The Tale of Hill Top Farm by Susan Wittig Albert

is tuppin’ time, and tha’ll want to hire a tup.”
    “Tupping time?” Beatrix asked.
    Jennings didn’t look at her. “When t’ ram—t’ tup—is put in with t’ ewes. April is lambin’ time.”
    Felicia chuckled. “Look at her face, gone all red. Well, that’s a lady for you. Her nanny probably told her that lambs are brought by the stork.”
    Beatrix felt her cheeks flush. This was not the sort of subject she had ever discussed with a person of the opposite gender. But if she wanted to be a farmer, she would have to learn to talk like a farmer. She squared her shoulders.
    “Go to Penrith and buy five good ewes for us, then,” she said bravely, “and hire the best tup you can find to breed them. And when April comes, we’ll have the beginnings of our flock.”
    Now it was Rascal’s turn to chuckle. He leaned over and spoke into Felicia’s ginger-colored ear. “Did you hear that, Felicia? This lady might make a farmer yet.”
    “Maybe,” Felicia said. “It’s going to take a lot more than words, though. She’ll have to get her hands dirty—which might not be easy for a London lady.”
    “April.” Jennings scratched a match against his boot, put it to his pipe, and pulled. “T’ missus and me, we’ll have a babe oursels in April. Three, make it.” He studied the flay-crow critically. “With pigs and cows and sheep and hay and t’ like, there’ll be work a’ plenty, and you mostly in London. I’m wondering what tha means t’ do for a farmer.”
    “That’s it,” Felicia said approvingly . “Ask it straight out, Mr. J., so she knows she has to make up her mind.”
    Beatrix had not been sure what she should do about John Jennings, but now it was time to come to a decision. She took a deep breath. “I hope,” she said, very seriously now, “that you and Mrs. Jennings will agree to stay on and manage Hill Top. I’m sure that, working together, we could have quite a good farm. It will be small, but that’s for the best, while I’m learning my way.” She paused. “Will you do it?”
    There was a long silence, long enough for Beatrix to fear that Mr. Jennings was going to say no. In the barn, a hen began to cackle, announcing the arrival of a new egg, and after a moment, a second hen (who always took credit, even when the egg wasn’t hers) joined the celebration. Somewhere nearby, a cow made a soft lowing sound, and up at the house, someone was banging on a tin pan.
    “I’d do it if she asked me,” Rascal said . “I think it’d be fun. And I like her, in spite of that foolish hedgehog she keeps.”
    “Well, maybe,” Felicia replied , “but the problem is Mrs. J., y’see. She’s not at all in favor, and she’s already told him so.”
    “Will I do it?” Jennings repeated. “Well, now, I s’pose it all depends.” He looked up at the house. “T’ missus was wonderin’ what tha had in mind about t’ living arrangements. Will tha be wantin’ to stay here at Hill Top?”
    Beatrix followed his glance. Mrs. Jennings was standing in the porch, holding a large pot and looking in their direction. Even at this distance, she could see that the woman was scowling. She sighed.
    “Yes, I should certainly like to stay here when I come. But I must confess that I’m not at all sure how that might be managed. As you yourself say, there will soon be five of you, and we six would be very crowded.” Beatrix knew enough about her own need for privacy to be sure that she would not enjoy living in the midst of the noisy family for more than a day or two, and she was very sure that Mrs. Jennings would not be happy about sharing the small house.
    “Very crowded,” repeated Felicia firmly . “Somebody would have to sleep on the floor—and it won’t be Mrs. J., I can tell you that.”
    “Well, then, what’s t’ be done?” Jennings asked. “T’ missus is ’specially worrit about t’ house. If we can’t conclude an arrangement, I fear tha may need to find another farmer.”
    “I