The Tale of Hill Top Farm by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

model.”
    “Well, I’ll read it,” the old lady said, “and tell tha how I like it.” She sniffed. “But I won’t lie, mind. If it’s not up to Benjamin Bunny, I’ll let tha know.”
    “Mum!” Lucy protested, scandalized. “She gave it to you!”
    “Well, that’s no reason for a body to lie, now, is’t?” muttered the old lady, and shuffled off down a dark passage.
    Amused, Beatrix gathered up her mail and was about to leave the post office when a woman came in. She was dressed in a neat gray skirt and jacket and white blouse, and her dark, silver-streaked hair was twisted up under a wide-brimmed hat. She was accompanied by a handsome gray tabby cat with a red collar and a little bell.
    “Why, Miss Potter,” she said pleasantly. “How very nice to see you again. Perhaps you’ll remember me—I’m Grace Lythecoe.”
    “Of course,” Beatrix said shyly. She glanced down at the cat. “And this is Crumpet, isn’t it? I recall her from my earlier visit.”
    “Yes,” Mrs. Lythecoe replied, smiling. “I’m surprised that you remember her name.”
    “So am I,” Crumpet purred, flattered. She wound herself around Beatrix’s ankles. “But then, I’m a memorable cat.”
    “I remember,” Beatrix replied, “because I put Crumpet into a book called The Pie and the Patty-Pan. I called her by another name—Ribby Pipstone—but it’s Crumpet, all the same.” She bent down and stroked the cat’s sleek fur. “You didn’t notice, Crumpet, but I made several sketches of you whilst I was here.”
    “You put me into a book?” Crumpet sat down and stared up at Beatrix, wide-eyed. “Just wait until Tabitha Twitchit hears this!”
    “I included one of Mrs. Rollins’s little dogs, as well,” Beatrix added, straightening, “and several village scenes.”
    “Oh, what fun!” Mrs. Lythecoe exclaimed. “I know that the children loved the books you sent when they were ill.” She stepped up to the counter. “Hello, Lucy,” she said. “I’ll have a stamp, please.”
    Beatrix stood by, waiting, as Mrs. Lythecoe paid for the stamp, affixed it to a letter, and handed it to Lucy Skead. As they walked out of the post office, followed by the cat, Beatrix said, shyly, “I wanted to thank you for arranging my stay at Belle Green. Miss Woodcock told me that you suggested the idea to Mrs. Crook.”
    “You’re quite welcome.” Mrs. Lythecoe gave her a bright smile. “I do hope George Crook is behaving himself. He’s a very nice man, but he’s apt to be a bit gruff now and then.”
    “A bit gruff, is it?” Crumpet laughed . “Why don’t you tell her about the time he chased the gypsy tinker down the street?”
    “So it’s not just me, then,” Beatrix said in some relief. “Sometimes one feels . . . rather awkward, when it comes to strangers.”
    “If you don’t mind my speaking frankly,” Mrs. Lythecoe said, “I’m not sure George likes the idea of a woman buying Hill Top Farm. Some of the men are a bit . . . well, a bit uncertain about the idea of a lady farmer, and especially one from the city.” Her gray eyes twinkled. “They predict disaster, of course. Men always do, when a woman plans something out of the ordinary.”
    Beatrix had to smile, for that was exactly the way her father behaved. “Well, they’ll just have to get used to the idea,” she said briskly, “for I am determined. I spent the morning with Mr. Jennings, looking around the farm. We talked about repairing the dairy and the pigsty and getting some sheep.”
    “So the Jenningses are staying on, then?” Mrs. Lythecoe asked, in a serious way. “I really don’t mean to pry, but I did wonder how you were going to manage.”
    “I’ve asked them to stay,” Beatrix answered. “I’m not sure they’ll agree, though. Obviously, there’s not room at Hill Top for all of us. I—”
    “Mrs. Lythecoe!” came a blustery shout. “I say, Mrs. Lythecoe! Hold up there!”
    Beatrix turned to see a very stout man in a brown