The Tale of Hill Top Farm Read Online Free PDF Page B

Highgate Cemetery, in the shadow of a large fir. She had not been able to talk of her grief to anyone other than Norman’s sister Millie, for her parents had been deeply opposed to the match, and no one other than their immediate families knew that they had exchanged rings.
    It had all happened so suddenly, too suddenly to comprehend. So much unspeakable joy, so much unbearable pain, all of it sharply compressed into so few days, too few days: Norman’s proposal of marriage on the twenty-fifth of July, his death on the twenty-fifth of August. And the news from Hill Top Farm only added to these difficulties, for soon after Norman had proposed to her, Beatrix had discovered that the farm (which had been purchased by a Hawkshead timber merchant earlier in the year) was once again for sale. The price, although still unreasonably high, was now within her reach, for the acreage had been reduced from 151 acres to thirty-four, and she had telegraphed her intention to purchase it.
    Her parents, of course, had been initially opposed to her purchase. There was nothing novel in their opposition, for any suggestion that their daughter might want to lead an independent life was met with displeased frowns and gloomy sulks, and often outright antagonism. But Beatrix was glad, now, that she had persisted. Hill Top Farm would give her a place to escape from the buried dreams of might-have-been, from her father’s deplorable tempers and her mother’s exacting demands.
    The driver shouted and the coach jerked to a stop in front of the Tower Bank Arms, Near Sawrey’s only pub. Beatrix got out, retrieved Mrs. Tiggy and the others, and saw to it that their boxes and cages were safely stowed on the wooden cart that Spuggy Pritchard had pulled around the corner.
    “These go up to Belle Green,” she said when Spuggy had added her trunk and bag, and gave the old man sixpence. “Please tell Mrs. Crook that I’ll be right along.”
    “Mind, now!” Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle cried imperiously. “Don’t jostle my basket! And keep that dog away from me!” A small fawn-colored Jack Russell terrier was dancing around the cart, barking gaily at the strange animals.
    “Dog?” Mopsy moaned. “Did someone say ‘dog’?”
    “Dog? Dog? Oh, woe!” twittered Tom Thumb, who had come all the way across the lake with his head buried under a heap of wood shavings in his traveling cage. “Where in the world have we got to? The ends of the earth? Oh, rural life will never do, never do at all, at all! I’m a town mouse! A town mouse, I tell you!”
    “We’ve reached Sawrey village, Tom,” Josey said briskly . “And don’t fret about the dog. He’s just being friendly.”
    The charabanc pulled up behind the coach, and Dimity Woodcock climbed down. “Welcome to Sawrey, Miss Potter,” she called. “Shall I see you up to Belle Green?”
    Beatrix hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Miss Woodcock’s company; it was rather that she preferred to see the lovely little village alone, without the distractions of polite conversation. On another, earlier day, she would likely have agreed, rather than hurt Miss Woodcock’s feelings. But in the few months since she had accepted Norman’s proposal and endured all that difficult business with her parents, she had begun to learn how good it felt to say what she wanted, rather than what someone else wanted for her.
    “Thank you,” she replied, “but I shan’t trouble you. It’s twilight, and I’m sure you have things to do at home.”
    Dimity Woodcock seemed to understand. “Of course,” she said warmly. “But you must agree to come to Tower Bank House for tea tomorrow. The late roses are glorious just now, and the first sharp frost will put an end to them.”
    “I should be glad to,” Beatrix replied. She was not a very sociable person by nature, but she thought she would like Miss Woodcock.
    “Wonderful,” Dimity Woodcock said. She laughed. “Now that I know you’re coming, perhaps it will