Cindy Jones by Margaret Pearce

school like St. Anne’s.”
    â€œMother told the professor you would be happier at boarding school, and it would help us to adjust to their marriage, too.” Prunella’s tears dropped into the water. “I don’t want to go to boarding school.”
    â€œDon’t be such a baby, and stop howling,” Cindy snapped. “Of course she can’t bundle us all off to boarding school. We just won’t go.”
    â€œIt’s all right for you, Cindy.” Prunella tried to blink back her tears. “You’re so brave, but I’m too scared to stand up to her.”
    Cindy was silenced. She was scared of Mrs. Barry, too. Even unpleasant, bullying Constance came off second-best with her mother. A cold pit of apprehension spread in ripples across her stomach.
    What if the professor wouldn’t back her up? He had already threatened her with boarding school if she didn’t behave!
    â€œAnd that’s why she won’t let me have a bird of my very own, even if there’s plenty of room,” Prunella sobbed. “She said she wasn’t going to waste her time looking after a menagerie when we moved in.”
    Cindy stared down. Their two reflections wavered as the wind ruffled the water. The tide was turning, and the swell became more pronounced as it slapped and curled around the piles. The small dinghies dotting the bay were pulling into shore.
    â€œWhy does my father have to marry her?” Cindy thought out loud.
    â€œI’d really like you for a sister, Cindy.” Prunella reached out a clammy hand to clutch at Cindy. “Even if you are a kook, you’re nice.”
    Cindy didn’t want Constance or Prunella as sisters, but she couldn’t hurt Prunella’s feelings by saying so. At the moment, Prunella, with her wet tear-stained face, looked for all the world like a dumped ill-treated puppy, pathetically eager for a kind word and a good home.
    Prunella’s tears dropped into the water, causing neat little circles on the surface until the breeze ruffled them away.
    â€œNow, missy, I thought the tide was coming in too fast,” a voice grumbled.
    An old fisherman had rowed his dinghy through under the pier. Cindy leaned over to watch him. He was pulling fish traps up from their moorings under the pier and emptying the fish into the bottom of his boat.
    â€œShe’s howling because we’re going to boarding school next year,” Cindy explained. “Why are you throwing half your fish back?”
    â€œToo small, or no good to eat,” the fisherman said. “What boarding school?”
    He was stooped over as he sorted out the fish. All Cindy saw was his battered old hat pulled low down over his face, and the gray whiskers sprouting from beneath it. She thought he might have been the old fisherman who owned the red canaries, but she wasn’t sure.
    â€œA second rate school, St. Anne’s,” Cindy said with a sigh. “Prunella’s mother is marrying my father in six days, and she wants to get rid of us.”
    The fisherman dropped his traps back into the water and looked up. He had sharp gray eyes.
    â€œIs this true, missy?”
    â€œYes,” Prunella sniffled. “And I’m not going to be allowed to keep a canary, even if there is plenty of room.”
    Another dinghy bumped against the side of the pier. A short, stout person was rowing it, loose shirt flapping over rolled up trousers, and dirty feet pushed into runners. It was Miss Hopkins. She glanced at the fisherman stooped over the wriggling fish in the bottom of his boat.
    â€œSee what you’ve caused now,” she scolded. The old fisherman ignored her. “Afternoon, Cindy and Prunella. Would you like to ride to shore with me?”
    Cindy agreed and helped Prunella into the dinghy and sat beside her. The dinghy dipped and swayed its way from the pier. The old fisherman followed in his dinghy.
    Prunella looked a picture of misery with