The Penderwicks at Point Mouette Read Online Free PDF Page B

stop, and out of its window popped Jeffrey, looking exactly as he should, with his freckles and his hair that had trouble staying down, and just as happy to see them as they were to see him.
    “Get in!” he cried.
    They all crammed into the car, gleefully scrambling over each other and Jeffrey, though they did manage to say hello to the driver, a cheerful-looking man named Mr. Remillard. Then, with everyone talking and laughing at once, they rode back to Birches. Hound helped by barking the entire time, because he worshipped Jeffrey and was amazed to have him turn up so suddenly in Maine.
    “The house is awfully small, Jeffrey,” said Skye when they’d arrived and tumbled out of the car. “Do you mind?”
    “Are you kidding?” Jeffrey picked up Batty and spun her around until she squealed with laughter. “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”
    “No, no,” said Jane and Skye together, then went on interrupting each other to explain the sleeping porch and how they would share one leg of it, and Jeffrey could have the other leg all to himself, and how they didn’t mind sharing at all, since it meant they’d have him there. In the meantime, Mr. Remillard had opened the trunk of his car and was unloading it. First came a suitcase and then a cardboard box tied with a ribbon.
    “Food from Churchie,” said Jeffrey when the box appeared. “As soon as Mother decided to let me come, Churchie started baking.”
    The sisters had gotten to know and love Churchie, who was Mrs. T-D’s housekeeper, the summer before at Arundel. She had many excellent qualities—her fierce devotion to Jeffrey among them—but in the realm of the kitchen she was beyond excellent and all the way to phenomenal. Skye peeked into the box and almost swooned. Three loaves of Churchie’s famous gingerbread! Jeffrey and gingerbread, all at the same time. Perfection.
    Now Jeffrey reached into the trunk and brought out a small black clarinet case. This wasn’t unexpected, since Jeffrey was a musician and would be miserable without some instrument or another. His first love was the piano, which he’d been playing for years; he’d been studying clarinet for only six months. But pianos don’t fit into trunks of cars, so the clarinet was an excellent choice for Maine.
    Skye started to close the trunk but saw one last thing, crammed way into the back and half covered with an old towel, as though Jeffrey had tried to hide it. And when she looked closer, she understood why. Back there was a fancy leather bag full of golf clubs. The sisters knew this bag well—they’d been with Jeffrey the previous summer when his mother and Dexter gave it to him for his eleventh birthday. Jeffrey had loathed golf then, and Skye was quite sure he loathed it still.
    “Why did you bring this?” she asked him, saying “this” as she would say “putrid garbage.”
    Jeffrey grimaced. “Dexter says there’s a golf course around here. There could be a hundred golf courses for all I care. Stupid sport.”
    “Never mind,” said Jane. “We’ll stick the bag under one of the cots and you can ignore it for the whole two weeks.”
    “You can stay for the whole two weeks, can’t you?” asked Skye anxiously. Now that he was here, it would be horrible to have him swept away again.
    “Every minute,” said Jeffrey. “Mr. Remillard will come back for me on the morning you’re all leaving.”
    “Even if your mother calls and says she’s changed her mind again?” This was Jane.
    “Even if she and Dexter drive here themselves and try to tear me away.”
    Batty took hold of his arm. “Promise?”
    “I promise,” said Jeffrey. “Do or die.”
    Skye dragged the golf bag out of the trunk and slung it over her shoulder. It was just as heavy as it was unwanted, but Skye stood up straight and strong, determined not to let Dexter, Mrs. T-D, or golf bags—or even the loss of her precious list—wreck their vacation. Jeffrey was here now, and they were going to have the