee, and his eyes peacefully shut, soothed by the voices of the boys he’d been so eager to chase.

  “Silver Street magic strikes again!” whispered Sashi. “I can’t wait to see what next year will bring!”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2011 by Nicola Davies

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Katharine McEwen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First U.S. electronic edition 2013

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2012942620

  ISBN 978-0-7636-6133-5 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-0-7636-6562-3 (electronic)

  The illustrations were done in pen and watercolor.

  Candlewick Press

  99 Dover Street

  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

  vis it us at www.candlewick.com