“Come right in,” said the farmer. “Aren’t you the little chap who took our boat?”
It seemed a bad beginning. Francis sniffed sadly and stepped inside. The family was having a noisy tea in the kitchen, but the farmer led Francis into a little sort of office, and they both sat down.
“Do your parents know you’ve come?” asked the farmer.
“Mum’s in the hospital,” replied Francis. “Dad knows I’ve gone for a bike ride. I’ve got to go into a foster home.
“So you said before,” said the farmer. “Have you had some tea?”
Francis shook his head. The farmer went away and came back with a mug of tea and a slice of homemade cake. When it was finished, the farmer leaned back in his chair. “Now tell me all about it,” he said.
And Francis, warmed and fortified by tea and cake, and encouraged by the deeply attentive man in front of him, went on. With the help of a few questions, he told everything, and by the time he had finished, the farmer knew all about Tyke, Spotty, the telephone booth, Ram, the fire, Mum, Dad, Wendy, Debby, and the police. It was quite a story, and when he had finished, Francis looked up pleadingly.
”So, you see,” he said, “If you can’t care for me, I don’t know where I shall go, and Tyke will get me. But you’d have to care for my cat too, ’cause she can’t go to Yorkshire, and she can’t stay alone, so she’d have to come, wouldn’t she?”
“Of course,” agreed the farmer. “If you come, the cat comes too. She could be the official barn mouser.”
Francis laughed gaily and had a queer feeling that it was the first time he had laughed like that for quite a while.
“I’m going to phone your father and talk to my wife,” said the farmer. He was gone for about twenty minutes while Francis thumbed through pamphlets about the milk board. When he came back he was smiling.
“Come on,” he said. “You can leave your bike in the shed. I’m taking you home to have a chat with your dad.”
They drove in silence for both had quite a lot to think about, and when they arrived, Mr. West came to the door to meet them, looking rather uncomfortable.
“Good evening,” he said. “I’m sorry to have put you to all this trouble. I had no idea where Francis had gone. Francis, go and eat your supper. Come in here, Mr. Glenny.”
They talked for quite a time. Then Dad put his head around the kitchen door and said, “All right, Francis, they very kindly say they’ll have you, and Mr. Glenny will take you now. There’s an empty suitcase in our bedroom. Run upstairs and collect what you need.”
Francis shot upstairs and shoved his clothes into the suitcase. He was just about to start on his toy cupboard when his stepfather appeared. “Come along,” he said. “You’ll only need your clothes. You can’t take all that junk. The gentleman’s waiting. You’ve got some nerve, haven’t you! However, it seems to be turning out for the best. Now, step on it!”
“I want my toys,” protested Francis, “and my stamps and my football cards. I can’t go without them.”
“You’ll do what you’re told,” said Dad, slamming down the lid of the suitcase and giving him a shove. “There’ll be plenty of toys where he comes from.” He hurried Francis downstairs to where Mr. Glenny stood waiting in the front hall. Francis stuck his head around the kitchen door.
“ ’Bye, Wendy, ’Bye, Debby,” he shouted. “I’m going away, and I’m not coming back till Mum’s better.”
And then a terrible thing happened. Wendy, who had been absorbed in a jigsaw puzzle, looked up and suddenly understood. She ran to him, flung her arms round his middle, and burst into tears. “Francis, Francis,” she sobbed, “don’t go, Dad’ll go out at night, and we shall be alone in the house. Oh, Francie, stay!”
Francis was too surprised to speak for a moment. He had always thought that he and Wendy hated each other, but now he was not so sure. She gazed tragically up at him, and he saw, for the first time in his life, how soft and pretty her hair was and how blue her eyes. He put his arm around her.
“You’ll be all right,” he said gruffly. “You’re going to Gran in Yorkshire. You’re lucky, you are.”
He quite forgot that he was not meant to know. Wendy’s eyes sparkled through her tears. “To Gran in Yorkshire?” she repeated joyously, and Debby said, “Gran in Yorkser gave me a teddy bear. ’Bye, Francis.”
“Mum’ll soon be better, and we’ll all come back,” he whispered to Wendy and gave her an awkward little kiss on the top of her head. Then he seized his suitcase, and everyone searched for the cat, who had disappeared. Francis found her under the bed and hurried to the car without a backward look. He stuck his head out the window and breathed in the warm spring night. At last he felt safe.
Everyone welcomed him and seemed glad to see him when they arrived. Kate was doing her homework at the table, and Martin and Chris sat by the fire in their robes, playing battleships. Mrs. Glenny took his suitcase. “We’ll show you your room when we’ve all had a cup of tea,” she said cheerfully. “It’s a little one all of your own, under the roof. John, dear, we’ve finished outside, and we waited for prayers till you came.”
I wonder what ‘prayers’ means, thought Francis. It sounds like school.
They gathered around the fire in a warm circle with their cups of tea, and little Chris climbed onto his mother’s lap. Their father picked up a Bible and turned the pages. “Only sixteen days till Easter,” he said, “so we’ll go on reading what Jesus said to his disciples the night before He died, in John 13.”
They were halfway through some story Francis did not know, so he did not listen. Instead, he found himself staring at that funny card on the wall and wondering what it meant. God Is Luv. Then he was suddenly arrested by the last words that Mr. Glenny was reading. “‘A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.’"
You did not seem able to get away from love in this house, however you liked to spell it. It drew him, and he wanted to think about it. Nobody had loved much at home. Mum and Dad quarreled, Wendy pinched, and when he tried to love Mum, she usually did not listen or seem to notice. Tyke and Spotty hated all the time. Being with them had been fun at first, but looking back now, it all seemed rather cold and sad and frightening. If they had loved, perhaps Mum would not have had headaches and gone to the hospital, and he would not feel so afraid of going back to school. Perhaps, he thought vaguely, loving was a better, happier way. But how did you start?
He thought about it again when he was lying in bed in his little attic, listening to the owls hooting and watching the stars through the skylight. Mrs. Glenny had helped him unpack, tucked him in, and kissed him good-night. Whiskers lay curled up on the quilt beside him because it was too late to take her to the barn that night. He felt cozy, sleepy, and safe. He remembered the night he had sat with Mum in the kitchen after the fire—and how Whiskers had purred on his chest after he had kicked her—faithful little Ram bringing him presents—Wendy flinging her arms round his middle. There was quite a lot of love about if you really looked for it. God Is Luv. He had better find out about God. They could do with a bit more love where he came from.