kingfisher bird was spoilt by the water; all its feathers fell off and a great twirly spring came jumping out of its side. My father used the spring to keep the door shut against draughts from the grating and my mother put the feathers in a little moleskin hat. After a while I got born and my father went borrowing again. But he gets tired now and doesn't like curtains, not when any of the bobbles are off...."
"I helped him a bit," said the boy, "with the tea cup. He was shivering all over. I suppose he was frightened."
"My father frightened!" exclaimed Arrietty angrily. "Frightened of you!" she added.
"Perhaps he doesn't like heights," said the boy.
"He loves heights," said Arrietty. "The thing he doesn't like is curtains. I've told you. Curtains make him tired."
The boy sat thoughtfully on his haunches, chewing a blade of grass. "Borrowing," he said after a while. "Is that what you call it?"
"What else could you call it?" asked Arrietty.
"I'd call it stealing."
Arrietty laughed. She really laughed. "But we
are
Borrowers," she explained, "like you're a—a human bean or whatever it's called. We're part of the house. You might as well say that the fire grate steals the coal from the coal scuttle."
"Then what is stealing?"
Arrietty looked grave. "Don't you know?" she asked. "Stealing is—well, supposing my Uncle Hendreary borrowed an emerald watch from Her dressing-table and my father took it and hung it up on our wall. That's stealing."
"An emerald watch!" exclaimed the boy.
"Well, I just said that because we have one on the wall at home, but my father borrowed it himself. It needn't be a watch. It could be anything. A lump of sugar even. But Borrowers don't steal."
"Except from human beings," said the boy.
Arrietty burst out laughing; she laughed so much that she had to hide her face in the primrose. "Oh dear," she gasped with tears in her eyes, "you are funny!" She stared upward at his puzzled face. "Human beans are
for
Borrowers—like bread's for butter!"
The boy was silent awhile. A sigh of wind rustled the cherry tree and shivered among the blossoms.
"Well, I don't believe it," he said at last, watching the falling petals. "I don't believe that's what we're for at all and I don't believe we're dying out!"
"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Arrietty impatiently, staring up at his chin. "Just use your common sense: you're the only real human bean I ever saw (although I do just know of three more—Crampfurl, Her, and Mrs. Driver). But I know lots and lots of Borrowers: the Overmantels and the Harpsichords and the Rain-Barrels and the Linen-Presses and the Boot-Racks and the Hon. John Studdingtons and—"
He looked down. "John Studdington? But he was our grand-uncle—"
"Well, this family lived behind a picture," went on Arrietty, hardly listening, "and there were the Stove-Pipes and the Bell-Pulls and the—"
"Yes," he interrupted, "but did you see them?"
"I saw the Harpsichords. And my mother was a Bell-Pull. The others were before I was born...."
He leaned closer. "Then where are they now? Tell me that."
"My Uncle Hendreary has a house in the country," said Arrietty coldly, edging away from his great lowering face; it was misted over, she noticed, with hairs of palest gold. "And four children, Harpsichords and Clocks."
"But where are the others?"
"Oh," said Arrietty, "they're somewhere." But where? she wondered. And she shivered slightly in the boy's cold shadow which lay about her, slant-wise, on the grass.
He drew back again, his fair head blocking out a great piece of sky. "Well," he said deliberately after a moment, and his eyes were cold, "I've only seen two Borrowers but I've seen hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds—"
"Oh no—" whispered Arrietty.
"Of human beings." And he sat back.
Arrietty stood very still. She did not look at him. After a while she said: "I don't believe you."
"All right," he said, "then I'll tell you—"
"I still won't believe you," murmured
"I helped him a bit," said the boy, "with the tea cup. He was shivering all over. I suppose he was frightened."
"My father frightened!" exclaimed Arrietty angrily. "Frightened of you!" she added.
"Perhaps he doesn't like heights," said the boy.
"He loves heights," said Arrietty. "The thing he doesn't like is curtains. I've told you. Curtains make him tired."
The boy sat thoughtfully on his haunches, chewing a blade of grass. "Borrowing," he said after a while. "Is that what you call it?"
"What else could you call it?" asked Arrietty.
"I'd call it stealing."
Arrietty laughed. She really laughed. "But we
are
Borrowers," she explained, "like you're a—a human bean or whatever it's called. We're part of the house. You might as well say that the fire grate steals the coal from the coal scuttle."
"Then what is stealing?"
Arrietty looked grave. "Don't you know?" she asked. "Stealing is—well, supposing my Uncle Hendreary borrowed an emerald watch from Her dressing-table and my father took it and hung it up on our wall. That's stealing."
"An emerald watch!" exclaimed the boy.
"Well, I just said that because we have one on the wall at home, but my father borrowed it himself. It needn't be a watch. It could be anything. A lump of sugar even. But Borrowers don't steal."
"Except from human beings," said the boy.
Arrietty burst out laughing; she laughed so much that she had to hide her face in the primrose. "Oh dear," she gasped with tears in her eyes, "you are funny!" She stared upward at his puzzled face. "Human beans are
for
Borrowers—like bread's for butter!"
The boy was silent awhile. A sigh of wind rustled the cherry tree and shivered among the blossoms.
"Well, I don't believe it," he said at last, watching the falling petals. "I don't believe that's what we're for at all and I don't believe we're dying out!"
"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Arrietty impatiently, staring up at his chin. "Just use your common sense: you're the only real human bean I ever saw (although I do just know of three more—Crampfurl, Her, and Mrs. Driver). But I know lots and lots of Borrowers: the Overmantels and the Harpsichords and the Rain-Barrels and the Linen-Presses and the Boot-Racks and the Hon. John Studdingtons and—"
He looked down. "John Studdington? But he was our grand-uncle—"
"Well, this family lived behind a picture," went on Arrietty, hardly listening, "and there were the Stove-Pipes and the Bell-Pulls and the—"
"Yes," he interrupted, "but did you see them?"
"I saw the Harpsichords. And my mother was a Bell-Pull. The others were before I was born...."
He leaned closer. "Then where are they now? Tell me that."
"My Uncle Hendreary has a house in the country," said Arrietty coldly, edging away from his great lowering face; it was misted over, she noticed, with hairs of palest gold. "And four children, Harpsichords and Clocks."
"But where are the others?"
"Oh," said Arrietty, "they're somewhere." But where? she wondered. And she shivered slightly in the boy's cold shadow which lay about her, slant-wise, on the grass.
He drew back again, his fair head blocking out a great piece of sky. "Well," he said deliberately after a moment, and his eyes were cold, "I've only seen two Borrowers but I've seen hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds—"
"Oh no—" whispered Arrietty.
"Of human beings." And he sat back.
Arrietty stood very still. She did not look at him. After a while she said: "I don't believe you."
"All right," he said, "then I'll tell you—"
"I still won't believe you," murmured
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