A Song of Sixpence Read Online Free PDF

Grant’s special dessert apple tarts. Beyond, within the shop, bent over a book with her elbows on the counter and her back towards us, was Polly Grant. Her posture, which certainly presented us with a notably curvaceous view of the part usually sat upon, seemed to amuse Cousin Terence. He lounged in an athletic way against the window, his gaze wandering from the apple pastry to the unconscious Polly.
    â€˜That’s not a bad-looking tart,’ he commented.
    â€˜Oh, yes, Terry. Simply spiffing.’
    â€˜Very well rounded?’
    â€˜They’re always round, Terry.’
    To my surprise Terence laughed, and Polly, disturbed in her reading, stood up and swung towards us. Meeting my cousin’s eye, she reddened and closed her book with a bang.
    â€˜We could do with something to sweeten our mouths, after the eggs,’ Terence resumed. ‘ I daresay you have an account here.’
    â€˜Oh, we have. I often do messages for Mother and have them marked.’
    â€˜Then suppose you nip in for the pastry and have it charged.’ He added airily: ‘ I’ll square up for it later.’
    Enthusiastically, I obeyed. Polly seemed unnaturally disturbed. She even forgot to give me my usual butterscotch drop.
    â€˜Who is that young fellow with you?’ she inquired, with still heightened colour.
    â€˜My cousin Terence,’ I answered proudly.
    â€˜Then tell him from me he has a pretty good cheek.’
    Naturally I could not think of conveying such a message to my cousin, who, surveying the prospect as I came out with the tart, suggested that we should stroll across to a shady corner of the village green, known locally as the Common.
    Here he settled himself comfortably with his back to a chestnut tree and undid the paper bag, releasing a delicious fragrance of crisp puff pastry.
    â€˜It’s not so big when you see it close,’ he remarked, inspecting the tart, which to my eye seemed much larger at near view. It was at least nine inches in diameter, oozing lovely juice and snowy with sifted sugar.
    â€˜Hmm,’ said Terence. ‘You wouldn’t have a knife?’
    â€˜No, Terry. I’m not allowed one yet. For fear I should cut myself,’ I apologized.
    â€˜Pity,’ said Terence thoughtfully. ‘We can’t go tearing this apart or we’ll have the innards all over us.’
    A pause, during which Terence, frowning, seemed to ponder more deeply, while anticipation of those rich inner flavours made my teeth water.
    â€˜There’s only one thing for it, man,’ he declared at last, resolutely. ‘We’ll have to toss for it. You’re a sport, aren’t you?’
    â€˜If you are, I am, Terry.’
    â€˜Good man!’ He produced a penny gravely. ‘ Heads I win, tails you lose. I’ll give you all the benefit. You make the call.’
    â€˜Tails, Terry,’ I ventured timidly.
    He uncovered the coin.
    â€˜And tails it is, more’s the pity. Didn’t you hear me say tails you lose? Well, better luck next time.’
    In a way, although my eyes blinked, I was not too unhappy to have lost. Watching Terence eat the tart slowly and with every sign of relish, I enjoyed it vicariously, down to the last flaky crumb.
    â€˜Was it good, Terry?’
    â€˜Fair,’ he decided critically. ‘But too rich for your young blood.’
    Without disturbing his reclining position, he eased a gun-metal cigarette case from his pocket, extracted a gold-tipped cigarette and, while I watched reverently, lit up.
    â€˜Wild Geranium,’ he explained.
    â€˜Terry,’ I said. ‘ It’s so nice you being here. Why don’t you come more often? And why can’t I come to see you?’
    â€˜Ah,’ he said, bringing smoke down his nose. ‘Now you’re getting into a bit of family history.’
    I seized the opening eagerly.
    â€˜Tell me about it, Terry.’
    He considered, half hesitated, as though