The Haystack by Jack Lasenby Page A

brothers.
    “Watch out for Shere Khan,” she called.
    I waved and cut across under the goal posts. I’d crawl through the corner of the hedge, and run home. Under the dark lawsonianas, my eyes burned like red-hot coals, my tail swished with rage, and somebody randown the path, the other side of the hedge.
    “Grrroar!” I shook my great, square, striped head, thumped the ground, and swept the branches up and down the fence wires. “Grrroar!”
    “Wah!”
    I roared and stamped a couple more times to hurry up Freddy Jones, then heard something breathing in the dark behind me, and dived through the fence.
    “What on earth are you up to now?”
    “Wah!” I yelped louder than Freddy. How was I to know she was hiding, waiting to catch me? I yanked my other leg through the fence, and felt something sharp. “Ow!”
    “Why weren’t you at Sunday school yesterday?”
    “I had to stay home and keep Milly company. We’re keeping her inside so she doesn’t run away.”
    “You’ve scratched your leg. It’s not surprising. Running wild. It’s no way to bring up a girl. No respect for—”
    But I was going for my life. Dad said be polite, so I’d told Mrs Dainty why I hadn’t been at Sunday school. I could hear her yelling, but kept running.
    “Grrroar!” Freddy Jones called out, very brave behind his gate, but I didn’t stop to roar back, just showed him my powerful claws and teeth. Milly might be needing me. And I had to get the basket and do the shopping.
    From our gate I looked back, but Mrs Dainty hadgone. She’d be trotting down the road, head nodding like an old chook.
    “Cluck! Cluck!” I said aloud. “Plook! Plook! Old chook!”
    As Milly sniffed at the red trickle down my leg, I gabbled, “Shere Khan was waiting under the lawsonianas. He scratched my leg with one claw, but I got away. I wish he’d eat Mrs Dainty.”
    What was left of the chook was for our tea, but I picked a bit off the bones for Milly, while I had a glass of milk and one of the oatmeal biscuits Dad had taught himself to make. It was better than his last lot, quite chewy. I got a Golden Delicious, left Milly inside, and ran, hoping Mrs Dainty had gone home the other way.
    “You’d better wash that scratch,” Mr Bryce said, giving me the paper. “Put on plenty of iodine.”
    “It was Shere Khan.”
    “I know Shere Khan. Is that what you called your kitten?”
    I couldn’t explain because somebody was wanting benzine. I trotted home. Freddy Jones had rubbed out the paw marks. I was making new ones when I heard Mrs Jones coming and went for it.
    Dad came in, saw my leg, washed and put iodine on so it stung, tore a strip off an old sheet and bandaged it. As he tied the knot, he said, “It’s quite a deep scratch, but it looks as if it washed itself out.
    “The blood, it washes out the dirt. Better still, wash it with soap, warm water, and disinfectant. What’s a little sting? Better than blood poisoning. How did you do it?”
    “I was under the lawsonianas, roaring at Freddy Jones, and it’s dark under there, and I thought I heard Shere Khan behind me, so I dived through the fence, and Mrs Dainty was waiting, and she started telling me off, and I yanked my leg through and scratched it on the barbed wire. The iodine stings, Dad.”
    “That’ll teach you, for scaring Freddy.”
    “She said why wasn’t I at Sunday school, and I told her Milly was waiting and ran for my life.”
    “Mrs Dainty’s going to be after me again,” Dad grinned. “‘You have no right. Bringing up a daughter on your own.’”
    “Why don’t you tell her to mind her own business, Dad?”
    “She’s a lonely poor old thing. I think perhaps she’d like to mother you.”
    “She’s not my mother.”
    “That’s not what I mean. It can’t be easy for her, getting long in the tooth, and all on her own.”
    “Mr Bluenose lives on his own, and he doesn’t tell me off and want to mother me.”
    “He’s got too much to do, with the orchard, the