(5/20)Over the Gate Read Online Free PDF

ceiling trying to dodge the iron-hard rafter and the hanging oil lamp suspended from it; but Sally had always been of a philosophic strain and decided to make the best of a bad job.
    '"What can't be cured must be endured ",' quoted Sally, running a finger along the top of the white china lamp shade. It was thick with dust, and Sally clucked disapprovingly at such filth in her house.
    'No doubt about it: "Out of sight is out of mind." I must take this lot down and give it a real good wash in some suds.' A pang seized her.
    'If I ever do get down,' she added despairingly. She propelled herself by pushing her hands against the ceiling until she was level with the high shelf where she stored bottling jars and preserving pans. To her horror she saw a large black beetle, dead and on its back, in the pan she kept for making pickles and chutney.
    "Tis really shameful,' Sally scolded herself. 'If it hadn't been for this misfortune I'd never have realised what a slovenly fool I am.'
    Below her the potatoes waited in a bowl of water to be peeled. The cat mewed by his empty saucer, and the big black kettle on the oil stove began to hum.
    'Lawks!' thought Sally, 'How long do I have to stick up here, I wonder? Them dizzy turns went over in ten minutes or so. With any luck I'll be down in half an hour.' Would the kettle boil over before then, she thought agitatedly? Really, it was too bad! It would teach her a lesson to go dabbling in things she didn't understand!
    She had realised, as soon as her head cracked against the beam, that she had misconstrued the heading of the recipe. She had indeed lost weight, but not size. It was only now, in the first half hour or so of her bizarre imprisonment, that she began to foresee the possibilities of her discovery. As a short woman, she had always found difficulty in reaching shelves and cupboards put into the cottage by her tall father. A stout stool accompanied Sally on many a job in the house such as window-cleaning, or storing preserves, or the winter blankets, in high little-used cupboards.
    'If I takes just the right amount,' pondered Sally, picking a particularly thick cobweb from the top of the curtains, 'I can float just where I need to.' She began to dally with the idea of picking apples and plums without needing to borrow a ladder, but reason told her at once of the dangers.
    'Too many prying eyes,' decided Sally sagaciously, 'and dear knows how high I might go if the wind got me! It's got to be faced. I'm more like a balloon than anything else when I've that stuff inside me.'
    At that moment she heard footsteps. Her front door stood open, as was its custom in fine weather, and this gave direct access to the living-room. Luckily, the door between that room and the kitchen was securely shut. Sally edged her way, silently and painfully, to a shadowy corner of the ceiling. Her heart pounded. Would she be discovered?
    'You in, my dear?' called her neighbour. Sally preserved a frozen silence.
    'Be you upstairs?' went on the voice. Sally heard the clang of the metal door scraper. Lawks a mercy, what if she came in? Sally's throat dried at the very thought. She clung to the pan shelf with trembling fingers, praying with all her might. The kettle began to bubble steadily, and the cat jumped noisily on to the table among the dishes.
    'You home, Sal?' said the voice, a little louder. The door scraper clanged again; then silence fell. At last, there was the sound of muttering and the slow fading of footsteps along the brick path to Sally's gate. Sally covered her face with her grimy hands and wept with relief. Ten minutes later, her body began to feel more solid and manageable. She found she could control die direction of her legs and arms with growing accuracy, and slowly she sank groundwards.
    The first thing she did was to make a good strong pot of tea and carry it into the living-room to recover. A fine cabbage, obviously brought by her neighbour, waited on the threshold. She must go and thank