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Marmalade Mornings on Pudding Lane · Bedtime Sleep Stories For Grownups

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  Speaker 1: Through the very bend of the river where the valley
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  Speaker 1: cupped itself like a pair of resting hands there lay
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  Speaker 1: a winding street that seemed always to be sleeping it
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  Speaker 1: was called Pudding Lane though no one living could quite
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  Speaker 1: remember who had first given it that name perhaps it
• 0:14
  Speaker 1: was because the thatched cottages along its curving path looked
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  Speaker 1: very much like plump loaves of brown bread settled comfortably
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  Speaker 1: into deep earthenware baking dishes or perhaps it was because
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  Speaker 1: the cobblestones beneath the wagon wheels were rounded and smooth
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  Speaker 1: as polished plums tucked into thick beds of velvety green
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  Speaker 1: moss that never dried out, even during the warmest weeks
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  Speaker 1: of high summer. In the early gray hours of the day,
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  Speaker 1: long before the sun had thought to climb above the
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  Speaker 1: ragged crest of the eastern hells, Pudding Lane was so
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  Speaker 1: quiet that you could hear the mist dripping from the
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  Speaker 1: eaves of the barns. You could hear the faint, sleepy
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  Speaker 1: stirring of the hedge sparrows as they shifted upon their
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  Speaker 1: roosts inside the hawthorn bushes. tucking their little dark beaks
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  Speaker 1: more deeply beneath their wings. You could hear the slow,
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  Speaker 1: muffled lap of the river against the willow roots three
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  Speaker 1: fields away, moving with that ancient, patient murmur that water
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  Speaker 1: has when it knows it has nowhere urgent to go.
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  Speaker 1: The lane wound between high banks of fern and sweet salicely,
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  Speaker 1: past garden walls of weather-dry stone where snails slept glued
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  Speaker 1: to the damp mortar, until it came to a quiet
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  Speaker 1: stop before a row of seven ancient cottages. High in
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  Speaker 1: the stone tower of St. Jude in the fens, the
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  Speaker 1: great iron bell swung once, twice, three times, four times.
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  Speaker 1: And then a fifth time, its low and bronze-toned voice
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  Speaker 1: drifting down through the cold river fog like a dropped
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  Speaker 1: pebble falling into deep pond water. Five o'clock. It was
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  Speaker 1: the hour when the dreams of the village grew thinned
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  Speaker 1: and pale like morning milk poured into tea, but the
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  Speaker 1: villagers themselves remained tucked beneath their eiderdowns, their heavy woolen coverlets,
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  Speaker 1: and their quilted counterpanes. unwilling to surrender the quiet warmth
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  Speaker 1: of their pillows. The village baker on the high street
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  Speaker 1: would not light his great brick ovens for another hour,
• 2:19
  Speaker 1: and the carters at the livery stable were still snoring
• 2:21
  Speaker 1: softly in their loft above the sweet clover hay. Only
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  Speaker 1: one chimney along the entire length of pudding lane breathed
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  Speaker 1: smoke into the twilight sky at five o'clock. It was
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  Speaker 1: a sturdy, squat chimney, built of rounded river stones and
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  Speaker 1: lime mortar. rising from the mossy slate roof of No. 7.
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  Speaker 1: The smoke that curled from its rounded earthenware pod was
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  Speaker 1: not the sharp, dark soot of coal, but a pale
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  Speaker 1: and gentle feather of sweet blue haze that smelled of
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  Speaker 1: dried applewood, resinous pine needles, and the comforting sweetness of
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  Speaker 1: burning birch bark. The house beneath that chimney was small
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  Speaker 1: and low. its whitewashed plaster walls bulging slightly with age,
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  Speaker 1: its small casement windows tucked under the eaves like half-closed eyes,
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  Speaker 1: a little wooden weathercock shaped like a fat bumblebee sat
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  Speaker 1: atop the roof ridge, pointing steadily toward the western meadows,
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  Speaker 1: untroubled by the wind. Underneath that chimney, in a cozy
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  Speaker 1: low-ceilinged bedroom beneath the sloping rafters, lived Mrs.
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  Speaker 2: Pipsqueak. Mrs.
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  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak was a cat of generous proportions and immense dignity,
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  Speaker 1: with a coat of rich swirled marmalade fur that looked
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  Speaker 1: for all the world like thick orange ribbons stirred into
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  Speaker 1: fresh clotted cream, that the roof courses to the long
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  Speaker 1: and he developed the work almost in clear with Peoplas
• 3:37
  Speaker 1: and Quis the Sheepa. In the Conchinglet Anifications, Leaf's muscle
• 3:41
  Speaker 1: cozenal was exquietingly from the last one can actually stew's demands.
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  Speaker 1: The lover where it's exquietingly, the formal inner nation, with
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  Speaker 1: a sly expression quips penisly owns, pleased a changeage of
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  Speaker 1: the gibble quote for a fuel to lael, or lived
• 3:56
  Speaker 1: into the Osprey portions with the old knight to still
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  Speaker 1: get them. When the Eichels of the company Brother Selschulz
• 4:03
  Speaker 1: described at the point it slipped a mother, two really
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  Speaker 1: did no creak. The eddy ground of the Tim is
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  Speaker 1: contact of a very speckus. The appositeckied Alshak prediction had
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  Speaker 1: actually still leafed it to loom. Her chest and front
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  Speaker 1: paws were as white as newly fallen winter frosts. Her
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  Speaker 1: chin was round and pale, and her whiskers were long, silver-tipped,
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  Speaker 1: and inclined to twitch whenever she was considering something of
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  Speaker 1: deep culinary importance. Her eyes, which were the color of clear,
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  Speaker 1: wild honey held up to an autumn candle flame, had
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  Speaker 1: just fluttered open in the dimness of her room. She
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  Speaker 1: did not wake with a start, nor did she toss
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  Speaker 1: about in her bed. Mrs. Pitskleek believed that waking up
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  Speaker 1: was a matter that required gentle deliberation and proper respect.
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  Speaker 1: For several quiet minutes, she simply lay on her side
• 5:00
  Speaker 1: beneath her patchwork quilt. A magnificent quilt, sewn from two-score
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  Speaker 1: different squares of flannel, calico, and faded ginnom, each square
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  Speaker 1: carrying the memory of an old apron or an outgrown skirt,
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  Speaker 1: and listened to the quiet rhythm of the lane as
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  Speaker 1: where she wiggled her four white paws beneath the warm
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  Speaker 1: flannel sheet, stretched her claws until they clicked very faintly
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  Speaker 1: against the linen pillow slip, and gave a long, rumbling
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  Speaker 1: sigh that vibrated softly in the hollow of her throat.
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  Speaker 1: When she was quite satisfied that her joints were limbered
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  Speaker 1: and her mind was clear as a mountain brook, Mrs.
• 5:52
  Speaker 1: Pitsweek turned back the quilt and swung her furry legs
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  Speaker 1: over the edge of the mattress. Her soft wit pads
• 5:59
  Speaker 1: met the cold, polished oak floorboards, which had been scrubbed
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  Speaker 1: with sweet-smelling lavender water every Saturday since her grandmother was
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  Speaker 1: a kitten. The boards did not creak beneath her paws,
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  Speaker 1: for she knew precisely where to step. treading upon the
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  Speaker 1: quiet grains where the joists were solid and true. She
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  Speaker 1: reached for her slippers of felted sheep wool lined with
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  Speaker 1: the softest scraps of lamb fleece gathered from the briars
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  Speaker 1: on the high common, and drew her mourning wrapper around
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  Speaker 1: her shoulders. It was a comfortable gown of quilted saffron calico,
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  Speaker 1: fastened at the neck with a single carved bone button
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  Speaker 1: that had come from her mother's sewing box. Around her
• 6:39
  Speaker 1: middle she tied her working apron of unbleached linen, The
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  Speaker 1: capron had three deep patch pockets, one on the left
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  Speaker 1: for her small brass kitchen scissors and a ball of
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  Speaker 1: rough garden twine, one on the right for a clean
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  Speaker 1: checkered handkerchief and a stulp of pencil, and a wide
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  Speaker 1: pocket across the bib where she kept a little nutmeg
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  Speaker 1: grater and two whole cinnamon sticks, just in case an
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  Speaker 1: urgent need for spice should arise before noon. Taking up
• 7:11
  Speaker 1: a brass candlestick with a wide saucer base from the
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  Speaker 1: bedside table, She struck a long sulfur match against the hearthstone.
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  Speaker 1: The sulfur flared with a tiny blue hiss, then caught
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  Speaker 1: the beeswax wake in a warm, steady tear of golden light.
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  Speaker 1: Holding the candle high so that the shadows danced like
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  Speaker 1: friendly ghosts across the sloping, white-washed walls, she padded down
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  Speaker 1: the narrow spiral staircase that wound its way down through
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  Speaker 1: the heart of the cottage. The stairs ended directly in
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  Speaker 1: the breakfast kitchen, which was the true center of Mrs.
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  Speaker 1: Pitsqueak's universe. Even in the cold dark of five in
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  Speaker 1: the morning, the kitchen felt like a shelter carved out
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  Speaker 1: of the wilderness. It was a wide, flax-stoned room with
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  Speaker 1: heavy oak beams spanning the ceiling, black with age and
• 8:02
  Speaker 1: polished by generations of wood smoke. from these beams hung
• 8:06
  Speaker 1: dozens of dried treasures bunches of gray-green sage tied with
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  Speaker 1: raffia fragrant crowns of wild marjoram bundles of thyme whose
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  Speaker 1: tiny leaves fell like fairy dust if you brushed past
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  Speaker 1: them chests of dried lemon peels strung upon linen cords
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  Speaker 1: and braid upon braid of small sweet white onions whose
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  Speaker 1: papery skins rustled softly in the draught along the walls
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  Speaker 1: stood high dressers of waxed pine their shelves filled with
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  Speaker 1: earthenware bowls cream-coloured jugs with brown glazed rims and rows
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  Speaker 1: of blue willow-patterned plates that had belonged to the kitchen
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  Speaker 1: since the previous century at the far end of the
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  Speaker 1: room stood the heart of the cottage a massive four-doored
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  Speaker 1: cast-iron cooking range whose name was barnaby Barnaby had been
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  Speaker 1: installed in the kitchen fifty years ago by a blacksmith
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  Speaker 1: from the neighboring parish, and he was as broad, as black,
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  Speaker 1: and as dependable as an old cart horse. Even now,
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  Speaker 1: through the quiet hours of the night, a bed of
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  Speaker 1: low coals had been dozing in his belly beneath a
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  Speaker 1: blanket of pale gray ash, keeping the room warm enough
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  Speaker 1: that the copper pans on the dresser gleamed with friendly
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  Speaker 1: drowsy winks in the candlelight. Mrs. Pipsqueak set her candle
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  Speaker 1: down upon the scrubbed sycamore table, took up her long
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  Speaker 1: brass poker, and approached the iron door of the stove.
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  Speaker 1: Good morning, Barnaby, she whispered, in a voice like Warm
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  Speaker 1: cream stirred with a wooden spoon. Let us see what
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  Speaker 1: kind of a fire we can make for this cold,
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  Speaker 1: gray world today. She opened the lower draft door and
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  Speaker 1: carefully raked the gray crust of ash away from the firebed,
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  Speaker 1: revealing a nest of glowing crimson embers that winked at
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  Speaker 1: her like sleepy rubies. Reaching into the wicker kindling basket
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  Speaker 1: that rested in the inglenook, she selected several dry curls
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  Speaker 1: of silver birch bark that felt like parchment between her paws.
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  Speaker 1: She laid these gently over the glowing coals. The bark curled,
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  Speaker 1: blackened the edges, and then burst into a joyful yellow
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  Speaker 1: flame with a soft, papery crackle. Over the birch bark
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  Speaker 1: she placed a handful of dried pine cones that had
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  Speaker 1: opened wide during the dry days of autumn, full of
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  Speaker 1: fragrant resin, followed by half a dozen slender splits of
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  Speaker 1: dry applewood that had seasoned in the lean-to behind the
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  Speaker 1: garden wall for two full summers. Barnaby gave a deep,
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  Speaker 1: satisfied rumble through his iron chimney, drawing the smoke upward
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  Speaker 1: in a smooth, steady draft. Within five minutes, the firebox
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  Speaker 1: was full of singing, dancing flames, and the great iron
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  Speaker 1: plates of the stove began to radiate a deep, comforting
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  Speaker 1: heat that pushed back the morning chill to the father's
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  Speaker 1: corners of the scullery. The iron ticked and expanded, settling
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  Speaker 1: into its familiar daytime work with little musical clicks that Mrs.
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  Speaker 1: Pipscleek knew as well as her own heartbeats. Mrs. Pipsqueak
• 11:16
  Speaker 1: nodded to herself, perfectly pleased. She took down the heavy
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  Speaker 1: copper tea kettle from the hanging shelf above the mantel.
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  Speaker 1: The kettle was shaped like a plump hen with an
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  Speaker 1: arched brass handle and a curving spout that had been
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  Speaker 1: polished until it mirrored the flame of the fire. She
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  Speaker 1: carried it into the scullery where a brass hen pump
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  Speaker 1: was mounted over a deep stone sink lined with smoothened lead.
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  Speaker 1: She lifted the pump handle and worked it three times
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  Speaker 1: with a steady rhythmic stroke. The old iron cylinder gave
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  Speaker 1: a wet, throaty gasp and then a gush of icy
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  Speaker 1: spring water poured from the spout, crystal clear and smelling
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  Speaker 1: of combed limestone and subterranean moss. She filled the kettle
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  Speaker 1: right to its brim, carried it back to the range
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  Speaker 1: and set it firmly upon the hottest round iron plate,
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  Speaker 1: right over the center of the flames. There now, she murmured,
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  Speaker 1: resting her paw on the warm flank of the stove.
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  Speaker 1: You sing to me when you are ready, and I
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  Speaker 1: will see to the dough. Across the kitchen stood a
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  Speaker 1: heavy earthenware bread crock with a scrubed wooden lid. Inside
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  Speaker 1: that crock, covered with a damp linen towel, was a
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  Speaker 1: mound of sourdough sponge that had been bubbling quietly throughout
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  Speaker 1: the night.
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  Speaker 2: Mrs.
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  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak lifted the towel and breathed in the scent.
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  Speaker 2: It was a.
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  Speaker 1: Lovely hearty smell. tart and yeasty, with a rich deep
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  Speaker 1: aroma of stone-ground wheat that had ripened under the August sun,
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  Speaker 1: mingled with the faint sweetness of milk and wild blossom honey.
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  Speaker 1: The sponge had risen beautifully, its surface pitted with hundreds
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  Speaker 1: of tiny breathing eyes that showed it was alive, healthy,
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  Speaker 1: and eager to become bread. she carried the big yellow
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  Speaker 1: mixing bowl to the center table. The table was made
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  Speaker 1: of two thick sycamore planks scrubbed so clean over many
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  Speaker 1: decades of pastry-making that the grain of the wood stood
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  Speaker 1: out in soft, velvety ridges under her pads. She dumped
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  Speaker 1: an earthenware scoop into her flour bin, which held stone-ground
• 13:35
  Speaker 1: wholemeal flour brought up on the river barge from the
• 13:37
  Speaker 1: watermill at Miller's Green. She shook the flyer through a
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  Speaker 1: round horsehair sieve, letting it fall into the bowl in
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  Speaker 1: a pale, drifting cloud that settled as softly as new
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  Speaker 1: snow upon the quiet fields. To the flour she added
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  Speaker 1: two generous pinches of flaky sea salt from the stone
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  Speaker 1: salt pig that sat beside the chimney, a yellow knob
• 13:54
  Speaker 1: of butter churned from the milk of the olderny cows
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  Speaker 1: at Sweetbriar Farm, and a small cupful of warm buttermilk
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  Speaker 1: from yesterday's churning. Then, rolling her linen sleeves well up
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  Speaker 1: above her furry elbows, Mrs. Pipsqueak began to knead. It
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  Speaker 1: was work she loved above all other work in the world.
• 14:14
  Speaker 1: Her paws moved with a steady, rocking cadence. pushing the
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  Speaker 1: doe away with the heels of her paws, folding it
• 14:21
  Speaker 1: back over upon itself, turning it ninety degrees upon the
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  Speaker 1: flowered wood, and pressing down once more with the full
• 14:28
  Speaker 1: weight of her plump shoulders. Squeak, puff, turn. Squeak, puff, turn.
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  Speaker 1: The doe was resilient and alive, growing smoother and silkier
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  Speaker 1: under her rhythmic care until it felt as supple as
• 14:42
  Speaker 1: a newborn fawn's ear. As she needed, Mrs. Pipsqueak thought
• 14:46
  Speaker 1: about the people of Pudding Lane who would presently wake
• 14:48
  Speaker 1: and come knocking at her door. There would be old Mr.
• 14:52
  Speaker 1: Bramble from the Thatch Cottage by the Weir, whose knees
• 14:55
  Speaker 1: were stiff on damp mornings and who needed two thick
• 14:57
  Speaker 1: slices of toast soaked in hot tea before he could
• 15:00
  Speaker 1: speak a civil word. There would be little Barnaby Finch,
• 15:07
  Speaker 1: the postboy. whose satchel was always heavier than his legs
• 15:11
  Speaker 1: were long, and who liked the corner crust smothered in
• 15:14
  Speaker 1: clover and butter to keep his spirits up against the
• 15:16
  Speaker 1: river fog. There would be Miss Matilda Goose, the village seamstress,
• 15:20
  Speaker 1: whose eyes were weary from stitching tiny stitches by candlelight,
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  Speaker 1: and who swore that Mrs. Pipsqueak's breakfast was the only
• 15:27
  Speaker 1: thing that kept her thread from tangling. There would be
• 15:30
  Speaker 1: Silas the Tinkerer, whose cart rattled with tin pans and
• 15:33
  Speaker 1: mended kettles and who always arrived with an empty stomach
• 15:36
  Speaker 1: and three stories from the neighboring trier for all of
• 15:40
  Speaker 1: them the morning began right here at this table under
• 15:44
  Speaker 1: these black oak rafters the breakfast kitchen was not merely
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  Speaker 1: a place where food was prepared it was a sanctuary
• 15:55
  Speaker 1: where the cold world was made gentle where the weariness
• 15:58
  Speaker 1: of yesterday was wiped away with fresh butter and hot tea,
• 16:02
  Speaker 1: and where every soul was given a sweet warm beginning
• 16:05
  Speaker 1: before the trials of the day began. Mrs. Pipscrake shaped
• 16:09
  Speaker 1: the dough into four plump round loaves. She placed each
• 16:13
  Speaker 1: loaf into a round wicker-proving basket that had been rubbed
• 16:16
  Speaker 1: with fine rice flour to keep the dough from sticking.
• 16:19
  Speaker 1: She covered them with a clean linen cloth that had
• 16:21
  Speaker 1: been warmed on Barnaby's plate rack. and set them to
• 16:24
  Speaker 1: rest on the low wind-stool right beside the warm hearth
• 16:27
  Speaker 1: where the gentle heat would coax them into rising high
• 16:30
  Speaker 1: and proud by now the copper kettle had begun to
• 16:43
  Speaker 1: whisper to itself a tiny white feather of steam puffed
• 16:47
  Speaker 1: from its curving spout curling upward toward the ceiling beams
• 16:52
  Speaker 1: The whisper deepened into a low, throaty hum and then
• 16:55
  Speaker 1: broke into a cheerful, bubbling song that filled the silent
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  Speaker 1: kitchen with music.
• 17:00
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 17:00
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak took down a small brown earthware teapot with a
• 17:04
  Speaker 1: chipped spout, a teapot she loved far better than any
• 17:07
  Speaker 1: fine china because its thick, clay walls held the heat
• 17:11
  Speaker 1: for an hour or more. Into the pot she dropped
• 17:14
  Speaker 1: a spoonful of dried chamomile flowers gathered from her own
• 17:18
  Speaker 1: kitchen garden, three dried leaves of lemon verbena and two
• 17:22
  Speaker 1: curls of sweet orange peel. She lifted the heavy kettle
• 17:26
  Speaker 1: with a thick, quilted potholder and poured the bubbling water
• 17:29
  Speaker 1: over the herbs. A fragrant cloud of citrus and summer
• 17:33
  Speaker 1: meadow rose up in the steam, enveloping her whiskers in
• 17:36
  Speaker 1: a warm, comforting cloud. She replaced the lid of the teapot,
• 17:44
  Speaker 1: covered it with a knitted tea cozy worked in bright
• 17:46
  Speaker 1: yellow and orange wool. and allowed it to steep for
• 17:49
  Speaker 1: five quiet minutes, while the tea gathered its strength. She
• 17:53
  Speaker 1: walked over to the bread oven built into the side
• 17:55
  Speaker 1: of the range. She opened the small iron door to
• 17:57
  Speaker 1: test the teak with the back of her paw. The
• 18:00
  Speaker 1: air that breathed out of the oven was steady, dry,
• 18:02
  Speaker 1: and glowing with an even heat that would bake a
• 18:04
  Speaker 1: loaf through to its center without scorching the crust. She
• 18:08
  Speaker 1: took a flat wooden peel from behind the pantry door,
• 18:11
  Speaker 1: dusted its smooth pearwood surface with coarse semolina, and turned
• 18:14
  Speaker 1: out the four risen loaves from their wicker baskets. Each
• 18:18
  Speaker 1: loaf had swelled to double its size, plump and pillowy,
• 18:21
  Speaker 1: marked with the spiral ridges of the wicker coils. With
• 18:24
  Speaker 1: a sharp little knife from her apron pocket, she slashed
• 18:27
  Speaker 1: a swift cross into the crown of each loaf, allowing
• 18:30
  Speaker 1: the crust to expand freely in the heat. Then, with
• 18:38
  Speaker 1: four smooth motions of her arms, she slid the loaves
• 18:41
  Speaker 1: onto the baking stone inside the oven and shut the
• 18:44
  Speaker 1: heavy iron door with a solid, satisfying clunk. Carrying her
• 18:48
  Speaker 1: steaming cup to the low window seat that looked out
• 18:50
  Speaker 1: upon Pudding Lane, Mrs. Pipsweek sat down and parted the
• 18:53
  Speaker 1: lace curtains. The gray morning had begun to loosen its
• 18:56
  Speaker 1: grip on the world outside, though the sky remained heavy, pearly,
• 19:00
  Speaker 1: and overcast, the color of a wet slate shingle. The
• 19:02
  Speaker 1: mist was curling through the village street like gray cats
• 19:05
  Speaker 1: wandering through the gardens, wrapping itself around the dark stems
• 19:08
  Speaker 1: of the sleeping hollyhocks and hanging in heavy droplets from
• 19:11
  Speaker 1: the wrought iron latch of the front gate. It was
• 19:14
  Speaker 1: going to be a cold, damp, sunless morning, the kind
• 19:17
  Speaker 1: of morning that made the world feel very large, very quiet,
• 19:21
  Speaker 1: and somewhat lonely if one was out upon the high roads.
• 19:24
  Speaker 1: But insight number seven, the floor was warm beneath Mrs. It.
• 19:31
  Speaker 1: Her pipsqueak slippers, the fire was purring in the belly
• 19:35
  Speaker 1: of the stove, and the kitchen was wrapped in the
• 19:38
  Speaker 1: fragrance of baking bread and steeped tea. She took a
• 19:43
  Speaker 1: slow sip from her cup, closed her amber eyes, and
• 19:48
  Speaker 1: felt the quiet warmth travel all the way down to
• 19:51
  Speaker 1: the tips of her toes. Everything was in its proper place.
• 19:57
  Speaker 1: Everything was ready for the morning's true work to begin.
• 20:09
  Speaker 1: When Mrs. Pipskleek had finished the last soothing swallow of
• 20:13
  Speaker 1: her chamomile tea, she set the empty earthenware cup in
• 20:16
  Speaker 1: the wooden drying rack beside the scullery sink and smoothed
• 20:20
  Speaker 1: down the front of her unbleached linen apron with both paws.
• 20:24
  Speaker 1: The fire in Barnaby's belly had settled into a steady,
• 20:27
  Speaker 1: glowing heart of heat, and the four loaves of hearthbread
• 20:30
  Speaker 1: in the oven were already filling the room with the rich,
• 20:33
  Speaker 1: yeasty perfume of browning crust. It was time for the
• 20:37
  Speaker 1: true labor of love that gave her kitchen its fame
• 20:40
  Speaker 1: across three valleys, the making of the morning marmalade. She
• 20:45
  Speaker 1: took down a ring of heavy brass keys from a
• 20:47
  Speaker 1: peg beside the pantry door and walked down the cold
• 20:50
  Speaker 1: stone corridor that led to the fruit cellar. The cellar
• 20:54
  Speaker 1: was dug deep into the chalky hill behind the cottage,
• 20:57
  Speaker 1: where the temperature remained as cool and even as a
• 21:00
  Speaker 1: subterranean spring throughout the changing seasons. The air here was
• 21:07
  Speaker 1: damp and earthy, sweet with the lingering memory of autumn harvests.
• 21:13
  Speaker 1: Rows of wooden slatted shows held winter pears wrapped in
• 21:17
  Speaker 1: tissue paper russet apples arranged so that no two touched,
• 21:21
  Speaker 1: and stone crocks of preserved plums swimming in spiced brandy.
• 21:26
  Speaker 1: In the farthest corner of the cellar, resting upon clean
• 21:30
  Speaker 1: beds of dry oat straw, sat three broad wicker hampers
• 21:34
  Speaker 1: woven from peeled willow osiers. These hampers had arrived two
• 21:38
  Speaker 1: days earlier on the back of the carrier's tilt cart
• 21:41
  Speaker 1: from the southern seaport of Bristow, having traveled across the
• 21:45
  Speaker 1: gray water from the sunny orchards of Spain and the
• 21:48
  Speaker 1: Mediterranean hills. Mrs. Pipsqueak knelt before the first hamper, lifted
• 21:53
  Speaker 1: the osier lid, and inhaled deeply. A sudden dazzling breath
• 21:59
  Speaker 1: of southern sunshine broke across her face. Inside lay two
• 22:03
  Speaker 1: dozen bitter Seville oranges, their rinds thick, rough, and deeply pebbled,
• 22:10
  Speaker 1: colored the intense and vibrant orange of a late October sunset.
• 22:18
  Speaker 1: Beside them lay sweet mandarins with loose skins that you
• 22:21
  Speaker 1: could peel with a single claw, three pale yellow lemons
• 22:24
  Speaker 1: with ends pointed like little acorn caps, and a pair
• 22:27
  Speaker 1: of dark green bugamots whose essential oils were so pungent
• 22:30
  Speaker 1: that a single drop could perfume an entire linen press.
• 22:33
  Speaker 1: She gathered the fruit into the deep fold of her apron,
• 22:36
  Speaker 1: holding the corners securely in her teeth. and carried her
• 22:39
  Speaker 1: fragrant burden back up the cellar stairs, into the bright
• 22:42
  Speaker 1: warmth of the kitchen. At the scullery's sink, she set
• 22:45
  Speaker 1: about washing each fruit in a wooden tub of lukewarm
• 22:47
  Speaker 1: well water. Using a soft brush made of natural plague bristles,
• 22:51
  Speaker 1: she scrubbed the textured skin of every orange, lemon, and
• 22:53
  Speaker 1: bergamot until the rinds were spotless and shining. As the
• 23:00
  Speaker 1: bristles worked their way into the tiny oil dimples of
• 23:03
  Speaker 1: the peel, the essential oils were released in invisible bursts
• 23:07
  Speaker 1: of fragrance. so sharp clean and sweet that they seemed
• 23:12
  Speaker 1: to banish every scrap of dampness and gray morning mist
• 23:15
  Speaker 1: from the room she dried each orange lovingly with a
• 23:19
  Speaker 1: rough linen cloth laying them out in a magnificent golden
• 23:23
  Speaker 1: mound upon the sycamore table Mrs. Pitsqueak pulled up her
• 23:37
  Speaker 1: low three-legged stool, settled her plump marmalade body comfortably upon
• 23:41
  Speaker 1: its wash-seated cushion, and reached for her favorite kitchen tool,
• 23:45
  Speaker 1: a silver-bladed paring knife with a handle turned from cherry wood.
• 23:48
  Speaker 1: The blade had been ground so thin and keen over
• 23:51
  Speaker 1: fifty years of marmalade making that it could slice through
• 23:54
  Speaker 1: the rind of an orange as effortlessly as a boat's
• 23:56
  Speaker 1: keel cutting through still river water. She picked up the
• 23:59
  Speaker 1: first Seville orange round and heavy in her palm and
• 24:02
  Speaker 1: sliced it cleanly in two halves across its equator. The
• 24:05
  Speaker 1: inside was a pale whitey amber, full of cloudy juice
• 24:07
  Speaker 1: and studded with plump white pips. With a small bone spoon,
• 24:11
  Speaker 1: she carefully scooped out the pips in the tough inner membrane,
• 24:14
  Speaker 1: dropping them into a wide bowl of cold water, while
• 24:16
  Speaker 1: squeezing the tart, fragrant juice through a hair sieve into
• 24:19
  Speaker 1: a deep earthenware crock. Then began the rhythmic, meditative work
• 24:23
  Speaker 1: of slicing the peel. To make true sunrise marmalade. mrs
• 24:32
  Speaker 1: pipsqueak knew that the peel must neither be too thick
• 24:36
  Speaker 1: nor too thin if it was cut too thick like
• 24:40
  Speaker 1: the bitter preserves preferred by the old admirals in the
• 24:44
  Speaker 1: market town it would remain tough and leathery upon the
• 24:49
  Speaker 1: tongue If it was cut too thin, like the pale
• 24:53
  Speaker 1: jellies favored by the city gentlefolk, it would dissolve into
• 24:58
  Speaker 1: nothingness and leave the toast without texture or bite. The
• 25:03
  Speaker 1: proper cut was a slender ribbon, no wider than the
• 25:07
  Speaker 1: stem of a clover blossom, translucent enough that when held
• 25:13
  Speaker 1: up to the candle flame, you could see the amber
• 25:16
  Speaker 1: glow of the skin through the pale white pith slice
• 25:22
  Speaker 1: slice whisper slice slice whisper her paws moved with the
• 25:31
  Speaker 1: effortless grace of a musician playing an old folk tune
• 25:35
  Speaker 1: on a dulcimer a silver blade glided through the orange
• 25:43
  Speaker 1: rinds with a faint rhythmic crunch leaving behind neat curling
• 25:47
  Speaker 1: ribbons of peel that piled up on the sycamore board
• 25:50
  Speaker 1: like mounds of freshly fallen autumn leaves one orange followed
• 25:55
  Speaker 1: another then a third a fourth a fifth and a
• 25:59
  Speaker 1: sixth She added the shredded zest of the two bergamots
• 26:03
  Speaker 1: for a floral, haunting aroma, and the paper-thin shavings of
• 26:07
  Speaker 1: the three lemons to brighten the sweetness with a sharp,
• 26:10
  Speaker 1: clear ring of mountain acidity. Whenever her pause grew slightly tired,
• 26:15
  Speaker 1: she paused to listen to the fire in Barnaby's grate
• 26:19
  Speaker 1: and the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
• 26:23
  Speaker 1: There was no hurry here. pudding lane did not believe
• 26:26
  Speaker 1: in hurry and certainly the seville laurens did not believe
• 26:29
  Speaker 1: in being hurried good preserves required the passage of uncounted
• 26:34
  Speaker 1: minutes each minute filled with patient attention and quiet goodwill
• 26:49
  Speaker 1: When all the fruit had been sliced and the sycamore
• 26:52
  Speaker 1: board was heaped high with a mountain of fragrant ribbons, Mrs.
• 26:56
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak turned her attention to the bowl of pips and kissed.
• 27:01
  Speaker 1: Many careless cooks in the village made the mistake of
• 27:03
  Speaker 1: throwing these scrapings away into the compost heap, believing them
• 27:07
  Speaker 1: to be useless waste. But Mrs. Pipsqueak knew the ancient
• 27:12
  Speaker 1: secrets of the preserving cattle. The pips and the white
• 27:16
  Speaker 1: connective tissues of the citrus were the true keepers of
• 27:19
  Speaker 1: the magic. Inside their bitter fiber slept the natural pectin
• 27:24
  Speaker 1: that would coax the liquid juice into a trembling, tender
• 27:27
  Speaker 1: jelly without the need for artificial setting powders. She took
• 27:32
  Speaker 1: a clean square of unbleached muslin, washed soft by a
• 27:37
  Speaker 1: hundred river launderings, and piled all the pips, membranes, and
• 27:42
  Speaker 1: cores into its center. Gathering the four corners of the
• 27:49
  Speaker 1: cloth together, she bound them tightly with three turns of
• 27:53
  Speaker 1: white linen twine, tying a sturdy knot with a long
• 27:56
  Speaker 1: loop at the end. This was the pectin bag, a
• 28:00
  Speaker 1: little white bundle that looked like a sleeping field mouse
• 28:03
  Speaker 1: tucked into a pouch. Now she went to the wall
• 28:05
  Speaker 1: rack and lifted down her preserving pan. It was an enormous,
• 28:10
  Speaker 1: heavy vessel beaten by hand from a single sheet of
• 28:13
  Speaker 1: pure red copper. with two arched brass handles riveted securely
• 28:18
  Speaker 1: to the sides. The interior was burnished until it gleamed
• 28:22
  Speaker 1: like a newly minted penny, without a speck of verdigris
• 28:25
  Speaker 1: or tarnish. Copper was the only metal fit for boiling fruit,
• 28:30
  Speaker 1: for it distributed the heat of Barnaby's stove so evenly
• 28:34
  Speaker 1: that not a single droplet of sugar could scorch in
• 28:36
  Speaker 1: the corners. She placed the copper pan upon the center
• 28:39
  Speaker 1: hot plate of the stove. Think it to your pride.
• 28:47
  Speaker 1: The strained citrus juice, four large earthenware jugs of fresh
• 28:51
  Speaker 1: well water, and the vast mound of shredded peel. Last
• 28:56
  Speaker 1: of all, she lowered the muslin bag of pips into
• 28:59
  Speaker 1: the liquid, tying its long twine loop to one of
• 29:02
  Speaker 1: the brass handles so that the pouch bobbed gently upon
• 29:05
  Speaker 1: the surface like a little fishing boat moored in an
• 29:08
  Speaker 1: amber bay. Now, my beauties, she whispered softly. leaning over
• 29:14
  Speaker 1: the pan to inhale the rising vapor. Take your time.
• 29:19
  Speaker 1: Become soft as silk and give up all your summer
• 29:22
  Speaker 1: sweetness to the pot. She drew the iron damper slightly
• 29:26
  Speaker 1: so that Barnaby's heat became gentle and mellow. The mixture
• 29:30
  Speaker 1: in the copper kettle was not allowed to boil furiously yet. Instead,
• 29:35
  Speaker 1: it settled into a slow, lazy simmer. Tiny bubbles, no
• 29:41
  Speaker 1: larger than mustard seeds, rose one by one from the
• 29:45
  Speaker 1: copper bottom, breaking against the floating ribbons of peel. For
• 29:53
  Speaker 1: two full hours this gentle stewing would continue, softening the
• 29:58
  Speaker 1: tough Seville rinds until a ribbon of orange could be
• 30:02
  Speaker 1: crushed effortlessly between a thumb and a forefinger. While the
• 30:16
  Speaker 1: peel was softening in its fragrant bath, Mrs. Pipsqueak attended
• 30:21
  Speaker 1: to the sugar. In the bottom drawer of the kitchen dresser,
• 30:24
  Speaker 1: she kept her supply of raw cane sugar, unrefined and golden,
• 30:29
  Speaker 1: imported in heavy jute bags from the tropical islands across
• 30:32
  Speaker 1: the Western Sea. It did not have the harsh, glaring
• 30:36
  Speaker 1: whiteness of modern refined sugar. Rather, it was the warm
• 30:40
  Speaker 1: color of river sand, with large, glittering crystals that tasted
• 30:44
  Speaker 1: faintly of molasses, wild garamal and warm rain. She weighed
• 30:49
  Speaker 1: out five stone bowls of this golden sugar upon her
• 30:52
  Speaker 1: brass balance scales, adjusting the counterweights until the pans hung
• 30:56
  Speaker 1: in perfect, motionless equilibrium. But she did not pour the
• 31:00
  Speaker 1: sugar into the preserving pan immediately. Pouring cold sugar into
• 31:04
  Speaker 1: hot fruit was a culinary sin that Mrs. Arpixleek would
• 31:12
  Speaker 1: never commit. The sudden shock of cold crystals would drop
• 31:16
  Speaker 1: the temperature of the copper pan, clouding the liquid and
• 31:19
  Speaker 1: making the peel tough and stubborn. Instead, she tipped the
• 31:24
  Speaker 1: sugar into three wide, shallow earthenware baking dishes and slid
• 31:29
  Speaker 1: them into the lower warming oven of Barnaby's range. There,
• 31:33
  Speaker 1: in the gentle residual warmth beneath the bread oven, the
• 31:36
  Speaker 1: sugar crystals would slowly heat through, becoming warm and dry
• 31:40
  Speaker 1: to the touch, ready to melt into the simmering furt
• 31:45
  Speaker 1: at the very first touch without stealing a single degree
• 31:48
  Speaker 1: of heat from the pot. By now, the hands of
• 31:51
  Speaker 1: the grandfather clock pointed toward half past six. The bread
• 31:55
  Speaker 1: in the oven was done. Mrs. Pipsweet donned a pair
• 31:59
  Speaker 1: of heavy quilted oven mitts unlatched the iron door of
• 32:02
  Speaker 1: the baking oven and reached inside with her pear-wood peel
• 32:06
  Speaker 1: one by one she drew out the four loaves of
• 32:09
  Speaker 1: hearth-bread they were magnificent their rounded crusts were a deep
• 32:18
  Speaker 1: chestnut brown blistered with little golden freckles where the heat
• 32:21
  Speaker 1: had burst the air pockets and marked with the flowery
• 32:24
  Speaker 1: white spirals of the proving baskets she tapped the bottom
• 32:28
  Speaker 1: of each loaf with her knuckles A hollow drum-like ring
• 32:31
  Speaker 1: answered her touch. The unmistakable proof of bread baked it
• 32:35
  Speaker 1: to perfection, light as a cloud within, with a sturdy
• 32:38
  Speaker 1: crust that would keep the crumb moist for a week.
• 32:42
  Speaker 1: She set the steaming loaves upon the open wooden slat
• 32:45
  Speaker 1: of rack to cool, listening with deep pleasure to the faint,
• 32:49
  Speaker 1: crackling whispers of the crust as it cooled in the
• 32:51
  Speaker 1: morning air, a sound known to bakers as the bread's singing.
• 33:06
  Speaker 1: The two hours of simmering were nearly complete. Mrs. Pipsqueak
• 33:10
  Speaker 1: took a wooden spoon with a long handle and fished
• 33:13
  Speaker 1: a single ribbon of orange peel out of the copper kettle.
• 33:18
  Speaker 1: She laid it upon a saucer and pressed it with
• 33:21
  Speaker 1: the back of her claw. It gave way instantly, melting
• 33:25
  Speaker 1: like a scrap of warm butter. The peel was tender.
• 33:30
  Speaker 1: Now came the moment of transformation. She took the muslin
• 33:33
  Speaker 1: bag of pips with two wooden tongs and squeezed it
• 33:36
  Speaker 1: firmly against the side of the pan, extracting every last
• 33:40
  Speaker 1: drop of thick jelly-like pectin that had formed inside, before
• 33:45
  Speaker 1: discarding the pouch. Then, she retrieved the shallow dishes of
• 33:50
  Speaker 1: warm golden sugar from the lower oven. With a slow,
• 33:54
  Speaker 1: steady sweep of her arms, she poured the warm crystals
• 33:57
  Speaker 1: into the bubbling fruit. Instantly, the character of the kettle changed.
• 34:06
  Speaker 1: The cloudy, pale liquid cleared as the sugar dissolved, turning
• 34:09
  Speaker 1: into a liquid of breathtaking clarity and depth, a molten,
• 34:13
  Speaker 1: glowing lake of pure amber that seemed to hold all
• 34:15
  Speaker 1: the trapped fire of the southern sun. Mrs. Pipsqueak opened
• 34:19
  Speaker 1: the draft doors of Barnaby's firebox wide. She tossed two
• 34:23
  Speaker 1: dry splits of resinous pining to the coals. The flames
• 34:26
  Speaker 1: roared upward, licking the curved copper belly of the preserving pan.
• 34:30
  Speaker 1: Within three minutes the liquid rose into a furious, tumbling boil.
• 34:34
  Speaker 1: frothy bubbles, golden as honeycomb and fragrant as an orchard
• 34:37
  Speaker 1: in blue, surged up the high sides of the copper kettle.
• 34:40
  Speaker 1: The sound was no longer a gentle whisper. It was
• 34:43
  Speaker 1: a rhythmic, falling roar, like the surf breaking upon a
• 34:47
  Speaker 1: shingle beach. Mrs. Pipsquick stood over the pan with her
• 34:50
  Speaker 1: long wooden paddle, stirring in wide, slow figure eights to
• 34:53
  Speaker 1: ensure that the boiling mass remained smooth and uniform. To
• 35:00
  Speaker 1: test the set, She took three small china saucers that
• 35:04
  Speaker 1: she had placed on the cold stone windowsill outside in
• 35:07
  Speaker 1: the frosty air. She dipped a silver spoon into the
• 35:10
  Speaker 1: boiling amber, lifted it high, and allowed two drops to
• 35:14
  Speaker 1: fall onto the icy saucer. She waited sixty seconds holding
• 35:18
  Speaker 1: her breath while her whiskers twitched in suspense. Then, with
• 35:22
  Speaker 1: the soft pad of her white forefinger, she gave the
• 35:25
  Speaker 1: droplet a gentle push. The surface of the syrup crinkled.
• 35:29
  Speaker 1: It did not run like water. It gathered itself into tiny,
• 35:33
  Speaker 1: delicate folds like silk pushed across a dressing table. The
• 35:37
  Speaker 1: set had arrived. Off the fire, she cried softly to herself,
• 35:42
  Speaker 1: using two thick cloths to haul the heavy copper pan
• 35:45
  Speaker 1: away from the heat onto the cool trivet beside the stove.
• 35:49
  Speaker 1: She let the marmalade rest for ten minutes, allowing the
• 35:53
  Speaker 1: bubbling foam to subside and the shredded peel to distribute
• 35:56
  Speaker 1: itself evenly through the thickening jelly rather than floating to
• 36:00
  Speaker 1: the top. With a silver ladle, she began to fill
• 36:08
  Speaker 1: her jars. There were two dozen jars waiting upon the table,
• 36:12
  Speaker 1: faceted glass pots with ground glass stoppers and heavy cream-colored
• 36:17
  Speaker 1: stoneware crocks glazed with brown slip. As the hot golden
• 36:22
  Speaker 1: marmalade flowed into each jar, it caught the gray light
• 36:25
  Speaker 1: from the morning window and transformed it. Through the thick glass,
• 36:30
  Speaker 1: the preserves shone with an inner brilliance, a luminous honey-gold
• 36:34
  Speaker 1: sunrise captured in crystal, ready to bring Warped to the
• 36:38
  Speaker 1: darkest winter table. She aligned the jars in two neat
• 36:42
  Speaker 1: rows along the deep sill of the window. The gray
• 36:45
  Speaker 1: morning outside was now completely broken by the golden glow
• 36:49
  Speaker 1: from within No. 7, and Mrs. Picksquake smiled a wide,
• 36:53
  Speaker 1: contented cat-smile. The kitchen was warm, the bread was baked,
• 36:58
  Speaker 1: and the marmalade was glowing like the dawn. Outside the
• 37:10
  Speaker 1: thick diamond panes of No. 7, the morning had begun
• 37:13
  Speaker 1: to wrap itself in a coat of silver-gray drizzle. It
• 37:16
  Speaker 1: was not a harsh or violent storm, but the slow,
• 37:19
  Speaker 1: patient rain of the river valley, the kind of rain
• 37:22
  Speaker 1: that makes no sound upon the soft earth but whispers
• 37:25
  Speaker 1: gently against the thatch and turns the slate shingles to
• 37:29
  Speaker 1: the color of wet river slate the mist that had
• 37:32
  Speaker 1: lingered between the cottages since the tribe of five o'clock
• 37:35
  Speaker 1: had not lifted instead it had settled low into the
• 37:38
  Speaker 1: lane pooling in the mossy hollows of the cobblestones and
• 37:42
  Speaker 1: hanging like gauzy curtains from the bare branches of the
• 37:45
  Speaker 1: elder trees inside mrs pipsqueak's kitchen however the world was
• 37:50
  Speaker 1: a golden sphere of warmth light and fragrance to two
• 37:59
  Speaker 1: dozen jars of newly poured marmalade, lined the broad windowsill,
• 38:03
  Speaker 1: their faceted glass sides catching what little light the morning
• 38:06
  Speaker 1: sky offered, and turning it into pools of warm honey
• 38:09
  Speaker 1: and liquid amber across the scrubbed flagstones. The heat from
• 38:13
  Speaker 1: Barnaby's iron flank had soaked deep into the thick stone
• 38:16
  Speaker 1: walls of the cottage, creating that rare and blessed sensation
• 38:19
  Speaker 1: of complete shelter, a feeling that whatever cold or damp
• 38:23
  Speaker 1: might wander across the world outside, it could not pass
• 38:26
  Speaker 1: the threshold of this kitchen. Mrs. Pipsqueak took a clean
• 38:29
  Speaker 1: duster made of soft linen and walked down the length
• 38:32
  Speaker 1: of the long refectory table that stood in the middle
• 38:34
  Speaker 1: of the room. This table was built from heavy oak
• 38:36
  Speaker 1: boards cut from the old manor woods three generations ago,
• 38:40
  Speaker 1: seasoned until the grain was as hard and smooth as
• 38:42
  Speaker 1: polished marble. She rubbed the wood with a cloth moistened
• 38:49
  Speaker 1: with walnut oil and melted beeswax. working in gentle circular
• 38:54
  Speaker 1: strokes until the dark grain shone with a mellow golden
• 38:57
  Speaker 1: luster that mirrored the copper pans upon the wall. Along
• 39:01
  Speaker 1: the center of the table she laid out runners of
• 39:03
  Speaker 1: unbleached homespun linen woven by the weavers of the Highmoreland.
• 39:08
  Speaker 1: Upon these runners she set out her breakfast wares, earthenware
• 39:11
  Speaker 1: plates glazed in shades of oatmeal and dovegrey, small wooden
• 39:15
  Speaker 1: bowls turned from beechwood for porridge, and heavy horn-handled knives
• 39:19
  Speaker 1: whose blades had been ground smooth and blunt so that
• 39:22
  Speaker 1: they spread butter without tearing the crumb of fresh bread.
• 39:26
  Speaker 1: In the center of each setting she placed a small
• 39:28
  Speaker 1: porcelain dish, shaped like a water lily, into which she
• 39:31
  Speaker 1: spooned a generous mound of fresh yellow butter from the
• 39:34
  Speaker 1: earthenware crock in the scullery. Beside each butter dish went
• 39:41
  Speaker 1: a miniature glass pot of the sunrise marmalade, complete with
• 39:44
  Speaker 1: a tiny bone spoon so that each visitor might spoon
• 39:47
  Speaker 1: out as much of the glowing preserve as their heart desired.
• 39:51
  Speaker 1: Everything was in readiness, and half an hour the sleepy
• 39:54
  Speaker 1: village would begin to stir. Old Mr. Bramble would come
• 39:57
  Speaker 1: shuffling down the lane in his heavy woolen gaiters, leaning
• 40:01
  Speaker 1: upon his ashwood walking stick. Miss Matilda Goose would arrive
• 40:04
  Speaker 1: with her woolen shawl wrapped thrice about her shoulders, her
• 40:08
  Speaker 1: nose red from the damp, eager for her tea. The
• 40:11
  Speaker 1: world would soon require her care, her bread, and her warmth,
• 40:15
  Speaker 1: but for these few remaining quiet minutes, the kitchen belonged
• 40:19
  Speaker 1: entirely to her, and the singing fired. Mrs. Pickswick turned
• 40:33
  Speaker 1: her attention to the first loaf of hard bread that
• 40:36
  Speaker 1: she had drawn from the oven an hour earlier. It
• 40:39
  Speaker 1: was now cool enough to handle, yet still delightfully warm
• 40:42
  Speaker 1: at its very core. She lifted her bread knife, a long, broad,
• 40:47
  Speaker 1: bladed knife with teeth as fine as the comb of
• 40:49
  Speaker 1: a honeybee, and began to slice. The crust gave way
• 40:54
  Speaker 1: beneath the blade with a crisp, crackling whisper that was
• 40:57
  Speaker 1: music to any baker's ears. Beneath the chestnut crust lay
• 41:01
  Speaker 1: a crumb that was airy, elastic, and speckled with tiny
• 41:05
  Speaker 1: golden fermentation bubbles, soft as a down pillow and smelling
• 41:10
  Speaker 1: of toasted grain, sweet sourdough, and clean well water. She
• 41:15
  Speaker 1: sliced eight thick, generous slices, each one as broad as
• 41:19
  Speaker 1: her two paws placed side by side. She did not
• 41:23
  Speaker 1: leave the bread cold upon the plate. To eat cold
• 41:26
  Speaker 1: bread with fresh marmalade was, in Mrs. Pitsweek's estimation, to
• 41:31
  Speaker 1: miss the entire point of breakfast. The bread must be toasted,
• 41:39
  Speaker 1: and it must be toasted properly, not scorched over a quick,
• 41:43
  Speaker 1: impatient flame, but warmed through and crisped gently over the
• 41:48
  Speaker 1: steady embers of seasoned applewood. She took down her iron
• 41:52
  Speaker 1: toasting fork from its hoke above the mantle. It was
• 41:55
  Speaker 1: a handsome implement with three curved tines and an ash
• 42:00
  Speaker 1: wood handle that remained cool in the par. She opened
• 42:04
  Speaker 1: the small side grate of the cooking range, speared a
• 42:08
  Speaker 1: thick slice of bread upon the tines, and held it
• 42:11
  Speaker 1: three inches above the glowing crimson coals. Slowly, carefully, she
• 42:16
  Speaker 1: turned the fork this way and that, the surface of
• 42:20
  Speaker 1: the white crumb began to change colour, turning from pale
• 42:23
  Speaker 1: cream to the faint yellow of morning sunlight, and then
• 42:27
  Speaker 1: to a glorious, freckled golden brown that crackled whenever the
• 42:31
  Speaker 1: fork shifted. The fragrance that rose from the toasting bread
• 42:39
  Speaker 1: was intoxicating. It mingled with the citrus and sugar in
• 42:44
  Speaker 1: the room, creating an aroma so rich, wholesome, and comforting,
• 42:49
  Speaker 1: that it seemed as though all the goodness of the
• 42:51
  Speaker 1: earth had been concentrated into this one small room. When
• 42:56
  Speaker 1: the slice was toasted to perfection on both sides, she
• 42:59
  Speaker 1: laid it upon a warm earthenware platter and immediately brought
• 43:02
  Speaker 1: down a generous pat of sweetbriar butter upon its steaming surface.
• 43:08
  Speaker 1: The butter melted instantly. It did not merely sit upon
• 43:11
  Speaker 1: the toast. It sank deep into every pocket, crevice, and crumb,
• 43:16
  Speaker 1: turning the bread into a glistening sponge of salted golden richness. Then,
• 43:22
  Speaker 1: before the butter could cool by half a degree, she
• 43:25
  Speaker 1: took up a horn spoon and laid a generous dollop
• 43:29
  Speaker 1: of sunrise marmalade right across the middle. The translucent orange
• 43:33
  Speaker 1: jelly spread itself over the warm butter, glowing like an ember.
• 43:41
  Speaker 3: The heat of the toast released volatile oils trapped within
• 43:45
  Speaker 3: the shredded seville rinds sending up a tiny puff of
• 43:49
  Speaker 3: sweet bitter orange perfume that made mrs pitt's great closer
• 43:53
  Speaker 3: eyes and purr a deep rumbling note of profound satisfaction.
• 44:08
  Speaker 1: Percy set the platter upon the edge of the sycamore
• 44:10
  Speaker 1: table and paused to listen. Outside, the rain had settled
• 44:14
  Speaker 1: into a steady, rhythmic cadence. Droplets slid down the dark
• 44:18
  Speaker 1: leaves of the ivy that climbed the chimney wall, falling
• 44:21
  Speaker 1: with soft, rhythmic plops into the stone rain barrel beside
• 44:25
  Speaker 1: the front door. The wind was gentle, barely removing the
• 44:28
  Speaker 1: smoke that drifted from the chimney pot. but the cold
• 44:31
  Speaker 1: of the damp air outside was palpable. You could see
• 44:34
  Speaker 1: it pressing against the small panes of the window, frosting
• 44:37
  Speaker 1: the corners of the tiny beets of condensation. It was
• 44:41
  Speaker 1: during this moment of absolute stillness, when the only sounds
• 44:45
  Speaker 1: were the breathing of the fire and the whisper of
• 44:47
  Speaker 1: the rain, that a very peculiar noise broke the quiet.
• 44:51
  Speaker 1: It was not the heavy, solid thud of the postman's
• 44:54
  Speaker 1: wooden clog upon the doorstep, It was not the crisp
• 44:58
  Speaker 1: metallic rattle of the iron gate latch that announced the
• 45:01
  Speaker 1: arrival of the blacksmith or the village rector. Dort was
• 45:09
  Speaker 1: at the impatient scratch of the baker's terrier looking for
• 45:11
  Speaker 1: a warm crust by the hearth. It was an extraordinarily tiny,
• 45:16
  Speaker 1: tentative sound. Tap. Mrs. Pipsqueak paused, her paw hovering halfway
• 45:22
  Speaker 1: between the tea caddy and the kettle. She tilted her
• 45:25
  Speaker 1: right ear slightly forward. listening with all the intense, quiet
• 45:29
  Speaker 1: focus that only a cat can muster. For several seconds
• 45:33
  Speaker 1: there was nothing more, only the hiss of a sap
• 45:36
  Speaker 1: pocket bursting in an applewood log and the soft murmur
• 45:40
  Speaker 1: of the rain in the gutter. She lowered her paw,
• 45:44
  Speaker 1: thinking that perhaps a straight twig had blown down from
• 45:46
  Speaker 1: the plum tree in the hedge, or that a fat
• 45:49
  Speaker 1: snail had fallen from the ivy onto the stone threshold.
• 45:53
  Speaker 1: Then it came again.
• 45:54
  Speaker 4: Tap.
• 45:56
  Speaker 1: Tap. Tap. It was three quick light strokes, no louder
• 46:01
  Speaker 1: than the sound of a fingernail tapping against a hollow
• 46:03
  Speaker 1: walnut shell. It was rhythmic, deliberate, and unmistakably polite. And
• 46:13
  Speaker 1: what was more, it was coming from the very bottom
• 46:15
  Speaker 1: edge of the front door, barely two inches above the
• 46:18
  Speaker 1: stone doorstep, where the wild green moss formed a soft
• 46:21
  Speaker 1: green cushion against the oak sill. Mrs. Pitsquake set down
• 46:25
  Speaker 1: the tea scope upon the table. Her white whiskers quivered
• 46:28
  Speaker 1: with curiosity. In all her twenty years of keeping the
• 46:31
  Speaker 1: breakfast kitchen on Pudding Lane, no visitor had ever knocked
• 46:35
  Speaker 1: at that particular height, nor with such miniature gentleness. She
• 46:49
  Speaker 1: padded softly across the flagstone floor, her felted slippers making
• 46:53
  Speaker 1: no more sound than falling snow. The front door of No.
• 46:58
  Speaker 1: 7 was an old-fashioned Dutch door, divided horizontally across its
• 47:02
  Speaker 1: middle into two separate leaves, so that the upper half
• 47:05
  Speaker 1: could be opened to let in the summer breezes, while
• 47:08
  Speaker 1: the lower half remained securely bolted to keep out wandering
• 47:12
  Speaker 1: geese and stray sheep. The wood of the door was
• 47:16
  Speaker 1: heavy heart of oak four inches thick, studded with blackened
• 47:19
  Speaker 1: iron rivets, and painted a soft clotted cream white that
• 47:23
  Speaker 1: had mellowed over the decades into the color of clotted milk. Mrs.
• 47:27
  Speaker 1: Picksweek reached up and slipped the brass bolt of the
• 47:30
  Speaker 1: upper half of the door. With a soft click, she
• 47:33
  Speaker 1: swung the top leaf inward in its well-oiled hinges. A
• 47:37
  Speaker 1: sudden draft of cold, wet river air spilled into the room,
• 47:41
  Speaker 1: smelling sharply of wet fallen leaves, cold limestone, and the
• 47:45
  Speaker 1: marshy mud of the water meadows. The lane outside was
• 47:52
  Speaker 1: bathed in the dim, pearly light of the rainy dawn.
• 47:56
  Speaker 1: The cobblestones glistened like wet river tunnels, and the thatch
• 47:59
  Speaker 1: of the cottage across the way gleamed with silver moisture.
• 48:03
  Speaker 1: But the lane was entirely deserted. There was no wagon
• 48:07
  Speaker 1: on the road, no figure walking beneath an umbrella, no
• 48:10
  Speaker 1: living soul in sight. Mrs. Pipsqueak leaned her head out
• 48:14
  Speaker 1: over the lower door and looked left toward the village square,
• 48:18
  Speaker 1: then right toward the willow bend of the river. The
• 48:21
  Speaker 1: lane was as quiet as a churchyard at midnight. How
• 48:25
  Speaker 1: very strange, she murmured to herself, her whiskers twitching in
• 48:29
  Speaker 1: mild perplexity. Could it have been a falling acorn after all?
• 48:34
  Speaker 1: Just as she was about to pull the upper door
• 48:36
  Speaker 1: closed against the chilly draft, a sound reached her ears
• 48:40
  Speaker 1: from directly beneath her nose. It was the tiniest, wettest,
• 48:44
  Speaker 1: most heartbroken sneeze she had ever heard in her life. Achoo!
• 48:53
  Speaker 1: The sneeze was followed immediately by a faint, trembling sound.
• 48:58
  Speaker 1: A sound so thin and fragile that it seemed as
• 49:01
  Speaker 1: though a single breath of wind might blow it away
• 49:04
  Speaker 1: into the rain.
• 49:06
  Speaker 2: Peep.
• 49:07
  Speaker 1: Mrs. Pitsqueak froze. Her amber eyes widened. She leaned further
• 49:13
  Speaker 1: out over the lower half-door and looked straight down at
• 49:16
  Speaker 1: her own front doorstep. There, huddled in the very corner
• 49:29
  Speaker 1: where the doorpost met the wet stone sill, sat the
• 49:32
  Speaker 1: smallest creature she had ever beheld. It was a duckling.
• 49:36
  Speaker 1: It could not have been more than two days out
• 49:38
  Speaker 1: of its shell. Its body was a tiny, trembling oval
• 49:42
  Speaker 1: of down, but the down was no longer fluffy and dry.
• 49:45
  Speaker 1: It was soaked through by the river mist and the
• 49:47
  Speaker 1: morning rain, plastered against its little ribs in spiky, sodden
• 49:51
  Speaker 1: clumps of pale primrose yellow. A tiny smudge of black
• 49:54
  Speaker 1: river mud was smeared across its left cheek, and a
• 49:57
  Speaker 1: single feve of green duckweed clung to its downy shoulder
• 50:00
  Speaker 1: like a tattered green epaulette. Its two orange-webbed feet, small
• 50:04
  Speaker 1: as copper farthings, were tucked tightly beneath its belly to
• 50:07
  Speaker 1: keep them away from the freezing stone. but the cold
• 50:10
  Speaker 1: was rising through the flagstones and the little creature was
• 50:13
  Speaker 1: shivering so violently that its tiny bill rattled against its
• 50:16
  Speaker 1: breast feathers its bill was the soft translucent gray of
• 50:24
  Speaker 1: an elderberry bud tipped with a pale pink egg-tooth that
• 50:27
  Speaker 1: had not yet fallen away and its eyes Two shiny,
• 50:32
  Speaker 1: dark beads the color of ripe blackberries were looking straight
• 50:35
  Speaker 1: up at Mrs. Pipsqueak with an expression of such total
• 50:38
  Speaker 1: bewildered despair that it made the marmalade cat's warm heart
• 50:42
  Speaker 1: ache right through her flannel wrapper. How it had come
• 50:45
  Speaker 1: to be on Pudding Lane was an utter mystery. The
• 50:49
  Speaker 1: duck pond in the marshy banks where the wild maderns
• 50:51
  Speaker 1: nested were three large pasture fields away, down across the
• 50:55
  Speaker 1: willow meadows and beyond the mill-race. for a creature so
• 50:59
  Speaker 1: impossibly small to have wandered all that distance through the
• 51:02
  Speaker 1: tall wet grass and the cold morning fog was nothing
• 51:05
  Speaker 1: short of a miracle. It must have walked for hours
• 51:08
  Speaker 1: on its tiny webbed feet, following the faint scent of
• 51:11
  Speaker 1: wood smoke and sweet oranges through the mist, until it
• 51:14
  Speaker 1: found the only door that breathed warped into the grey morning.
• 51:22
  Speaker 1: As Mrs. Pipsqueak looked down, the duckling lifted its little
• 51:25
  Speaker 1: head with an immense effort, opened its shivering bill, and
• 51:29
  Speaker 1: produced another miniature wheezing sound. Peep-peep. Then, exhausted by the
• 51:34
  Speaker 1: effort of knocking and asking for help, its little head drooped,
• 51:38
  Speaker 1: its dark eyes fluttered shut, and it leaned its tiny
• 51:41
  Speaker 1: wet cheek against the warm wood of Mrs. Pipsqueak's door. Oh,
• 51:45
  Speaker 1: you blessed little soul, Mrs. Pipsqueak breathed. All thought of baking, tables,
• 51:51
  Speaker 1: and breakfast forgotten in an instant. She did not hesitate
• 51:55
  Speaker 1: for a fraction of a second. She unbolted the lower
• 51:58
  Speaker 1: leaf of the Dutch door with swift, gentle paws, swung
• 52:02
  Speaker 1: it wide and dropped to her knees upon the heart rug,
• 52:05
  Speaker 1: reaching her two warm, soft, furry white paws out into
• 52:08
  Speaker 1: the rain. Mrs.
• 52:18
  Speaker 2: Pipsclick slid her two broad, fairy-white paws beneath the shivering
• 52:22
  Speaker 2: bundle of wet yellow down as tenderly as if she
• 52:25
  Speaker 2: were lifting a robin's egg from a bed of nettles.
• 52:28
  Speaker 2: The duckling weighed next to nothing, no more than a
• 52:31
  Speaker 2: handful of thistle fluff for a dry pinecone, and its
• 52:34
  Speaker 2: little body was so cold that the chill struck right
• 52:37
  Speaker 2: through the thick fur of her pads, as her claws
• 52:40
  Speaker 2: curved protectively around its tiny ribs. The creature gave one
• 52:44
  Speaker 2: more faint, exhausted shudder and let its damp head rest
• 52:47
  Speaker 2: against the crook of her wrist. She drew the little
• 52:50
  Speaker 2: bird swiftly inside, turned with her heel, and kicked both
• 52:54
  Speaker 2: the lower and upper leaves of the Dutch door shut
• 52:56
  Speaker 2: with two soft, solid thuds. The heavy brass latches dropped
• 53:01
  Speaker 2: into their keeps with a reassuring click, sailing out the
• 53:04
  Speaker 2: river mist, the cold drizzle and the gray wind that
• 53:07
  Speaker 2: wandered through the village lane.
• 53:13
  Speaker 1: In an instant, the cold world was left outside, and
• 53:16
  Speaker 1: the little creature was surrounded by the dry, fragrant sanctuary
• 53:20
  Speaker 1: of No. 7.
• 53:21
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 53:22
  Speaker 1: Pipsquake carried her tiny charge directly to the warm hearth.
• 53:26
  Speaker 1: Above Barnaby's iron range was a brass drying rail, where
• 53:29
  Speaker 1: she kept her dish towels and tea cloths, aired and warm.
• 53:33
  Speaker 1: From this rail she snatched down a thick square of
• 53:35
  Speaker 1: unbleached flannel, a cloth that had been absorbing the dry,
• 53:39
  Speaker 1: radiating heat of the applewood fire all morning long. It
• 53:42
  Speaker 1: was as warm accompanying as a sun-baked stone in the
• 53:45
  Speaker 1: middle of a July meadow. She knelt upon the braided
• 53:48
  Speaker 1: wool rug in front of the open fender, settled her
• 53:51
  Speaker 1: plump marmalade knees beneath her apron, and wrapped the warm
• 53:54
  Speaker 1: flannel completely around the duckling, leaving only its tiny gray
• 53:58
  Speaker 1: bill and its dark, bewildered eyes peeking out from the folds. Ha!
• 54:08
  Speaker 1: There now, there now, my blessed little dumpling, she whispered
• 54:13
  Speaker 1: in a voice that was barely louder than the hum
• 54:16
  Speaker 1: of the kettle. You are safe inside, and no harm
• 54:19
  Speaker 1: shall touch so much as a single feather of your wings.
• 54:23
  Speaker 1: She pressed the warm bumble against her own broad, furry chest.
• 54:27
  Speaker 1: As she did, she began to purr. It was not
• 54:31
  Speaker 1: an ordinary purr, but Mrs. Pitsqueak's great, low, rumbling hearth-purr.
• 54:36
  Speaker 1: A sound like a distant water wheel turning slowly into
• 54:39
  Speaker 1: deep mill pond. A steady, rhythmic vibration that resonated through
• 54:43
  Speaker 1: her bones, through her flannel apron, and directly into the
• 54:46
  Speaker 1: trembling heart of the little lost bird. At first, the
• 54:50
  Speaker 1: duckling could only shiver, its tiny body vibrating with the
• 54:53
  Speaker 1: shock of its long, terrifying journey through the wet fields.
• 54:57
  Speaker 1: But slowly, steadily, the miracle of warmth began to do
• 55:00
  Speaker 1: its work. The heat from the flannel towels seeped through
• 55:04
  Speaker 1: the wet matted down, loosening the cold cramp that held
• 55:07
  Speaker 1: its tiny muscles tight. Work with the corner of a
• 55:20
  Speaker 1: second warm dry cloth. Mrs. Pipsqueak began the patient, gentle
• 55:25
  Speaker 1: work of trying her little visitor. She dabbed at the
• 55:29
  Speaker 1: wet down with soft, circular strokes starting at the crown
• 55:32
  Speaker 1: of its tiny head, where the feathers had been plastered
• 55:36
  Speaker 1: flat against its skull. She dried the little damp cheeks,
• 55:40
  Speaker 1: carefully wiping away the crust of black river mud that
• 55:43
  Speaker 1: had dried near its left eye. With the tick of
• 55:46
  Speaker 1: her foreclaw moving with the delicate precision of a surgeon,
• 55:50
  Speaker 1: she gently lifted away the solitary strand of green duckweed
• 55:54
  Speaker 1: that was tangled around its downy wing joint. As the
• 55:58
  Speaker 1: moisture was drawn out into the thirsty weave of the
• 56:01
  Speaker 1: warm cloth, the yellowed down began to revive. It did
• 56:05
  Speaker 1: not stay spiky and wet. It began to separate, lifting
• 56:10
  Speaker 1: away from the skin and puffy outward into a cloud
• 56:13
  Speaker 1: of soft, feathery gold that caught the flickering firelight.
• 56:17
  Speaker 3: Mrs.
• 56:22
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak dried its two tiny orange feet, rubbing each delicate
• 56:26
  Speaker 1: web with the edge of the towel until the skin
• 56:28
  Speaker 1: warmed from pale, icy peach to a healthy, vibrant tangerine.
• 56:34
  Speaker 1: The little duckling let out a long, shuddering sigh. a
• 56:37
  Speaker 1: side that seemed far too large for so small a creature,
• 56:41
  Speaker 1: and its toes, which had been curled into tight, defensive
• 56:44
  Speaker 1: fists of misery, slowly uncurled and relaxed against her warm palm.
• 56:49
  Speaker 1: Now she needed a proper bed for the little Trevor,
• 56:52
  Speaker 1: while she prepared something to nourish his empty crop. She
• 56:55
  Speaker 1: rose to her feet, still cradling the flannel bundle in
• 56:58
  Speaker 1: the crook of her left arm, and went into the
• 57:01
  Speaker 1: walk-in pantry. and the second shelf beside the crocks of
• 57:05
  Speaker 1: dried beans and the sacks of winter oats sat on
• 57:08
  Speaker 1: an old round willow basket it had once been used
• 57:12
  Speaker 1: for gathering plover eggs in the high marshes but it
• 57:14
  Speaker 1: had long since retired from such duties it was shallow
• 57:23
  Speaker 1: round and broad-bottomed with low sides woven from peeled white
• 57:27
  Speaker 1: osiers mrs pipsqueak carried the basket to the hearth into
• 57:32
  Speaker 1: the bottom she folded an old woolen muffler of dark
• 57:35
  Speaker 1: crimson wool thick and soft as moss over the muffler
• 57:40
  Speaker 1: she placed a small square cushion stuffed with the finest
• 57:44
  Speaker 1: mountain sheep's fleece beating it with her paw until it
• 57:47
  Speaker 1: formed a deep, cup-shaped hollow in the center. She set
• 57:51
  Speaker 1: the bike out directly upon the hearth rug, just two
• 57:54
  Speaker 1: feet away from Barnaby's glowing fender. The heat from the
• 57:58
  Speaker 1: coals washed over the wicker rim in a steady, gentle wave,
• 58:02
  Speaker 1: warm enough to banish any lingering chill, yet mellow enough
• 58:06
  Speaker 1: that it would not overheat a sleeping bird. With the
• 58:09
  Speaker 1: greatest gare, she lowered the duckling into the center of
• 58:12
  Speaker 1: the fleece nest. The little creature sank into the soft
• 58:20
  Speaker 1: wool with an audible murmur of contentment, tucking its warm
• 58:25
  Speaker 1: feet beneath its breast and arresting its chin upon the
• 58:28
  Speaker 1: padded rim of the basket. Stay right there, little one, Mrs.
• 58:42
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak whispered, touching the top of its downy head with
• 58:45
  Speaker 1: the velvet pad of her paw. The kitchen will provide
• 58:48
  Speaker 1: for you now. She turned to the table to consider
• 58:51
  Speaker 1: the question of breakfast. A duckling so young could not
• 58:54
  Speaker 1: eat the hard crusts of hearthbread, nor could it digest
• 58:58
  Speaker 1: the rich, bitter rind of seville oranges. It required something warm, soft,
• 59:04
  Speaker 1: and gentle on a delicate stomach that had known only
• 59:07
  Speaker 1: river weeds in cold rain for hours. She dug down
• 59:10
  Speaker 1: a small blue willow-patterned saucer from the dresser. Into the
• 59:14
  Speaker 1: scullery she went, where she dipped a ladle into a
• 59:17
  Speaker 1: stone pitcher of morning milk that had arrived from Sweetbriar
• 59:21
  Speaker 1: Farm an hour before dawn. It was rich, creamy milk,
• 59:25
  Speaker 1: carrying a thick, yellow head of cream from the elderly herd.
• 59:33
  Speaker 1: She poured three tablespoons of the milk into a small
• 59:36
  Speaker 1: copper saucepan, added two tablespoons of warm water from the
• 59:40
  Speaker 1: singing kettle to take the chill away, and stirred in
• 59:43
  Speaker 1: half a teaspoon of wild clover honey from her clay honeypot.
• 59:48
  Speaker 1: She placed the saucepan on the corner of the range,
• 59:51
  Speaker 1: warming it until it was lukewarm to the touch, neither
• 59:54
  Speaker 1: hot nor cold, but precisely the temperature of a mother
• 59:58
  Speaker 1: bird's brooding breast. Next, she returned to the loaf of
• 1:00:02
  Speaker 1: bread she had sliced earlier. Taking one of the thick,
• 1:00:06
  Speaker 1: tender slices, she carefully trimmed away all the dark chestnut
• 1:00:10
  Speaker 1: crust with her sharp paring knife. She took the soft,
• 1:00:14
  Speaker 1: cloud-like center of the bread, the tender white crumb that
• 1:00:17
  Speaker 1: still held the sweet, yeasty warmth of the oven, and
• 1:00:21
  Speaker 1: crumbled it between her paws into pieces no larger than
• 1:00:24
  Speaker 1: grains of wheat. she scattered these soft breadcrumbs into the
• 1:00:32
  Speaker 1: warm honeyed milk in the saucepan, letting them soak up
• 1:00:34
  Speaker 1: the liquid until they swelled into a rich, fragrant, buttery pap,
• 1:00:38
  Speaker 1: soft as porridge and sweet as meadow blossoms. She poured
• 1:00:41
  Speaker 1: the warm mixture into the willow-patterned saucer and carried it
• 1:00:44
  Speaker 1: gently over to the basket by the fire. She melt
• 1:00:47
  Speaker 1: upon the rug and placed the saucer right beneath the
• 1:00:49
  Speaker 1: duckling's bill. For a moment, the little bird did not move.
• 1:00:52
  Speaker 1: It lay in its woolen nest, its eyes blinking slowly
• 1:00:55
  Speaker 1: as it breathed in the strange, intoxicating fragrance of warm milk.
• 1:00:59
  Speaker 1: honey and fresh wheat. It had never smelled such things
• 1:01:02
  Speaker 1: in its short life upon the muddy riverbanks. It knew
• 1:01:05
  Speaker 1: only the scent of wet marsh grass, cold snail shells,
• 1:01:09
  Speaker 1: and soggy watercress. Thing, its tiny black eyes opened wide.
• 1:01:25
  Speaker 1: A spark of life and wonder kindled in the depths
• 1:01:27
  Speaker 1: of those shiny dark beads. It stretched its neck forward
• 1:01:32
  Speaker 1: from the woolen folds of its nest, its bill trembling
• 1:01:35
  Speaker 1: with cautious anticipation. It touched the surface of the warm
• 1:01:40
  Speaker 1: milk with the very tip of its gray bill. It
• 1:01:43
  Speaker 1: tasted the clover honey. It tasted the sweet cream.
• 1:01:47
  Speaker 2: Slurp.
• 1:01:49
  Speaker 1: The sound was so small and comical in the quiet
• 1:01:52
  Speaker 1: room that Mrs. Pipsqueak could not help smiling. The duckling
• 1:01:56
  Speaker 1: took another sip, and then another. Its little pink tongue
• 1:02:01
  Speaker 1: darted in and out of the notch in its bill,
• 1:02:04
  Speaker 1: scooping up the warm sweetened milk with ravenous delight. Then
• 1:02:08
  Speaker 1: it discovered the soaked breadcrumbs. With eager bobbing motions of
• 1:02:12
  Speaker 1: its head, it began to gobble down the soft morsels
• 1:02:15
  Speaker 1: of hearth bread. The bread was so tender that it
• 1:02:19
  Speaker 1: dissolved upon the tongue without need of chewing, filling the
• 1:02:22
  Speaker 1: little bird's cold, hollow belly with instant life-giving warmth.
• 1:02:30
  Speaker 2: Scoop, swallow, peep.
• 1:02:33
  Speaker 1: Scoop, swallow, peep. Each mouthful seemed to bring a brighter
• 1:02:38
  Speaker 1: glow to its feathers and a firmer strength to its
• 1:02:42
  Speaker 1: tiny legs. Mrs. Pipsqueak watched with deep, motherly satisfaction, her
• 1:02:48
  Speaker 1: paws tucked neatly beneath her chest as she lay curled
• 1:02:51
  Speaker 1: upon the hearth rug beside the basket. She did not
• 1:02:54
  Speaker 1: crowd the little eater, she simply offered her warm, steady presence,
• 1:02:58
  Speaker 1: a great orange mountain of safety and benevolence guard in
• 1:03:01
  Speaker 1: the hearth. Within five minutes, the willow-patterned saucer was as
• 1:03:05
  Speaker 1: clean as if it had been washed in the river.
• 1:03:08
  Speaker 1: Every drop of milk had been drunk, and every crumb
• 1:03:10
  Speaker 1: of bread had been devoured. The duckling stood up on
• 1:03:13
  Speaker 1: its sturdy orange feet inside the basket. Its little crop,
• 1:03:17
  Speaker 1: which had been sunken and empty when it tapped at
• 1:03:19
  Speaker 1: the door, was now rounded and plump as a ripe gooseberry,
• 1:03:23
  Speaker 1: protruding proudly beneath its chin. Choosing a comical little wobble
• 1:03:31
  Speaker 1: as it adjusted to the new weight in its middle,
• 1:03:33
  Speaker 1: flapped its two downy stub wings with sudden vigor, again
• 1:03:37
  Speaker 1: its tail feathers, three rapid, cheerful logs, and then, as
• 1:03:41
  Speaker 1: if realizing for the first time how magnificent it felt
• 1:03:44
  Speaker 1: to be dry, warm, and thoroughly fed, it looked straight
• 1:03:48
  Speaker 1: at Mrs. Pipsqueak, tilted its head to one side, and
• 1:03:51
  Speaker 1: let out a clear, piping, flute-like chirp. Cheep! It was
• 1:03:57
  Speaker 1: a sound of unadulterated triumph, a declaration that the gray
• 1:04:00
  Speaker 1: rain and the tanner-flying river fog were vanquished forever. You
• 1:04:13
  Speaker 1: are very welcome, little sir, Mrs. Pipsquake replied, with a soft,
• 1:04:17
  Speaker 1: affectionate chuckle, her whiskers curving in delight. I shall call
• 1:04:22
  Speaker 1: you Dandelion, for you look precisely like the head of
• 1:04:25
  Speaker 1: a dandelion flower that has blossomed in the middle of
• 1:04:27
  Speaker 1: a warm summer lawn. Dandelion seemed to find the name
• 1:04:31
  Speaker 1: entirely agreeable. He settled back down into the center of
• 1:04:36
  Speaker 1: the lime's fleece cushion, turning around two times to hollow
• 1:04:39
  Speaker 1: out a comfortable depression for his belly. Then, with great divinity,
• 1:04:43
  Speaker 1: he began the important business of preening. With his small bill,
• 1:04:47
  Speaker 1: he smoothed down every feather upon his breast, his flanks,
• 1:04:51
  Speaker 1: and his back, aligning each tiny marb of down until
• 1:04:55
  Speaker 1: he was as round, as seamless, and as fluffy as
• 1:04:59
  Speaker 1: a newly spun ball of golden yarn. The warmth of
• 1:05:02
  Speaker 1: Barnaby's fire seemed to rise into his feathers, making him
• 1:05:06
  Speaker 1: glow with the same rich, buttery light that filled the kitchen.
• 1:05:14
  Speaker 1: Outside on Pudding Lane, the silver drizzle continued to fall
• 1:05:18
  Speaker 1: with a soft, steady patter against the slate roof, but
• 1:05:21
  Speaker 1: the sound had lost all its chill. It was now
• 1:05:24
  Speaker 1: nothing more than a gentle lullaby, a whispering background that
• 1:05:28
  Speaker 1: made the dry sanctuary inside seem a thousand times cozier.
• 1:05:32
  Speaker 1: High in the church tower across the fens, the bronze
• 1:05:35
  Speaker 1: bell swung once more, tolling seven slow, resonant strokes that
• 1:05:39
  Speaker 1: drifted down through the gray rain. Seven o'clock. The morning
• 1:05:43
  Speaker 1: was moving forward, and soon the latch of the gate
• 1:05:46
  Speaker 1: would rattle as the village awakened to seek its breakfast.
• 1:05:50
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 1:05:50
  Speaker 1: Pip's week did not rise. She reached out and pulled
• 1:05:53
  Speaker 1: her high-backed wooden rocking chair closer to the hearth with
• 1:05:56
  Speaker 1: one paw. She climbed into its wide, rush-bottomed seat, wrapped
• 1:06:00
  Speaker 1: a worm woolen shawl around her shoulders, and began to
• 1:06:03
  Speaker 1: rock with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Star Creek Rock i'm
• 1:06:12
  Speaker 1: scared clong time in the willow basket dandelion's preening grew
• 1:06:18
  Speaker 1: slower and more jowsy his little head began to nod
• 1:06:23
  Speaker 1: he tried once twice to keep his shiny black eyes
• 1:06:26
  Speaker 1: open gazing with drowsy gratitude at the great marmalade cat
• 1:06:30
  Speaker 1: above him. But the warmth of the fire, the fullness
• 1:06:33
  Speaker 1: of his belly, and the soft rhythm of the rocking
• 1:06:36
  Speaker 1: chair were too powerful to resist. He gave one final,
• 1:06:39
  Speaker 1: contented little whistle, tucked his soft gray bill beneath his
• 1:06:43
  Speaker 1: right wing, and sank deep into the lamb's wool. Within
• 1:06:47
  Speaker 1: twenty seconds, his breathing had slowed to a gentle, rhythmic flutter.
• 1:06:51
  Speaker 1: as peaceful as a leaf resting on the surface of
• 1:06:53
  Speaker 1: a sleeping pond. Mrs. Pitsqueak rested her chin upon her
• 1:06:57
  Speaker 1: white furry chest, closed her amber eyes, and let her
• 1:07:01
  Speaker 1: great rumbling purr fill the quiet kitchen. The hearth fire
• 1:07:05
  Speaker 1: was glowing with steadfast applewood coals. The four loaves of
• 1:07:09
  Speaker 1: hearthbread rested in fragrant perfection upon their cooling wrap. The
• 1:07:16
  Speaker 1: two dozen jars of sunrise marmalade stood along the windowsill
• 1:07:20
  Speaker 1: like captured lanterns of amber light, casting golden reflections across
• 1:07:24
  Speaker 1: the scrubbed flagstones. And in the center of it all,
• 1:07:28
  Speaker 1: safe and sleeping by the stove, a lost little traveler
• 1:07:31
  Speaker 1: had found his home. There was nothing more that the
• 1:07:33
  Speaker 1: world could ask for. Pudding Lane was asleep in the rain,
• 1:07:37
  Speaker 1: and inside No. 7 all was warmth, sweetness, and deep,
• 1:07:40
  Speaker 1: everlasting peace. the steady gray rain that had begun as
• 1:07:52
  Speaker 1: a mere whisper at dawn now settled over Pudding Lane
• 1:07:55
  Speaker 1: with the patient, unhurried ease of an old friend who
• 1:07:58
  Speaker 1: has decided to stay for tea. It fell in straight
• 1:08:02
  Speaker 1: silver needles upon the steep moss-thatched roofs of the seven
• 1:08:06
  Speaker 1: ancient cottages, dripping from the thick straw eaves in a
• 1:08:10
  Speaker 1: gentle melodic chime that sounded very much like little tin
• 1:08:13
  Speaker 1: bells ringing far away across the meadows. In the cobblestone
• 1:08:18
  Speaker 1: gutters along the garden walls, the water forked clear, shallow
• 1:08:21
  Speaker 1: books that carried yellow willow leaves and bits of dried
• 1:08:25
  Speaker 1: fern and slow spinning journeys down toward the mill rays.
• 1:08:29
  Speaker 1: The world beyond the thick diamond panes of No. 7
• 1:08:32
  Speaker 1: had softened into shades of dove-gray slate and deep woodland green,
• 1:08:38
  Speaker 1: blurred at the edges as though someone had washed the
• 1:08:40
  Speaker 1: whole valley over with a wet watercolor brush. Inside the kitchen, however,
• 1:08:49
  Speaker 1: the atmosphere was as warm and golden as the inside
• 1:08:51
  Speaker 1: of a freshly baked loaf of bread. The early morning
• 1:08:55
  Speaker 1: callers had all come and gone, their boots leaving faint
• 1:08:58
  Speaker 1: damp rings on the scrubbed flagstones near the door, which
• 1:09:01
  Speaker 1: had already dried into pale circles in the heat of
• 1:09:03
  Speaker 1: the hearth. Old Mr. Bramble had shuffled back to his
• 1:09:06
  Speaker 1: cottage by the weird, happily clutching his half-loaf of crusty
• 1:09:10
  Speaker 1: hearthbread in his pot of dark Seville marmalade, his stiff
• 1:09:13
  Speaker 1: joints eased by the steam of hot tea and the
• 1:09:16
  Speaker 1: cheerful crackle of the woodstove. Miss Matilda Gose had scurried
• 1:09:20
  Speaker 1: home with her woolen shawl drawn snugly over her bonnet,
• 1:09:23
  Speaker 1: holding a warm twist of brown paper filled with oat-drop
• 1:09:26
  Speaker 1: biscuits to sustain her through an afternoon of embroidery. Even
• 1:09:33
  Speaker 1: Silas Tinker and young Barnaby Finch had completed their morning visits,
• 1:09:38
  Speaker 1: leaving behind only the pleasant murmur of their remembered voices
• 1:09:42
  Speaker 1: and the lingering fragrance of pipe tobacco and wet oil skins.
• 1:09:46
  Speaker 1: Now the kitchen belonged entirely to Mrs. Pipsqueak and her tiny,
• 1:09:51
  Speaker 1: slumbering guest. The great marmalade cat stood quietly beside the
• 1:09:56
  Speaker 1: sycamore table, her white paws resting upon the worn, smooth
• 1:10:00
  Speaker 1: wood as she surveyed the quiet room. Her long, feathery
• 1:10:04
  Speaker 1: tail swayed with a slow, contemplative rhythm, brushing against the
• 1:10:09
  Speaker 1: hem of her clean calico apron. In the deep willow
• 1:10:13
  Speaker 1: basket set close to the hearth, Dandelion was sleeping so
• 1:10:17
  Speaker 1: deeply that only the gentlest rise and fall of his
• 1:10:20
  Speaker 1: bright yellow den betrayed that he was more than a
• 1:10:22
  Speaker 1: handful of raw sheep's wall dyed the color of buttercups.
• 1:10:30
  Speaker 1: Mark's tiny head remained tucked neatly beneath one miniature wing.
• 1:10:34
  Speaker 1: His orange-webbed feet curled together against the warmth of the
• 1:10:37
  Speaker 1: flannel-wrapped break that Mrs. Pipsqueak had nestled into the bottom
• 1:10:40
  Speaker 1: of the basket. Every few minutes a tiny, contented sigh
• 1:10:45
  Speaker 1: would escape from the curve of his beak, a sound
• 1:10:48
  Speaker 1: so small and delicate that it was lost beneath the deep,
• 1:10:51
  Speaker 1: steady breathing of the iron range. Barnaby, the massive cooking stove,
• 1:10:56
  Speaker 1: was in a particularly companionable humor this afternoon. He had
• 1:11:00
  Speaker 1: swallowed three thick logs of sweet applewood an hour before noon,
• 1:11:04
  Speaker 1: and their heartwood had now settled into a deep, glowing
• 1:11:07
  Speaker 1: bed of crimson embers that cast a rich, rosy blush
• 1:11:10
  Speaker 1: across the clean red floor tiles. Up at his iron doors,
• 1:11:18
  Speaker 1: the copper kettle sat humming its eternal low-pitched song, a soothing,
• 1:11:22
  Speaker 1: bubbling monotone that seemed to say that whatever might be
• 1:11:25
  Speaker 1: happening out in the wide, wet world, here by the fireside,
• 1:11:30
  Speaker 1: all was well, all was safe, and nothing could possibly
• 1:11:34
  Speaker 1: go amiss. Mrs. Pipsqueak reached out with a soft paw
• 1:11:39
  Speaker 1: and gently nudged the kettle closer to the warming plate
• 1:11:41
  Speaker 1: where it could steam peacefully without boiling over. There is
• 1:11:55
  Speaker 1: a particular kind of quiet that belongs only to a
• 1:11:59
  Speaker 1: rainy afternoon in a country kitchen, especially when the morning's
• 1:12:04
  Speaker 1: bread has finished baking and rests upon the sideboard beneath
• 1:12:07
  Speaker 1: clean linen cloths. It is not an empty silence, but
• 1:12:12
  Speaker 1: rather a rich, tapestry-like stillness woven from a hundred tiny
• 1:12:17
  Speaker 1: familiar sounds. There was the rhythmic, measured tick-tock of the
• 1:12:21
  Speaker 1: grandfather clock in the corner, whose pendulum of polished grass
• 1:12:25
  Speaker 1: swung back and forth behind its glass door with the
• 1:12:28
  Speaker 1: steady heartbeat of an ancient house that had sheltered six
• 1:12:31
  Speaker 1: generations of sleepy souls. There was the occasional soft hiss
• 1:12:36
  Speaker 1: from the fire whenever a tiny drop of moisture found
• 1:12:39
  Speaker 1: its way down the brick chimney to perish upon the
• 1:12:42
  Speaker 1: glowing logs. And outside, like a continuous lullaby that had
• 1:12:47
  Speaker 1: no beginning and no end, was the endless murmur of
• 1:12:50
  Speaker 1: the rain drumming against the thick straw of the thatch overhead.
• 1:12:54
  Speaker 1: Miss Swet's week set about tidying her kitchen, with a velvety,
• 1:13:03
  Speaker 1: soundless tread peculiar to cats who take pride in their housekeeping.
• 1:13:08
  Speaker 1: She did not want to disturb the little sleeper in
• 1:13:10
  Speaker 1: the basket, whose long journey through the wet fens must
• 1:13:13
  Speaker 1: have taxed his small strength to the very limit. She
• 1:13:17
  Speaker 1: moved between the table, the scullery sink, and the pantry,
• 1:13:20
  Speaker 1: with paws that barely whispered against the flagstones. The breakfast
• 1:13:25
  Speaker 1: crocks were gathered up into an earthenware tub filled with
• 1:13:28
  Speaker 1: steaming water drawn from the side boiler of the range.
• 1:13:31
  Speaker 1: She dropped in a small shaving of lavender-scented castile soap.
• 1:13:35
  Speaker 1: and worked up a soft froth that smelled of summer
• 1:13:38
  Speaker 1: gardens and sunshine. With methodical, soothing strokes, she washed the
• 1:13:42
  Speaker 1: heavy ceramic mugs from which the villagers had drunk their tea.
• 1:13:50
  Speaker 1: She wiped the crumbs of bread from the sycamore table
• 1:13:53
  Speaker 1: with a thick linen cloth, watching the dark, swirling grain
• 1:13:57
  Speaker 1: of the seasoned wood drink in the warmth of her touch.
• 1:14:00
  Speaker 1: When the planks were as clean and smooth as a
• 1:14:03
  Speaker 1: pair of new river stones, she took up a ceramic
• 1:14:06
  Speaker 1: jar of beeswax and rosemary oil and rubbed it gently
• 1:14:10
  Speaker 1: into the surface, coaxing from the wood that deep, lustrous
• 1:14:14
  Speaker 1: golden sheen that only years of loving care can bring
• 1:14:18
  Speaker 1: the fragrance of rosemary mingled with the sweet aroma of
• 1:14:21
  Speaker 1: the seville marmalade that still hung in the warm air
• 1:14:24
  Speaker 1: from the morning's boiling creating an atmosphere so comforting and
• 1:14:28
  Speaker 1: domestic that one could almost fall asleep simply by breathing
• 1:14:32
  Speaker 1: it in when the table was polished to her satisfaction
• 1:14:36
  Speaker 1: mrs pipsqueak turned her attention to the pantry shelves the
• 1:14:44
  Speaker 1: two dozen glass jars of orange marmalade, sealed with rounds
• 1:14:48
  Speaker 1: of paraffin, capped with pleated circles of calico tied with
• 1:14:52
  Speaker 1: brown linen twine, stood upon the dresser in neat shining rows.
• 1:14:57
  Speaker 1: The afternoon light, pale and silvery as it filtered through
• 1:15:00
  Speaker 1: the rain-streaked window, struck through the jars, transforming the preserves
• 1:15:05
  Speaker 1: into glowing lanterns of concentrated sunrise. Each jar seemed to
• 1:15:10
  Speaker 1: hold a preserved spoonful of summer heat, a bright amber-merged
• 1:15:14
  Speaker 1: retreat of sun-drenched orchards and southern breezes, waiting patiently to
• 1:15:19
  Speaker 1: be spread upon hot toast when the winter frost should arrive. Mrs.
• 1:15:23
  Speaker 1: Pitskleek adjusted their positions with infinite care, lining them up
• 1:15:28
  Speaker 1: according to the shade of their peel, from the palest
• 1:15:31
  Speaker 1: lemon-gold to the deepest mahogany-amber. and she pushed the vandal
• 1:15:45
  Speaker 1: jar into its place. A small inquiring noise broke the
• 1:15:48
  Speaker 1: silence of the ram. It was not a quack, for
• 1:15:51
  Speaker 1: Dandelion was far too young to manage anything so grand
• 1:15:54
  Speaker 1: as a full quack, but rather a solid questioning chirp
• 1:15:58
  Speaker 1: that sounded like a dry pea rolling around inside a
• 1:16:00
  Speaker 1: silver thimble.
• 1:16:02
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 1:16:02
  Speaker 1: Phipps squeaked around instantly, her amber eyes widening with affectionate interest.
• 1:16:08
  Speaker 1: Over the woven wicker rim of the willow basket a
• 1:16:10
  Speaker 1: tiny yellow head had appeared. Dandelion's bright bead-like eyes blinked
• 1:16:15
  Speaker 1: against the warm glow of the hearth, his little neck
• 1:16:18
  Speaker 1: stretching as far as it would go as he tried
• 1:16:20
  Speaker 1: to take in his surroundings. He looked around the vast,
• 1:16:23
  Speaker 1: warm kitchen, marveling at the towering dresser filled with blue
• 1:16:27
  Speaker 1: and white plates, the bundles of dried sage and thyme
• 1:16:30
  Speaker 1: hanging from the dark oak ceiling beams, and the great
• 1:16:33
  Speaker 1: orange cat who was looking down at him with such
• 1:16:36
  Speaker 1: gentle benevolence. Finding that the cold rain had not followed
• 1:16:43
  Speaker 1: him into this wonderful place, the duckling scrambled to his feet,
• 1:16:48
  Speaker 1: his wept toes gripped the edge of the woolen flannel,
• 1:16:51
  Speaker 1: and he gave his downy feathers a tremendous, vigorous shake
• 1:16:55
  Speaker 1: that made him look for all the world like a
• 1:16:57
  Speaker 1: little yellow dandelion clock shivering in an autumn breeze. Then
• 1:17:01
  Speaker 1: he offed clumsily over the rim of the basket and
• 1:17:05
  Speaker 1: tumbled onto the warm flax stones with a tiny, papery thump.
• 1:17:09
  Speaker 2: Pete!
• 1:17:10
  Speaker 1: He said, tilting his head to one side and gazing
• 1:17:13
  Speaker 1: up at Mrs. Pipsqueak's white-stockined front paws. Good afternoon, little traveler, Mrs.
• 1:17:19
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak purred softly, dropping down onto her haunches so that
• 1:17:23
  Speaker 1: her face was level with his. You have slept through
• 1:17:27
  Speaker 1: three turns of the hourglass, and by my reckoning your
• 1:17:30
  Speaker 1: little crop must be as hollow as an empty acorn shell.
• 1:17:38
  Speaker 1: We'll have to see what we can find for a
• 1:17:40
  Speaker 1: growing duckling on a wet Tuesday. Dandelion waddled forward two steps,
• 1:17:45
  Speaker 1: his round belly nearly brushing the floor, and pecked curiously
• 1:17:49
  Speaker 1: at the tip of Mrs. Pipsqueak's right claw. It was warm, soft,
• 1:17:54
  Speaker 1: and smelled pleasantly of rosemary wax. Reassured by this initial inspection,
• 1:18:00
  Speaker 1: he led out a joyful bubbling trill and began to
• 1:18:04
  Speaker 1: patter around her paws. his webbed feet making little slapping
• 1:18:08
  Speaker 1: sounds against the warm stone that sounded like wet leaves
• 1:18:11
  Speaker 1: falling onto pavement. Mrs. Pipsqueak stood up slowly, being careful
• 1:18:17
  Speaker 1: not to step on her small shadow, and walked over
• 1:18:20
  Speaker 1: to the cool larder behind the hearth. From a yellow
• 1:18:24
  Speaker 1: earthenware crock, she measured out a generous scoop of lolled oats,
• 1:18:28
  Speaker 1: crushed so fine that they were almost like flour. she
• 1:18:36
  Speaker 1: placed them into a shallow brown saucer and moistened them
• 1:18:39
  Speaker 1: with two spoonfuls of warm sweet milk from the morning's
• 1:18:42
  Speaker 1: milking stirring the mixture with the tip of a wooden
• 1:18:46
  Speaker 1: spoon until it formed a smooth fragrant mash to this
• 1:18:51
  Speaker 1: she added a pinch of finely chopped dandelion greens from
• 1:18:54
  Speaker 1: the garden frame and a single drop of clover honey
• 1:18:58
  Speaker 1: knowing well what young waterfowl required to keep their feathers
• 1:19:01
  Speaker 1: bright and their spirits cheerful She placed the saucer on
• 1:19:14
  Speaker 1: the floor beside the hearth where the heat from Barnaby
• 1:19:17
  Speaker 1: would keep it comfortably warm. Beside it, she set down
• 1:19:20
  Speaker 1: a broad, shallow dish of clear well water, into which
• 1:19:23
  Speaker 1: she had dropped three fresh mint leaves for sweetness. Dandelion
• 1:19:27
  Speaker 1: did not require an invitation. He waddled over to the
• 1:19:30
  Speaker 1: saucer with frantic, eager little steps, his tail wagging from
• 1:19:34
  Speaker 1: side to side like a yellow willow catkin in a
• 1:19:36
  Speaker 1: spring wind. He plunged his soft, gray-tinted bill into the
• 1:19:40
  Speaker 1: oat mash, making enthusiastic, muffled goblin noises as he scooped
• 1:19:45
  Speaker 1: up the warm porridge. He would take three quick mouthfuls,
• 1:19:49
  Speaker 1: then run over to the water dish to dip his bill,
• 1:19:51
  Speaker 1: tossing his head back with eyes squeezed shut in pure
• 1:19:54
  Speaker 1: delight as the cool water washed the meal down his throat.
• 1:19:58
  Speaker 1: He repeated this performance over and over, back and forth
• 1:20:00
  Speaker 1: between the mash and the water, his feathers fluffing with
• 1:20:04
  Speaker 1: sheer satisfaction. Mrs. Her pipsqueak watched him from her wooden
• 1:20:14
  Speaker 1: rocking chair, her paws tucked neatly beneath her white chest
• 1:20:17
  Speaker 1: and her tail curled snugly around her flanks. A deep,
• 1:20:21
  Speaker 1: resonant purr started in the velvet recesses of her throat,
• 1:20:25
  Speaker 1: vibrating through the rush bottom of the chair like a
• 1:20:27
  Speaker 1: warm cello string. In all her years at No. 7,
• 1:20:31
  Speaker 1: she had entertained many guests. Tired postmen, weary seamstresses, shivering
• 1:20:36
  Speaker 1: schoolboys and neighborly gossams. But none had eaten her food
• 1:20:39
  Speaker 1: with such unreserved, honest enthusiasm as this little stray ball
• 1:20:43
  Speaker 1: of yellow fluff. When the saucer was as clean as
• 1:20:46
  Speaker 1: if it had been washed in the river, Dandelion turned around,
• 1:20:49
  Speaker 1: gave a great hiccuping chirp, and sat down squarely upon
• 1:20:53
  Speaker 1: his little rump. His belly was now as round and
• 1:20:56
  Speaker 1: tight as a ripe gooseberry. He blinked his shiny black
• 1:20:59
  Speaker 1: eyes with sleepy contentment, looking around for something soft to
• 1:21:03
  Speaker 1: lean against, finding nothing closer than Mrs. Quee. pipscleef's apron
• 1:21:11
  Speaker 1: hem which trailed down from the chair to touch the
• 1:21:13
  Speaker 1: hearthstones he waddled over buried himself in the thick calico
• 1:21:18
  Speaker 1: folds and let out a long shuddering sigh of utter
• 1:21:21
  Speaker 1: contentment outside the rain redoubled its efforts A sudden gust
• 1:21:27
  Speaker 1: of autumn wind swept down Pudding Lane, rattling the diamond
• 1:21:31
  Speaker 1: panes in their leaded casements and driving a spray of
• 1:21:34
  Speaker 1: silver drops against the glass. The willow trees along the
• 1:21:38
  Speaker 1: riverbank three fields away could be erring and groaning as
• 1:21:42
  Speaker 1: the wind combed through their wet branches and the lane
• 1:21:45
  Speaker 1: itself grew darker, the grey daylight already beginning to fail
• 1:21:49
  Speaker 1: as three o'clock approached. The shadows in the corners of
• 1:21:52
  Speaker 1: the kitchen deepened into rich, velvety purples, while the circle
• 1:21:56
  Speaker 1: of light cast by Barnaby's glowing hearth seemed to grow
• 1:21:59
  Speaker 1: brighter and more protective, drawing the whole room closer around
• 1:22:03
  Speaker 1: the fire.' The world is very wet out there today,
• 1:22:16
  Speaker 1: little one,' Mrs. Pipsqueak whispered, her whiskers twitching as she
• 1:22:21
  Speaker 1: listened to the bluster against the chimney cow.' The water-meadows
• 1:22:25
  Speaker 1: will be half a foot deep in flood by nightfall,
• 1:22:28
  Speaker 1: and the road to the mill will be nothing but
• 1:22:29
  Speaker 1: red clay mud. But here we have three cords of
• 1:22:33
  Speaker 1: dry birch in the lean-to, twenty pounds of flour in
• 1:22:36
  Speaker 1: the bin, and a roof that has not leaked a
• 1:22:39
  Speaker 1: single drop since the year of the great frost.' She
• 1:22:42
  Speaker 1: leaned down from her chair, gently scooped up the little
• 1:22:44
  Speaker 1: duckling in her front paws, and settled him into the
• 1:22:47
  Speaker 1: lap of her apron. Dandelion made no objection whatever. He
• 1:22:52
  Speaker 1: nestled into the warm orange fur of her belly, poking
• 1:22:56
  Speaker 1: only his dark little eyes and the tip of his
• 1:22:59
  Speaker 1: bill out to watch the world. With slow, rhythmic strokes
• 1:23:03
  Speaker 1: of her right paw, Mrs. Pipsqueak began to grow him.
• 1:23:07
  Speaker 1: Cats are very particular about neatness, and she could not
• 1:23:10
  Speaker 1: bear to see a single downy feather out of place.
• 1:23:16
  Speaker 1: Her rough, warm tongue smoothed the yellow plumage of his crown,
• 1:23:20
  Speaker 1: lifting the dampness that still lingered from his morning adventure,
• 1:23:24
  Speaker 1: and fluffing each tiny plume until he seemed to double
• 1:23:27
  Speaker 1: in size, turning into a cloud of golden down as
• 1:23:30
  Speaker 1: soft as thistledown. As she groomed him, she hummed a low,
• 1:23:34
  Speaker 1: wordless melody, an old riverside song that the village boatmen
• 1:23:38
  Speaker 1: sang when they pulled their barges through the reed beds
• 1:23:41
  Speaker 1: at dusk. It was a drowsy tune with long, falling
• 1:23:45
  Speaker 1: cadences that matched the rhythm of a harpur and the
• 1:23:48
  Speaker 1: steady swing of the grandfather clock. Tick-tock. Purr, purr. Swish, drip.
• 1:23:56
  Speaker 1: Dandelion's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Once or twice he
• 1:24:01
  Speaker 1: attempted to raise his head to chirp his agreement, but
• 1:24:04
  Speaker 1: the warmth of the aprons and the hypnotic motion of
• 1:24:06
  Speaker 1: her paws were too much for him. His beak settled
• 1:24:09
  Speaker 1: against the soft fur of her shoulder. His breathing became
• 1:24:16
  Speaker 1: so slow and shallow that it was barely perceptible. a
• 1:24:20
  Speaker 1: tiny pulse of life resting safely in the shelter of
• 1:24:23
  Speaker 1: four sturdy stone walls and a warm hearth.
• 1:24:27
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 1:24:27
  Speaker 1: Pipscleek looked down at the sleeping creature with a tenderness
• 1:24:31
  Speaker 1: that went deep into her gentle heart. She knew that
• 1:24:34
  Speaker 1: he could not stay on Pudding Lane forever. A duckling
• 1:24:37
  Speaker 1: was made for the wide flowing river, for the silver
• 1:24:40
  Speaker 1: water lily leaves, for the green reeds that whispered in
• 1:24:43
  Speaker 1: the summer wind, and for the safe sheltering wings of
• 1:24:46
  Speaker 1: his own mother. He did not belong by the hearth
• 1:24:49
  Speaker 1: of a village baker, no matter how sweet the marmalade
• 1:24:52
  Speaker 1: or how warm the fire. But for this gray storm-swept
• 1:24:56
  Speaker 1: afternoon while the rain fell and the winds blew across
• 1:24:58
  Speaker 1: the lonely marshland, he was her charge, her small guest,
• 1:25:03
  Speaker 1: and her delight. High in the tower of St. Jude
• 1:25:06
  Speaker 1: and the Fens, the bronze bell swung four times, its
• 1:25:09
  Speaker 1: heavy strokes muffled and softened by the descending sheets of rain.
• 1:25:17
  Speaker 1: four o'clock the afternoon was nearly spent and the quiet
• 1:25:20
  Speaker 1: hours of domestic shelter would soon give way to the
• 1:25:23
  Speaker 1: work of the evening but for now mrs pittsclake rested
• 1:25:27
  Speaker 1: her chin against her chest closed her eyes against the
• 1:25:30
  Speaker 1: dancing amber flames of barnaby's grate and allowed herself to
• 1:25:33
  Speaker 1: drift into that gentle shallow slumber that only comes to
• 1:25:36
  Speaker 1: those whose bread is baked whose hearth is bright and
• 1:25:39
  Speaker 1: whose home has become a sanctuary for the lost By
• 1:25:51
  Speaker 1: five o'clock in the afternoon, the heavy downpour that had
• 1:25:54
  Speaker 1: drenched the valley since midday began to weary of its
• 1:25:57
  Speaker 1: own fury. The steady roar upon the thatch diminished to
• 1:26:01
  Speaker 1: a soft, hesitant patter, and the wind, which had whipped
• 1:26:04
  Speaker 1: the weeping willows into a frenzy along the water meadows,
• 1:26:07
  Speaker 1: died away to a gentle, damp sigh that barely rustled
• 1:26:11
  Speaker 1: the climbing roses around the porch of No. 7. Outside,
• 1:26:15
  Speaker 1: the sky was changing from the dull gray of lead
• 1:26:18
  Speaker 1: to the deep, luminous violet of an autumn twilight. A cool,
• 1:26:22
  Speaker 1: fragrant mist began to rise from the drenched gardens, carrying
• 1:26:26
  Speaker 1: with it the rich, earthy smells of wet soil, bruised
• 1:26:29
  Speaker 1: alder leaves, and sodden moss. Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Pipsqueak
• 1:26:34
  Speaker 1: sat upright in her rocking chair, her ears turning like
• 1:26:37
  Speaker 1: little velvet cones toward the sound of flick steps upon
• 1:26:40
  Speaker 1: the cobblestones. They were not the hurried, splashing steps of
• 1:26:48
  Speaker 1: someone seeking shelter from a storm, but rather the deliberate,
• 1:26:51
  Speaker 1: communal tread of neighbors who had put on their heavy
• 1:26:54
  Speaker 1: boots with a shared purpose. A firm, respectful knock sounded
• 1:26:58
  Speaker 1: upon the heavy oak of the cottage door. Three measured taps,
• 1:27:02
  Speaker 1: followed by the gentle clinking of a brass latch. Mrs.
• 1:27:05
  Speaker 1: Pitsqueak rose, setting Dandelion down into the safety of his
• 1:27:09
  Speaker 1: willow basket, where he blinked sleepily from amidst the warm
• 1:27:12
  Speaker 1: folds of flannel. She smoothed down her apron with both paws,
• 1:27:16
  Speaker 1: padded across the flagstones, and lifted the iron latch. The
• 1:27:19
  Speaker 1: heavy door swung inward, revealing a tableau that warmed her
• 1:27:23
  Speaker 1: feline heart more thoroughly than three hearth fires burning together.
• 1:27:27
  Speaker 1: Standing on the wet threshold, beneath the sheltering drip of
• 1:27:30
  Speaker 1: the porch eaves, were the residents of Pudding Lane, gathered
• 1:27:33
  Speaker 1: together like a family answering an unwaste summons. At the
• 1:27:37
  Speaker 1: front stood Old Mr. Pudding Lane. leaning upon his sturdy
• 1:27:45
  Speaker 1: ashwood walking stick with one hand while holding a massive,
• 1:27:48
  Speaker 1: black-domed carriage umbrella aloft with the other. His ancient tweed
• 1:27:52
  Speaker 1: coat was dark with moisture across the shoulders, and his
• 1:27:55
  Speaker 1: wool scarf was wrapped thrice around his neck, but his
• 1:27:58
  Speaker 1: whiskered face was bright with determined kindness. Beside him stood
• 1:28:03
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda Goose, her sharp eyes twinkling beneath the deep
• 1:28:06
  Speaker 1: hood of an oiled woolen cloak that smelled pleasantly of
• 1:28:09
  Speaker 1: lavender and lanolin. In her mittened hands she carried a
• 1:28:12
  Speaker 1: basket lined with warm felt. Behind them stood Silas the Tinker,
• 1:28:17
  Speaker 1: his broad shoulders draped in a waterproof oilskin, his leather
• 1:28:21
  Speaker 1: pouch slung across his chest, and an old brass-framed storm
• 1:28:25
  Speaker 1: lantern dangling from his fingers, casting a warm dancing circle
• 1:28:29
  Speaker 1: of yellow candlelight onto the wet doorstep. and hopping impatiently
• 1:28:37
  Speaker 1: from one booted foot to the other on the lowest
• 1:28:40
  Speaker 1: step was young Bartleby Finch, his postman satchel set aside
• 1:28:44
  Speaker 1: for the day, holding a second lantern that flickered with
• 1:28:47
  Speaker 1: a cheery steady flame. good evening mrs pipsqueak old mr
• 1:29:02
  Speaker 1: bramble rumbled his deep gravelly voice softened by the damp
• 1:29:06
  Speaker 1: evening air he cleared his throat twice and tapped his
• 1:29:10
  Speaker 1: walking stick against the stone step we have been talking
• 1:29:13
  Speaker 1: it over in the cobbler's shop while the rain poured
• 1:29:16
  Speaker 1: down matilda here said she heard a great commotion airing
• 1:29:20
  Speaker 1: down by the reeds when she went to gather watercress
• 1:29:22
  Speaker 1: this morning And Silas swears he saw Mother Mallard paddling
• 1:29:27
  Speaker 1: in frantic circles by the old stone bridge before noon,
• 1:29:31
  Speaker 1: calling for what can only be a missing chick. We
• 1:29:34
  Speaker 1: knew you had the little fellow safe, for word travels
• 1:29:37
  Speaker 1: fast along Pudding Lane. But a mother's heart is the
• 1:29:42
  Speaker 1: same in feathers as it is in wool or cotton.
• 1:29:50
  Speaker 1: We cannot let the night come down without seeing them
• 1:29:53
  Speaker 1: brought back together. Indeed we cannot, Miss Matilda chimed in,
• 1:29:57
  Speaker 1: stepping across the threshold into the warmth of the hall
• 1:30:00
  Speaker 1: and shaking the raindrops from her woolen cape with a quick,
• 1:30:03
  Speaker 1: bird-like motion. The marshes grow very cold once the dusk
• 1:30:07
  Speaker 1: thickens into true night and there are foxes prowling along
• 1:30:10
  Speaker 1: the willow ditch by six o'clock. We must get that
• 1:30:13
  Speaker 1: baby back to his mother before the moon clears the
• 1:30:15
  Speaker 1: church tower. Mrs. Pipsqueak purred her deep agreement, her green-gold
• 1:30:20
  Speaker 1: eyes glowing with quiet gratitude. You speak with the wisdom
• 1:30:23
  Speaker 1: of the lane, my good friends. The little traveler has
• 1:30:26
  Speaker 1: eaten a belly full of warm oat mash, his down
• 1:30:28
  Speaker 1: is dry and fluffed, and he has slept away his weariness.
• 1:30:31
  Speaker 1: He is ready for the journey, but we must keep
• 1:30:34
  Speaker 1: him shielded from the evening mist. She bustled back into
• 1:30:37
  Speaker 1: the kitchen, her paws flying with purposeful speed. From the
• 1:30:45
  Speaker 1: cupboard beneath the dresser, she brought out a small, deep
• 1:30:47
  Speaker 1: market basket made of tightly woven peeled osier with a
• 1:30:51
  Speaker 1: stout arched handle and a pair of hinged wicker lids
• 1:30:54
  Speaker 1: that met in the middle. and to the bottom of
• 1:30:56
  Speaker 1: this basket she placed a thick squirt of wool fleece,
• 1:30:58
  Speaker 1: topped by a clean, heated flannel cloth that had been
• 1:31:01
  Speaker 1: warming on Barnaby's shelf all afternoon. Next, she took a
• 1:31:05
  Speaker 1: smooth flat river pebble the size of an apple, which
• 1:31:07
  Speaker 1: had been resting in the hearth embers until it was
• 1:31:09
  Speaker 1: thoroughly warm, wrapped it in three layers of brown felt,
• 1:31:12
  Speaker 1: and tucked it into the corner of the basket to
• 1:31:13
  Speaker 1: serve as an enduring low radiator. When the bed was ready, Mrs.
• 1:31:17
  Speaker 1: Pipskick lifted Dandelion from his day-nest. The little duckling was
• 1:31:21
  Speaker 1: wide awake now, having heard the strange voices of the door,
• 1:31:28
  Speaker 1: He chirped in startled confusion as he was lifted into
• 1:31:31
  Speaker 1: the air. But the moment he was lowered into the
• 1:31:34
  Speaker 1: new wicker basket and felt the delicious warmth of the
• 1:31:38
  Speaker 1: heated stone beneath his belly, his anxiety melted away. He
• 1:31:43
  Speaker 1: waddled around twice in the small space, poked his beat
• 1:31:47
  Speaker 1: through the gap between the wicker lids, and let out
• 1:31:51
  Speaker 1: a curious, piping whistle that made Silas the Tinker break
• 1:31:54
  Speaker 1: into a broad, craggy smile. He is a sturdy little soldier,
• 1:32:08
  Speaker 1: he is, Silas said, stepping inside to latch his lantern
• 1:32:13
  Speaker 1: onto a heavy iron hook by the larder while they
• 1:32:15
  Speaker 1: made ready. I have mended cuddles in forty parishes and
• 1:32:19
  Speaker 1: I have never seen a duckling with a brighter eye
• 1:32:23
  Speaker 1: or a yellower coat. His mother will be fair out
• 1:32:26
  Speaker 1: of her wits with joy to have him returned. Now, Barnaby,
• 1:32:30
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda directed, turning her sharp, practical gaze upon the postboy,
• 1:32:35
  Speaker 1: you know every hollow tree. every beveled burrow, and every
• 1:32:38
  Speaker 1: bend of the drainage ditches between here and the mill reuse.
• 1:32:41
  Speaker 1: Where did Silas say the mallard was last seen? Young
• 1:32:45
  Speaker 1: Barnaby straightened his cap with pride, his cheeks glowing red
• 1:32:49
  Speaker 1: from the crisp air. Down by the old willow pool,
• 1:32:52
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda, just where the mill stream branches off to
• 1:32:54
  Speaker 1: feed the watercress beds. The current is very slow there,
• 1:33:03
  Speaker 1: on account of the floodgate. and there is a thick
• 1:33:05
  Speaker 1: bank of bulrushes where the Mallard families have nested since
• 1:33:08
  Speaker 1: my grandfather was a lad. If she is searching anywhere,
• 1:33:11
  Speaker 1: she will be circling between the wooden pond gate and
• 1:33:14
  Speaker 1: the stone culvert beneath the cart road. Then that is
• 1:33:17
  Speaker 1: where our lanterns must go, Mrs. Pipscake declared, taking down
• 1:33:21
  Speaker 1: her long-hooded winter cloak of dark green wool from its
• 1:33:23
  Speaker 1: peg behind the scullery door. She slipped her arms through
• 1:33:27
  Speaker 1: the slits, tied the silken ribbons beneath her furry chin,
• 1:33:30
  Speaker 1: and pulled the decud over her ears to protect them
• 1:33:32
  Speaker 1: from the damp night air. Over her arm she looped
• 1:33:35
  Speaker 1: the stout wicker handle of Dandelion's traveling basket, holding it
• 1:33:39
  Speaker 1: close against her chest so that her own body heat
• 1:33:41
  Speaker 1: would reinforce the warmth of the heated stone. With a
• 1:33:44
  Speaker 1: final check of Barnaby's dampers to ensure that the stove
• 1:33:47
  Speaker 1: would burn safely and slowly while she was away, Miss
• 1:33:54
  Speaker 1: Pissquick stepped out into the hallway. The little company assembled
• 1:33:58
  Speaker 1: on the porch, extinguishing the porch lamp and pulling the
• 1:34:01
  Speaker 1: heavy front door shut until the iron lock clicked home
• 1:34:04
  Speaker 1: with a reassuring solid thud. The little expedition stepped out
• 1:34:08
  Speaker 1: into the lane, moving in a close orderly group down
• 1:34:12
  Speaker 1: the curving cobblestones. The rain had ceased entirely now, leaving
• 1:34:18
  Speaker 1: behind a world transformed into liquid silver and velvet darkness.
• 1:34:23
  Speaker 1: Every cobblestone gleamed like a wet seal's back in the
• 1:34:26
  Speaker 1: yellow rays of the two lanterns. The water was still
• 1:34:30
  Speaker 1: gurgling musically down the roadside gutters, splashing over the little
• 1:34:34
  Speaker 1: stone dams that the children had built that morning, and
• 1:34:38
  Speaker 1: from every garden hedge rose the intoxicating clean scent of
• 1:34:42
  Speaker 1: wet lavender, sodden rosemary, and damp earth.
• 1:34:58
  Speaker 2: Old Mr.
• 1:34:58
  Speaker 1: Bramble walked at the head of the company, setting a steady,
• 1:35:01
  Speaker 1: deliberate pace with his ashwood stick. Tap, scrape, step. Tap, scrape, step.
• 1:35:10
  Speaker 1: The sound of his progress was as comforting and reliable
• 1:35:13
  Speaker 1: as the ticking of the church clock. On his right,
• 1:35:17
  Speaker 1: Silas held the brass storm lantern high above his shoulder,
• 1:35:20
  Speaker 1: throwing a wide arc of golden light that revealed every puddle,
• 1:35:24
  Speaker 1: every slippery patch of fallen leaves, and every protruding tree
• 1:35:28
  Speaker 1: root long before anyone could stumble upon it. Barnaby Finch
• 1:35:32
  Speaker 1: walked on the left with his smaller lantern held low
• 1:35:34
  Speaker 1: to the ground, his keen young eyes scanning the drenched
• 1:35:38
  Speaker 1: grass verges and the mossy bases of the stone walls.
• 1:35:42
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda walked close beside Mrs. Pipsqueak, her arm length
• 1:35:45
  Speaker 1: through the cat's cloaked elbow, murmuring quiet words of encouragement
• 1:35:49
  Speaker 1: whenever the wicker basket gave a little shift or heave.
• 1:35:53
  Speaker 1: Inside the basket, Dandelion was surprisingly still. Through the narrow
• 1:36:01
  Speaker 1: wicker weave he could smell the cool wild odors of
• 1:36:05
  Speaker 1: the night, the scent of rain-soaked weeds, running stream water,
• 1:36:10
  Speaker 1: and the pungent musk of the fens, and they stirred deep,
• 1:36:13
  Speaker 1: ancient memories in his tiny heart. every few yards he
• 1:36:17
  Speaker 1: would press his yellow hat against the wicker lid and
• 1:36:20
  Speaker 1: give a soft inquiring peep as though testing whether the
• 1:36:23
  Speaker 1: darkness contained an answer patience little brother mrs pipsqueak whispered
• 1:36:29
  Speaker 1: down through the weave her paw resting gently upon the
• 1:36:32
  Speaker 1: wicker lid to soothe him we are coming to the
• 1:36:34
  Speaker 1: water meadows If your mother is near, she will hear
• 1:36:38
  Speaker 1: you soon enough. They passed the sleepy cottages of Pudding Lane,
• 1:36:42
  Speaker 1: one by one. Number six was already shuttered for the night,
• 1:36:46
  Speaker 1: its chimney sending a straight plume of blue birch smoke
• 1:36:49
  Speaker 1: up into the purple sky. At number five, an amber
• 1:36:53
  Speaker 1: candle flickered in the parlor window, where the old lacemaker
• 1:36:56
  Speaker 1: sat winding her bobbins. Opportunity number four. The blacksmith's dog
• 1:37:05
  Speaker 1: came to the garden gate, waved his shaggy tail twice
• 1:37:09
  Speaker 1: in friendly recognition of the lantern light, and trotted back
• 1:37:12
  Speaker 1: to his dry kennel beneath the pear tree without making
• 1:37:15
  Speaker 1: a single bark. Pudding Lane was a place of deep trust,
• 1:37:19
  Speaker 1: where night brought neither fear nor suspicion, but only the
• 1:37:23
  Speaker 1: quiet closing down of the day's honest labor. As they
• 1:37:27
  Speaker 1: reached the end of the lane, where the smooth cobblestones
• 1:37:30
  Speaker 1: gave way to the soft, sandy turf of the common pasture,
• 1:37:34
  Speaker 1: the houses fell behind them, and the vast open expanse
• 1:37:38
  Speaker 1: of the fence opened out into the misty twilight. Here
• 1:37:42
  Speaker 1: the silence was immense, broken only by the distant, rhythmic
• 1:37:45
  Speaker 1: rumble of the mill wheel three miles downstream, and the
• 1:37:49
  Speaker 1: occasional lonely cry of a plover wheeling across the darkened sky.
• 1:38:04
  Speaker 1: The path wound between two rows of ancient pollard willows,
• 1:38:07
  Speaker 1: whose swollen trunks were covered in thick green moss and
• 1:38:10
  Speaker 1: crowned with thickets of slender dripping branches that looked like
• 1:38:13
  Speaker 1: giant brooms raised against the twilight. The mist was thicker here,
• 1:38:17
  Speaker 1: lying across the water meadows and long ghostly banks that
• 1:38:20
  Speaker 1: drifted slowly over the grass like folds of grey silk.
• 1:38:23
  Speaker 1: The lantern light taught them moisture in the air, creating
• 1:38:26
  Speaker 1: golden halos that floated around the searchers as they walked. Listen,
• 1:38:30
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda Goose said suddenly, raising one mittened finger and
• 1:38:33
  Speaker 1: coming to a dead halt. The entire party froze in
• 1:38:36
  Speaker 1: their tracks. Old Mr. Bramble leaned his weight upon his tit,
• 1:38:40
  Speaker 1: Silas lowered his lantern until it illuminated the grass at
• 1:38:43
  Speaker 1: his feet, and Barnaby Finch held his breath with his
• 1:38:45
  Speaker 1: mouth half open. For a long moment there was nothing
• 1:38:48
  Speaker 1: to be heard but the slow, heavy drop of water
• 1:38:51
  Speaker 1: from the willow boughs onto the sodden grass below. Then
• 1:39:00
  Speaker 1: from somewhere far down along the winding course of the stream,
• 1:39:03
  Speaker 1: carried faint and thin upon the damp evening breeze, came
• 1:39:06
  Speaker 1: a lonely, sorrowful sound. Quack. Quack. Quack. It was a low,
• 1:39:13
  Speaker 1: hoarse note. repeated three times with a long, aching silence
• 1:39:17
  Speaker 1: between each cry the unmistakable call of a hen mallard
• 1:39:21
  Speaker 1: who has searched every reed bed, every muddy inlet and
• 1:39:25
  Speaker 1: every willow root along two miles of rivermenk without finding
• 1:39:29
  Speaker 1: what she had lost. Inside the wicker basket against Mrs.
• 1:39:32
  Speaker 1: Pitsquake's chest there is a sudden, violent flutter of miniature wings.
• 1:39:37
  Speaker 1: Dandelion's little yellow body stiffened, He scrabbled up onto his
• 1:39:41
  Speaker 1: tiny webbed feet, threw back his head, and let out
• 1:39:44
  Speaker 1: a whistle so loud, so piercing, and so full of
• 1:39:47
  Speaker 1: desperate joyous recognition that it made all four of the
• 1:39:50
  Speaker 1: human companions chuck in their boots. Peep.
• 1:39:53
  Speaker 2: Peep.
• 1:39:58
  Speaker 1: Or think. The little call sliced through the damp fen
• 1:40:02
  Speaker 1: mist like a silver needle through velvet. Far off across
• 1:40:05
  Speaker 1: a dark water meadows, the hoarse quacking stopped instantly. The
• 1:40:09
  Speaker 1: silence returned for three heartbeats, thick with suspense and hope. Then,
• 1:40:14
  Speaker 1: bursting out from the darkness near the wooden pond gate,
• 1:40:17
  Speaker 1: came a flurry of excited, rapid-fire quacks, accompanied by the loud,
• 1:40:22
  Speaker 1: rhythmic thrashing of wings beating against water. She heard him,
• 1:40:26
  Speaker 1: Bartleby Finch cried out, unable to contain his excitement, his
• 1:40:29
  Speaker 1: boots splashing through a puddle as he broke into a trot.
• 1:40:33
  Speaker 1: She is at the pond gate, just as I said
• 1:40:35
  Speaker 1: she would be. Come along, Mr.
• 1:40:36
  Speaker 4: Bramble.
• 1:40:37
  Speaker 1: Come along, Mrs. Pitsqueak. Steady, lad, steady, Silas warned with
• 1:40:41
  Speaker 1: a quiet, joyous chuckle, his long legs moving swiftly to
• 1:40:44
  Speaker 1: keep up with the boy while keeping the lantern high
• 1:40:46
  Speaker 1: to show the way. Do not go tumbling into the
• 1:40:49
  Speaker 1: ditch on the threshold of victory. We are coming, Barnaby.
• 1:40:51
  Speaker 1: Our pinning lane is coming with the boy. The little
• 1:40:59
  Speaker 1: procession hurried forward, their lanterns swaying and casting long dancing
• 1:41:03
  Speaker 1: shadows across the wet grass, their hearts beating in eager
• 1:41:07
  Speaker 1: unison as they approached the wooden rails of the great
• 1:41:09
  Speaker 1: pond gate. The great wooden pond gate stood at the
• 1:41:21
  Speaker 1: far shadowy boundary of the water meadows, where the green
• 1:41:25
  Speaker 1: pasture turf sloped gently down into the quiet shallows of
• 1:41:29
  Speaker 1: the ancient mill-pool. It was a massive, five-barred gate of
• 1:41:33
  Speaker 1: split oak, silvered and weathered by decades of winter rain,
• 1:41:38
  Speaker 1: spring thaws, and autumn river mists, bound together with broad
• 1:41:42
  Speaker 1: iron straps that had rusted to a deep, velvety chestnut brown.
• 1:41:47
  Speaker 1: Thick cushions of emerald moss clung to the tops of
• 1:41:50
  Speaker 1: the heavy oak posts like velvet caps. and wild honeysuckle vines,
• 1:41:55
  Speaker 1: heavy with late-blooming trumpet flowers, that were now drenched in
• 1:42:00
  Speaker 1: evening dew, wound through the lower rails like living green rope,
• 1:42:04
  Speaker 1: perfuming the cool night air with a sweet almond-like fragrance.
• 1:42:13
  Speaker 1: Beat on the gate stretched the wide, calm expanse of
• 1:42:16
  Speaker 1: the water, so still and unwaffled that it mirrored the
• 1:42:19
  Speaker 1: deep indigo of the twilight sky, and the first faint,
• 1:42:23
  Speaker 1: silver prith of the evening star rising above the stone
• 1:42:26
  Speaker 1: spire of St. Jude in the fence. Young Barnaby Finch
• 1:42:29
  Speaker 1: was the first of the company to reach the boundary fence,
• 1:42:32
  Speaker 1: but he possessed the good sense of a boy who
• 1:42:34
  Speaker 1: had grown up listening to the rhythm of the marshes.
• 1:42:37
  Speaker 1: He stopped ten paces short of the water's edge and
• 1:42:40
  Speaker 1: lowered his lantern until its yellow glow barely eliminated his boots.
• 1:42:44
  Speaker 1: He knew that wild water creatures are timid and easily
• 1:42:46
  Speaker 1: startled by sudden swinging lights, by harsh glare of uncovered flames.
• 1:42:55
  Speaker 1: He set his lantern down behind a hollow alder stump
• 1:42:58
  Speaker 1: so that its golden beams spilled forward in a soft,
• 1:43:01
  Speaker 1: low fan across the wet grass, illuminating the muddy margin
• 1:43:05
  Speaker 1: where the village cattle came down to drink at midday,
• 1:43:09
  Speaker 1: without casting long, frightening shadows across the open pool. A
• 1:43:14
  Speaker 1: moment later, the rest of the company caught up with him,
• 1:43:18
  Speaker 1: their footsteps squelching softly in the sodden turf. Silas the
• 1:43:22
  Speaker 1: Tinker placed his own heavy brass storm lantern upon the
• 1:43:25
  Speaker 1: broad top rail of the gate, carefully draping a fold
• 1:43:29
  Speaker 1: of his dark oil skin over the front pane to
• 1:43:31
  Speaker 1: diffuse the brightness into a warm, moonlight-colored haze that seemed
• 1:43:36
  Speaker 1: to belong naturally to the evening. Old Mr. Bramble leaned
• 1:43:40
  Speaker 1: his full weight upon his ashwood walking stick. his breath
• 1:43:44
  Speaker 1: rising in a faint silver mist in the chill Marsha air,
• 1:43:48
  Speaker 1: his weathered, whiskered face set in lines of patient, gentle expectation.
• 1:43:57
  Speaker 1: Beside him, Miss Matilda Goose drew her thick woolen cape
• 1:44:00
  Speaker 1: tightly about her throat, tucking her hands into her mittens
• 1:44:04
  Speaker 1: and scanning the shadowy margins where the tall bull rushes,
• 1:44:08
  Speaker 1: the yellow water flags and the flowering rushes stood knee-deep
• 1:44:11
  Speaker 1: in the silver shallows. Between them stood Mrs. Pipsqueak holding
• 1:44:15
  Speaker 1: the wicker basket with both paws held close against her chest.
• 1:44:20
  Speaker 1: The little basket was vibrating with an intensity that seemed
• 1:44:23
  Speaker 1: almost too great for such a tiny container. Inside, Dandelion
• 1:44:28
  Speaker 1: was hopping up and down against the warm flannel lining,
• 1:44:31
  Speaker 1: his webbed feet slapping the wool, his small beak pecking
• 1:44:34
  Speaker 1: frantically at the narrow seam where the two hinged wicker
• 1:44:37
  Speaker 1: lids met. Easy, little one, easy.
• 1:44:41
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 1:44:42
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak whispered down through the weave, her velvet voice trembling
• 1:44:46
  Speaker 1: with maternal sympathy. Look through the wicker, dandelion. Smell the
• 1:44:50
  Speaker 1: cool water. You are at the threshold of home. across
• 1:45:04
  Speaker 1: the dark glassy surface of the mill-pool fifty yards away
• 1:45:09
  Speaker 1: in the deep velvety shadows where the weeping willows dipped
• 1:45:13
  Speaker 1: their trailing boughs into the stream the water broke into
• 1:45:17
  Speaker 1: a sudden silver v-shaped ripple it was not the clumsy
• 1:45:21
  Speaker 1: tumbling splash in a waterfall nor the heavy wallow of
• 1:45:25
  Speaker 1: an otter sliding down a muddy chute but the clean
• 1:45:28
  Speaker 1: effortless glide of a river bird who knows every hidden
• 1:45:32
  Speaker 1: reed bed every submerged gravel bars and every quiet backwater
• 1:45:37
  Speaker 1: of her ancestral pool out from behind the dense curtain
• 1:45:41
  Speaker 1: of willow leaves came the mother mallard in the soft
• 1:45:45
  Speaker 1: amber glow of the muffled lanterns her speckled brown plumage
• 1:45:50
  Speaker 1: gleamed with rich tones of bronze hazel cinnamon and deep
• 1:45:54
  Speaker 1: woodland bark every feather preened to sleek perfection against the
• 1:46:00
  Speaker 1: river damp her slender neck was outstretched toward the shore
• 1:46:07
  Speaker 1: her dark liquid eyes wide with an urgent searching hope
• 1:46:10
  Speaker 1: that had not dimmed through all the long hours of
• 1:46:12
  Speaker 1: the rainy day The brilliant violet-blue patch upon her wing,
• 1:46:16
  Speaker 1: edged in narrow bands of snow-white, flashed like a living
• 1:46:19
  Speaker 1: jewel set into the twilight as she paddled forward with
• 1:46:22
  Speaker 1: the rapid, agitated strokes of her orange-webbed feet. And she
• 1:46:25
  Speaker 1: was not alone upon the water. Bobbing along behind her
• 1:46:28
  Speaker 1: in a neat, trembling little flotilla came three other ducklings,
• 1:46:31
  Speaker 1: looking like three exact copies of Dandelion, three round, buoyant
• 1:46:34
  Speaker 1: balls of bright yellow down, their little heads nodding in
• 1:46:37
  Speaker 1: frantic unison as they struggled to keep pace with their
• 1:46:40
  Speaker 1: mother's swift, anxious gliding progress. They were peeping, too. an
• 1:46:44
  Speaker 1: eager piping chorus of high silver trills that drifted across
• 1:46:47
  Speaker 1: the still water like the ringing of a dozen tiny
• 1:46:49
  Speaker 1: bells on a fairy steeple. That the sound of his
• 1:46:55
  Speaker 1: brothers and sisters dandelion gave a whistle, so piercing, so loud,
• 1:46:59
  Speaker 1: and so full of desperate, joyous recognition that the wicker
• 1:47:01
  Speaker 1: lids of the basket fairly flew open beneath the strength
• 1:47:04
  Speaker 1: of his upright thrust. Mrs. Pitsqueak knocked down upon the
• 1:47:07
  Speaker 1: damp moss at the water's edge, heedless of the cold
• 1:47:10
  Speaker 1: marsh water that seeped into the hem of her dark
• 1:47:12
  Speaker 1: green wool cloak. With gentle, unwavering paws, she lowered the
• 1:47:16
  Speaker 1: wicker basket to the very edge of the shore, where
• 1:47:19
  Speaker 1: the green turf met the soft, silken mud of the
• 1:47:21
  Speaker 1: pond margin. She folded back both wicker lids, creating an
• 1:47:25
  Speaker 1: open ramp of warm flannel that sloped down toward the water.'
• 1:47:27
  Speaker 1: Go to your mother, little traveler,' she purred, her green-gold
• 1:47:32
  Speaker 1: eyes shining with a softness that went all the way
• 1:47:34
  Speaker 1: to her heart.' Your journey on Pudding Lane is done,
• 1:47:37
  Speaker 1: and your real life is waiting on the stream!' Dandelion
• 1:47:41
  Speaker 1: did not hesitate for even the space of a single heartbeat.
• 1:47:48
  Speaker 1: He tolled over the wicker rim, landing on his little
• 1:47:50
  Speaker 1: elephant upon the wet moss. His tiny webbed toes gripped
• 1:47:54
  Speaker 1: the mud, squelching delightfully in the familiar cool ooze that
• 1:47:57
  Speaker 1: every waterbird loves from the very hour of its hatching.
• 1:48:01
  Speaker 1: He spread his miniature featherless wings for balance, lowered his bell,
• 1:48:05
  Speaker 1: and ran toward the water with all the speed his short,
• 1:48:07
  Speaker 1: fat legs could muster, making little splashing, sucking noises in
• 1:48:10
  Speaker 1: the mud. For one lash, it was the smallest, sweetest
• 1:48:24
  Speaker 1: splash that the mill pool had ever heard, a mere
• 1:48:28
  Speaker 1: handful of silver droplets leaping into the twilight air, glittering
• 1:48:32
  Speaker 1: like spilled pearls in the lantern lake. The moment his
• 1:48:36
  Speaker 1: downy belly touched the water, Dandelion was transformed. On the dry,
• 1:48:41
  Speaker 1: unyielding flagstones of Mrs. Pipsqueak's kitchen, he had been a clumsy,
• 1:48:46
  Speaker 1: waddling little creature who tripped over broom bristles and stumbled
• 1:48:49
  Speaker 1: upon apron hems. But here, in his natural element, he
• 1:48:53
  Speaker 1: was absolute grace and duty. He bobbed up like a
• 1:48:57
  Speaker 1: yellow cork. his webbed feet kicking in instinctive, effortless harmony
• 1:49:01
  Speaker 1: beneath him, propelling him out into the calm shallows with
• 1:49:05
  Speaker 1: astonishing swiftness and pride. The Mother Dukkha saw him. She
• 1:49:13
  Speaker 1: gave a great, resonant cry of pure, unadulterated relief, a
• 1:49:20
  Speaker 1: quack that began low and deep in her feathered throat.
• 1:49:24
  Speaker 1: and rose into a rich, brassy trumpet of joy that
• 1:49:28
  Speaker 1: echoed off the brick walls of the old mill downstream
• 1:49:32
  Speaker 1: and rolled across the water meadows. She did not merely swim.
• 1:49:38
  Speaker 1: She half flew across the water, her wings thrashing the
• 1:49:42
  Speaker 1: surface into a foaming ladder of silver spray, sending concentric
• 1:49:47
  Speaker 1: waves rolling out across the pond to rock the floating
• 1:49:51
  Speaker 1: water lily leaves and stir the sleeping reeds. They met,
• 1:49:56
  Speaker 1: twenty feet from the shore, right in the center of
• 1:49:59
  Speaker 1: the golden pool of light cast by the lanterns on
• 1:50:02
  Speaker 1: the gate. The mother duck dipped her head beneath the surface,
• 1:50:08
  Speaker 1: threw a shower of sparkling drops over her speckled back,
• 1:50:12
  Speaker 1: and scooped Dandelion right up against her broad breast with
• 1:50:17
  Speaker 1: her wide, yellow-brown bell. She cloaked and purred over him
• 1:50:26
  Speaker 1: with a continuous torrent of low, maternal noises, soft, guttural
• 1:50:30
  Speaker 1: murmurs of scolding, wonder, relief, and endless affection. She turned
• 1:50:35
  Speaker 1: him round and round in the water with gentle nudges
• 1:50:38
  Speaker 1: of her bill, inspecting his crown, his tiny wingtips, his
• 1:50:42
  Speaker 1: webbed feet, and his brad-black eyes. She checked every downy
• 1:50:46
  Speaker 1: feather to ensure that no marsh pike had nipped his toes,
• 1:50:49
  Speaker 1: that no wandering hawk had touched his head, and that
• 1:50:52
  Speaker 1: the cold rain had not chilled the little bones. Dandelion
• 1:50:56
  Speaker 1: buried his head beneath the heavy, warm, oiled feathers of
• 1:50:58
  Speaker 1: her right wing, letting out small, muffled chirps of ecstatic
• 1:51:02
  Speaker 1: contentment that sounded like a songbird singing in its sleep.
• 1:51:09
  Speaker 1: He preened her breast feathers with his bill, rubbing his
• 1:51:11
  Speaker 1: cheeks against hers, while his three brothers and sisters swam
• 1:51:15
  Speaker 1: in excited, splashing circles around them, bumping their little yellow
• 1:51:19
  Speaker 1: bodies against his flanks and adding their shill peeps of
• 1:51:23
  Speaker 1: welcome to the happy chorus. until the whole quiet cove
• 1:51:27
  Speaker 1: was alive with the music of their joy. I'm on
• 1:51:40
  Speaker 1: the bank by the wooden gate. The four neighbors and
• 1:51:42
  Speaker 1: the marmalade cat stood watching in absolute reverent silence, as
• 1:51:48
  Speaker 1: though any movement, any whisper, or even a heavy breath
• 1:51:52
  Speaker 1: might shatter the fragile, holy beauty of the moment. Miss
• 1:51:56
  Speaker 1: Matilda Goose reached deep into the pocket of her woolen cloak,
• 1:52:00
  Speaker 1: brought out a small square of white linen embroidered with forget-me-nots,
• 1:52:05
  Speaker 1: and blew her nose with a very loud, defiant trumpeting
• 1:52:08
  Speaker 1: sound that they had Barnaby Finch grin, despite the lump
• 1:52:12
  Speaker 1: in his own throat. Bless my soul and body, she whispered,
• 1:52:16
  Speaker 1: dabbing at the corners of her eyes beneath her hood,
• 1:52:19
  Speaker 1: if that isn't the sweetest loveliest sight these old eyes
• 1:52:23
  Speaker 1: have seen in fifty years just look at the little
• 1:52:26
  Speaker 1: imp you would think he had never spent five hours
• 1:52:29
  Speaker 1: eating oat porridge by a kitchen hearth nor had his
• 1:52:32
  Speaker 1: feathers dried by the heat of a cast-iron stove old
• 1:52:36
  Speaker 1: mr Bramwell nodded slowly, leaning his bearded chin upon both
• 1:52:44
  Speaker 1: hands crossed over the crook of his ashwood stick. A
• 1:52:48
  Speaker 1: good piece of work, he murmured, his deep voice carrying
• 1:52:52
  Speaker 1: no louder than the rustle of the dry reeds in
• 1:52:54
  Speaker 1: the autumn wind. A very good piece of work for
• 1:52:57
  Speaker 1: a rainy Tuesday. There will be good, honest sleep on
• 1:53:00
  Speaker 1: Pudding Lane tonight, knowing that the lane did its duty
• 1:53:02
  Speaker 1: by the helpless and the small. Silas the Tinker smiled
• 1:53:06
  Speaker 1: quietly into the dark shadows of his broad oilskin hat.
• 1:53:10
  Speaker 1: He reached into his coat and produced a handful of
• 1:53:12
  Speaker 1: dried grain from his lunch bag, fine sweet barley and
• 1:53:15
  Speaker 1: cracked wheat that he had intended for his own porridge
• 1:53:17
  Speaker 1: on the morrow. With a gentle sweeping underhand swing, he
• 1:53:21
  Speaker 1: cast the grain out across the water. It fell with
• 1:53:23
  Speaker 1: a soft pattering rattle among the floating lily pads, providing
• 1:53:27
  Speaker 1: the reunited family with an evening feast to celebrate their joy.
• 1:53:34
  Speaker 1: The mother duck heard the grain fall, but instead of
• 1:53:37
  Speaker 1: leading her hungry brood to it immediately, she hesitated. She
• 1:53:41
  Speaker 1: turned slowly in the water, her dark, liquid eyes catching
• 1:53:44
  Speaker 1: the warm amber light of the lanterns. She looked directly
• 1:53:48
  Speaker 1: at the little group standing upon the grassy bank, her
• 1:53:51
  Speaker 1: gaze resting for a long, steady moment upon Mrs. Pickswick,
• 1:53:55
  Speaker 1: who stood tall and still in her dark green cloak,
• 1:53:58
  Speaker 1: her white chest fur gleaming against the night, her long
• 1:54:01
  Speaker 1: tail curled gracefully around her paws. The wild bird lathered
• 1:54:05
  Speaker 1: her head three times, dipping her bill into the surface
• 1:54:08
  Speaker 1: of the pond in a slow, dignified salutation that needed
• 1:54:11
  Speaker 1: no human tongue to translate. It was the ancient courtesies
• 1:54:15
  Speaker 1: of the river, paid by the creatures of the water
• 1:54:18
  Speaker 1: to the creatures of the hearth, a thank you offered
• 1:54:20
  Speaker 1: across the boundaries of fur, feathers, and fireside.
• 1:54:24
  Speaker 2: Mrs.
• 1:54:24
  Speaker 1: Pipsweek dipped her head in return, her ears tilting forward
• 1:54:28
  Speaker 1: in affectionate recognition. Go in peace, sister, she whispered into
• 1:54:37
  Speaker 1: the cool night air. Keep them close beneath your wings
• 1:54:41
  Speaker 1: when the river fog rolls in, and may the waters
• 1:54:45
  Speaker 1: always treat you kindly. with a final low cluck that
• 1:54:59
  Speaker 1: called her children to heel the mother mallard turned and
• 1:55:02
  Speaker 1: led her four ducklings toward the great island of weeping
• 1:55:05
  Speaker 1: willows in the center of the pool dandelion paddled stoutly
• 1:55:10
  Speaker 1: in the very middle of the line his belly full
• 1:55:13
  Speaker 1: of hearth warmed oats his down sleek from mrs pipskeak's
• 1:55:17
  Speaker 1: grooming his heart safe and anchored once more to the
• 1:55:20
  Speaker 1: heartbeat of his mother They glided through the floating islands
• 1:55:24
  Speaker 1: of watercress, past the brown velvet spears of the bulrushes,
• 1:55:28
  Speaker 1: and slipped into the dark, protective shadow of the weeping
• 1:55:31
  Speaker 1: willows where no march hawk could dive and no prowling
• 1:55:34
  Speaker 1: fox could swim without warning. for a few moments the
• 1:55:38
  Speaker 1: faint sleepy peeps of the four ducklings could still be
• 1:55:41
  Speaker 1: heard drifting over the water growing softer slower and more
• 1:55:45
  Speaker 1: distant with every passing second until at last they merged
• 1:55:48
  Speaker 1: entirely with the gentle murmur of the river rutting through
• 1:55:51
  Speaker 1: the weir Then the silence of the fens settled back
• 1:56:01
  Speaker 1: over the pool, deep, holy, and unbroken. The mist was
• 1:56:05
  Speaker 1: beginning to thicken again, swirling up from the reed beds
• 1:56:08
  Speaker 1: and cold, white wraiths that crept over the cattle path
• 1:56:11
  Speaker 1: and curled around the posts of the pond gate like
• 1:56:14
  Speaker 1: sleeping serpents of silver gauze. The night air was sharpening,
• 1:56:18
  Speaker 1: bearing the crisp, frosty scent of late autumn on its breath.
• 1:56:22
  Speaker 1: High above the willows, the rain clouds had broken completely apart,
• 1:56:26
  Speaker 1: revealing a deep, navy-blue sky dusted of a million cold,
• 1:56:30
  Speaker 1: brilliant stars that sparkled like salt upon dark vivid. Silas
• 1:56:34
  Speaker 1: took his lantern down from the gate rail and unhooked
• 1:56:36
  Speaker 1: his oilskin, shaking out the stiff folds. well neighbors he
• 1:56:41
  Speaker 1: said softly his voice rich with satisfaction the little traveler
• 1:56:45
  Speaker 1: is home and the night is marching on toward seven
• 1:56:47
  Speaker 1: o'clock my fire at the forge is burned low and
• 1:56:51
  Speaker 1: i warrant all our kettles are waiting to be put
• 1:56:53
  Speaker 1: back on the hob i mr bambel agreed turning his
• 1:57:02
  Speaker 1: heavy boots back toward the lane Let us get back
• 1:57:05
  Speaker 1: to our own roofs. There's nothing left for us to
• 1:57:07
  Speaker 1: do out here in the marshes, and these old bones
• 1:57:09
  Speaker 1: will thank me for a seat by the hearth and
• 1:57:10
  Speaker 1: a cup of something hot. Mrs. Pipsqueak took up the
• 1:57:14
  Speaker 1: empty wicker basket, noting how strange and light it felt
• 1:57:17
  Speaker 1: now that its little tenant was gone. Yet inside her
• 1:57:20
  Speaker 1: heart there was no lightness, but rather that full, heavy
• 1:57:23
  Speaker 1: warmth that comes from having opened one's door to a
• 1:57:25
  Speaker 1: stranger in need and having guided that stranger safely home. Come, Barnaby,
• 1:57:30
  Speaker 1: she said, nodding to the boy who was lingering by
• 1:57:33
  Speaker 1: the water's edge. gazing out at the dark willows with
• 1:57:35
  Speaker 1: a wistful smile. Pudding Lane is waiting for us and
• 1:57:39
  Speaker 1: the tea caddy is still half full of orange pekoe.
• 1:57:42
  Speaker 1: The boy turned with a bright nod, hoisted his lantern
• 1:57:45
  Speaker 1: onto his shoulder and fell into step beside the cat.
• 1:57:52
  Speaker 1: The little company turned their backs upon the dark fens
• 1:57:55
  Speaker 1: and began the slow, peaceful journey back toward the warm
• 1:57:58
  Speaker 1: cottages and glowing windows of their beloved lane. The walk back.
• 1:58:10
  Speaker 1: along the winding path from the water meadows was the quietest,
• 1:58:13
  Speaker 1: most peaceful stroll that the residents of Pudding Lane had
• 1:58:17
  Speaker 1: ever shared. The rain had ceased so completely that even
• 1:58:22
  Speaker 1: the clouds seemed to have vanished into the great vault
• 1:58:25
  Speaker 1: of the evening, dissolving into thin, silver gossamer that drifted
• 1:58:30
  Speaker 1: away toward the distant hills, above the dark, feathered crests
• 1:58:35
  Speaker 1: of the willow trees. The autumn night sky had cleared
• 1:58:39
  Speaker 1: into a deep, velvet dome of midnight blue, dusted with
• 1:58:43
  Speaker 1: thousands of cold, sparkling stars that watched over the sleeping
• 1:58:48
  Speaker 1: valley like ancient, friendly guardians. The air was crisp, clean,
• 1:58:53
  Speaker 1: and bracing, smelling of washed gravel, cold river stones, shodden
• 1:58:58
  Speaker 1: fallen leaves— and that unmistakable sweet perfume of blue wood-smoke
• 1:59:04
  Speaker 1: that meant people were gathered safely by their own heart-fires.
• 1:59:12
  Speaker 4: The lantern swung with a slow, hypnotic cadence in the
• 1:59:15
  Speaker 4: hands of Silas and young Barnaby, casting rhythmic arcs of
• 1:59:18
  Speaker 4: gold across the wet cobblestones that shone like black glass.
• 1:59:21
  Speaker 4: With every yard they covered, the damp chill of the
• 1:59:24
  Speaker 4: marshes fell further behind them. replaced by the dry, sheltering
• 1:59:27
  Speaker 4: warmth that seemed to radiate from the stone cottage walls themselves.
• 1:59:31
  Speaker 4: At every garden gate they reached, the little company grew smaller,
• 1:59:34
  Speaker 4: parting with whispered blessings and hushed words of neighborly good cheer.
• 1:59:38
  Speaker 4: At number one, Barnaby Finch lingered by his father's wicket gate,
• 1:59:41
  Speaker 4: his cheeks ruddy from the night air, and his eyes
• 1:59:43
  Speaker 4: bright with the profound satisfaction of a boy who has
• 1:59:46
  Speaker 4: helped accomplish a great and noble rescue. He handed his
• 1:59:49
  Speaker 4: lantern to Silas with a respectful little nod, touched the
• 1:59:52
  Speaker 4: frayed brim of his woolen cap to Mrs. Pitsqueak, and whispered,
• 1:59:55
  Speaker 4: Good night, Mrs.
• 1:59:56
  Speaker 2: Pipsqueak.
• 2:00:01
  Speaker 1: There will never be another Tuesday quite like this one
• 2:00:04
  Speaker 1: in all our days. Good night, Barnaby, Mrs. Pipsqueak purred softly,
• 2:00:10
  Speaker 1: her velvet paw resting briefly upon his sleeve of maternal pride.
• 2:00:14
  Speaker 1: Sleep well, little postboy. The village males will not start
• 2:00:19
  Speaker 1: until seven o'clock tomorrow, and your young legs have earned
• 2:00:22
  Speaker 1: their rest beneath the quilt. A few doors further along,
• 2:00:26
  Speaker 1: Miss Matilda Goose turned into her garden path at number four,
• 2:00:29
  Speaker 1: the wet lavender bushes and rosemary hedges brushing against her
• 2:00:32
  Speaker 1: heavy wool cloak and releasing their drowsy scents into the
• 2:00:35
  Speaker 1: night air. She halted upon her doorstep, large iron key
• 2:00:40
  Speaker 1: in hand, turning back to smile at the remaining travelers.
• 2:00:44
  Speaker 1: My copper kettle is going straight upon the trivet. she
• 2:00:47
  Speaker 1: said softly, her voice filled with gentle gratitude. And my
• 2:00:52
  Speaker 1: prayers tonight will be for that little yellow rascal sleeping
• 2:00:55
  Speaker 1: under his mother's wing out in the willows. Good night
• 2:01:02
  Speaker 1: to you all, and peaceful dreams to Pudding Lane. Silas
• 2:01:06
  Speaker 1: the Tinker saw old Mr. Bramble safely to the door
• 2:01:09
  Speaker 1: of his cottage beside the Weir at No. 2, waiting
• 2:01:13
  Speaker 1: patiently upon the wet gravel path until the old man
• 2:01:17
  Speaker 1: had turned the heavy key in the lock, struck a match,
• 2:01:20
  Speaker 1: and appeared in the lighted parlor window, waving his walking
• 2:01:24
  Speaker 1: stick in a silent, grateful farewell. Then Silas taped his
• 2:01:29
  Speaker 1: broad-brimmed oilskin hat to Mrs. Pipsqueak, swung his brass storm
• 2:01:33
  Speaker 1: lantern in a cheerful half-circle, and strode off toward his
• 2:01:37
  Speaker 1: warm quarters about the village forge, his heavy iron-shod boots
• 2:01:41
  Speaker 1: making rhythmic, fading echoes down the damp stones of the lane,
• 2:01:46
  Speaker 1: until all was quiet once more. At last, Mrs. Pipscleek
• 2:02:00
  Speaker 1: stood alone before the low wooden gate of No. 7.
• 2:02:03
  Speaker 1: The little stone cottage seemed to be waiting for her,
• 2:02:06
  Speaker 1: settled into the hollow of the hill like a mother
• 2:02:08
  Speaker 1: hen resting upon her warm nest of straw. The thatch roof,
• 2:02:13
  Speaker 1: dark and heavy with the day's rain, gleamed faintly under
• 2:02:15
  Speaker 1: the soft starlight, its eaves rounded and protective. In the
• 2:02:19
  Speaker 1: parlor window, the small tallow candle she had left burning
• 2:02:22
  Speaker 1: upon the sill had melted down to a gentle nub
• 2:02:25
  Speaker 1: of amber light. casting a cozy, welcoming beacon across the
• 2:02:29
  Speaker 1: glistening flagstones of the porch. From the tall brick chimney,
• 2:02:33
  Speaker 1: a straight blue column of applewood smoke rose steadily into
• 2:02:36
  Speaker 1: the windless night, bearing to the stars the rich, comforting
• 2:02:39
  Speaker 1: tale of a hearth that had never been a left
• 2:02:41
  Speaker 1: to go cold. Mrs. Pipsqueak lifted the iron latch of
• 2:02:44
  Speaker 1: the gate, padded up the short brick path between the
• 2:02:47
  Speaker 1: dormant lavender borders, and unlocked the heavy oak door. As
• 2:02:55
  Speaker 1: the heavy panel swung open, the house embraced her with
• 2:02:58
  Speaker 1: a wave of warmth and familiar fragrance that drove every
• 2:03:02
  Speaker 1: lingering chill from her fur. It was the scent of home,
• 2:03:06
  Speaker 1: a rich, complex perfume distilled from twenty years of gentle living.
• 2:03:11
  Speaker 1: There was the sharp, bright citrus of Seville oranges and
• 2:03:14
  Speaker 1: caramelized sugar from the twenty-four jars of marmalade cooling upon
• 2:03:18
  Speaker 1: the dresser, the deep, yeasty warmth of four crusty loaves
• 2:03:22
  Speaker 1: of hearthbread, resting under their linen towels upon the sideboard.
• 2:03:26
  Speaker 1: The clean, soothing aroma of dried chamomile, sage, and sweet
• 2:03:31
  Speaker 1: marjoram hanging in fragrant bundles from the ceiling beams, and
• 2:03:35
  Speaker 1: the steady, dry, resinous heat of seasoned apple logs burning
• 2:03:39
  Speaker 1: inside Barnaby's cast-iron belly. She closed the heavy oak door
• 2:03:43
  Speaker 1: behind her and shot the great iron bolt, feeling the solid,
• 2:03:47
  Speaker 1: satisfying thud resonate through the ancient timbers of the frame.
• 2:03:56
  Speaker 1: that outside world with all its vast, damp marshes, its
• 2:04:00
  Speaker 1: lonely winds, and its wandering creatures was locked out for
• 2:04:03
  Speaker 1: the night. Within these four sturdy walls there was only warmth, safety,
• 2:04:09
  Speaker 1: and deep, enduring contentment.
• 2:04:12
  Speaker 3: Mrs.
• 2:04:13
  Speaker 1: Pipsqueak untied the dark green ribbons of her traveling cloak
• 2:04:17
  Speaker 1: and hung it upon its polished brass pig beside the door,
• 2:04:21
  Speaker 1: smoothing its damp folds so that it might dry without wrinkling.
• 2:04:25
  Speaker 1: She gilded her wet walking slippers and stepped onto the clean,
• 2:04:29
  Speaker 1: dry flagstones of the kitchen, reveling in the delightful, radiant
• 2:04:33
  Speaker 1: heat that Barnaby had been gathering and storing all through
• 2:04:36
  Speaker 1: the long, quiet afternoon. Bonnevie the Stove was in a
• 2:04:50
  Speaker 1: state of absolute perfection. His black iron flanks were radiating
• 2:04:55
  Speaker 1: a steady, mellow heat that had soaked into every stone
• 2:04:58
  Speaker 1: of the floor, every plank of the sycamore table, and
• 2:05:02
  Speaker 1: every timber of the low ceiling. Inside his lower hearth,
• 2:05:07
  Speaker 1: behind the pierced iron doors, the three apple logs had
• 2:05:11
  Speaker 1: burned down to a thick, glowing bed of crimson and
• 2:05:15
  Speaker 1: gold coals, covered in a delicate filigree of silver-gray ash
• 2:05:20
  Speaker 1: that pulsed softly with every draft of air through the
• 2:05:23
  Speaker 1: lower flue. Mrs. Pipsqueak took up the long iron poker
• 2:05:28
  Speaker 1: with a practiced paw and gently stirred the embers, watching
• 2:05:33
  Speaker 1: a shower of tiny golden fireflies dance up the dark
• 2:05:37
  Speaker 1: throat of the chimney. From the copper scuttle beside the
• 2:05:41
  Speaker 1: hearth she selected two split billets of seasoned birchwood dry
• 2:05:46
  Speaker 1: as bone and fragrant with sweet resin she laid them
• 2:05:54
  Speaker 1: carefully across the glowing coals listening with deep feline satisfaction
• 2:05:59
  Speaker 1: as the papery bark crackled curled and caught fire with
• 2:06:02
  Speaker 1: a soft hungry hiss that quickly settled into a steady
• 2:06:05
  Speaker 1: bright flame Then she adjusted the iron damper at the
• 2:06:08
  Speaker 1: base of the stove, closing it down until only a
• 2:06:11
  Speaker 1: narrow slit remained, ensuring that the wood would burn slowly, evenly,
• 2:06:16
  Speaker 1: and safely through all the hours until the dawn. Beside
• 2:06:19
  Speaker 1: the stove on the warm red tiles where the heat
• 2:06:21
  Speaker 1: was most concentrated, sat the empty willow basket. Mrs. Pick's
• 2:06:26
  Speaker 1: cleek walked over to it, her long marmalade tail swaying
• 2:06:29
  Speaker 1: with thoughtful slowness. She looked down at the hollow depression
• 2:06:33
  Speaker 1: in the center of the lamb's wool where dandelion had
• 2:06:35
  Speaker 1: slept away the rainy hours. the single tiny plume of
• 2:06:43
  Speaker 1: yellow down no larger than an apple seed remained caught
• 2:06:47
  Speaker 1: in the weave of the fleece a soft fragile reminder
• 2:06:50
  Speaker 1: of the little guest who had brought such commotion sweetness
• 2:06:54
  Speaker 1: and tenderness into her morning she reached down with one
• 2:06:57
  Speaker 1: white paw touched the feather with the tip of her
• 2:07:00
  Speaker 1: claw and smiled into the dimness of the room she
• 2:07:04
  Speaker 1: did not put the basket away in the dark pantry
• 2:07:07
  Speaker 1: instead she left it right where it was beside Bromby's
• 2:07:11
  Speaker 1: worn flank, with the clean woolen flannel folded neatly across
• 2:07:15
  Speaker 1: its rim. On Pudding Lane, one never knew when another
• 2:07:20
  Speaker 1: traveler might come tapping at the door, in need of shelter,
• 2:07:24
  Speaker 1: warm porridge, and a place to rest weary wings. Before
• 2:07:29
  Speaker 1: she could think of rest, she made her nightly rounds
• 2:07:32
  Speaker 1: of the quiet cottage. She walked over to the grandfather
• 2:07:39
  Speaker 1: clock in the corner. took down the heavy brass crank
• 2:07:42
  Speaker 1: from the shelf inside its wooden case, and wound the
• 2:07:46
  Speaker 1: twin lead weights, listening to the rhythmic ratcheting sound that
• 2:07:50
  Speaker 1: promised eight more days of faithful timekeeping. She checked the
• 2:07:54
  Speaker 1: latches of the scullery windows, pulled the heavy linen curtains
• 2:07:57
  Speaker 1: shut against the night, and placed the wire-spark guard firmly
• 2:08:01
  Speaker 1: across the mouth of the range. Moving with the slow,
• 2:08:15
  Speaker 1: languid grace of a cat whose day's duties are entirely fulfilled, Mrs.
• 2:08:19
  Speaker 1: Pipsweek set about preparing her own evening refreshment. She took
• 2:08:23
  Speaker 1: down a small earthwormer pip-pin from the shelf, poured into
• 2:08:27
  Speaker 1: it a generous cup of fresh Jersey milk, and placed
• 2:08:29
  Speaker 1: it upon the corner of the range to warm. Into
• 2:08:32
  Speaker 1: the milk she dropped a single clove, a sliver of
• 2:08:35
  Speaker 1: dried cinnamon bark, a pinch of grated nutmeg, and a
• 2:08:38
  Speaker 1: generous spoonful of dark wildflower honey, gathered from the hives
• 2:08:42
  Speaker 1: in the orchard behind the church. While the spiced milk warmed,
• 2:08:45
  Speaker 1: she washed her paws and whiskers in a basin of
• 2:08:48
  Speaker 1: warm rainwater drawn from the kettle, smoothing down her thick
• 2:08:51
  Speaker 1: marmalade coat until every hair lay straight, clean, and glossy.
• 2:08:55
  Speaker 1: She took off her daytime apron of calico and laid
• 2:08:58
  Speaker 1: it across the back of the settle, replacing it with
• 2:09:01
  Speaker 1: a soft, loose bedtime wrapper of knitted wool that smelled
• 2:09:04
  Speaker 1: faintly of sweet lavender flowers. When the milk began to
• 2:09:11
  Speaker 1: steam and send up little bubbles around the edge of
• 2:09:13
  Speaker 1: the pipkin, releasing a fragrance of honey and spice that
• 2:09:17
  Speaker 1: filled the kitchen with drowsy warmth, she poured it into
• 2:09:19
  Speaker 1: a wide, shallow porcelain cup painted with little blue cornflowers.
• 2:09:23
  Speaker 1: She carried the cup to her high-backed wooden rocking chair
• 2:09:26
  Speaker 1: beside the hearth, climbed into the wide, rush-bottomed seat, and
• 2:09:29
  Speaker 1: pulled a soft patchwork counterpane up over her knees. Creak. Rock. Creak. Rock.
• 2:09:36
  Speaker 1: the rhythm of the chair was slow and steady matching
• 2:09:38
  Speaker 1: the swing of the brass pendulum in a tall clock
• 2:09:41
  Speaker 1: across the room mrs pipsqueak took three slow comforting sips
• 2:09:44
  Speaker 1: of the spiced honey milk feeling its wretch warmth spread
• 2:09:47
  Speaker 1: through her body untying every knot of tension and soothing
• 2:09:51
  Speaker 1: every muscle that had grown weary from needing brand tend
• 2:09:54
  Speaker 1: in the fire and walking through the damp marsh grass
• 2:10:01
  Speaker 1: she rested her chin upon her white chest her eyes
• 2:10:04
  Speaker 1: half-closing as she gazed into the glowing heart of the stove.
• 2:10:08
  Speaker 1: The kitchen was illuminated now only by the amber radiance
• 2:10:11
  Speaker 1: of the hearth-fire, which cast dancing, golden patterns of light
• 2:10:16
  Speaker 1: and shadow across the smooth planks of the table and
• 2:10:20
  Speaker 1: the rows of marmalade jars upon the dresser. The jars
• 2:10:24
  Speaker 1: caught the glow and held it, glowing like twenty-four little
• 2:10:27
  Speaker 1: lanterns of bottled sunlight, keeping watch over the peaceful room.
• 2:10:32
  Speaker 1: She thought of the morning that had passed, the grey fog,
• 2:10:36
  Speaker 1: the sound of the rain, the tiny yellow creature shivering
• 2:10:40
  Speaker 1: upon her doorstep, and the great wave of kindness that
• 2:10:43
  Speaker 1: had swept through the whole village to bring him back
• 2:10:46
  Speaker 1: to his home. How fortunate she was to live on
• 2:10:50
  Speaker 1: Pudding Lane where bread was shared, where fires were kept bright,
• 2:10:54
  Speaker 1: and where no creature however small was ever left behind
• 2:10:57
  Speaker 1: in the cold. outside the silence of pudding lane was
• 2:11:11
  Speaker 1: absolute and complete the rain was gone leaving only the
• 2:11:15
  Speaker 1: slow rhythmic dripping of the satch into the water-butts beneath
• 2:11:18
  Speaker 1: the eaves plink plink plink a drowsy liquid metronome that
• 2:11:23
  Speaker 1: measured the passage of the peaceful night far away across
• 2:11:27
  Speaker 1: the water meadows three miles through the mist the great
• 2:11:30
  Speaker 1: weir on the river murmured its endless low-pitched song a
• 2:11:34
  Speaker 1: soothing watery hush that sounded like the breathing of the
• 2:11:37
  Speaker 1: earth itself asleep and high in the stone tower of
• 2:11:40
  Speaker 1: st jude in the fens the great bronze bell began
• 2:11:43
  Speaker 1: its solemn evening round one The deep resonant stroke rolled
• 2:11:47
  Speaker 1: out across the sleeping valley, traveling through the cold night
• 2:11:50
  Speaker 1: air and slipping through the thick stone walls of the
• 2:11:53
  Speaker 1: seven cottages. Two. Three. Four. In their warm beds the
• 2:11:58
  Speaker 1: villagers shifted beneath their heavy feather quilts, their dreams untroubled
• 2:12:02
  Speaker 1: and their hearts at peace. Old Mr. Amble slept soundly
• 2:12:09
  Speaker 1: by his dying fire, his stiff knees resting under two
• 2:12:12
  Speaker 1: thick blankets. Young Barnaby Finch dreamed of river barges with
• 2:12:17
  Speaker 1: silver sails gliding through fields of gold. Miss Matilda Goose
• 2:12:22
  Speaker 1: smiled in her sleep as she rested her tired hands
• 2:12:25
  Speaker 1: upon her linen sheets. Five, six, seven, eight. Down in
• 2:12:33
  Speaker 1: the willow island in the center of the mill pool,
• 2:12:35
  Speaker 1: beneath the trailing green branches where the cold night winds
• 2:12:39
  Speaker 1: could never reach, Four little yellow ducklings slept tucked deep
• 2:12:43
  Speaker 1: beneath the warm, oiled feathers of their mother's wings, their
• 2:12:46
  Speaker 1: small hearts beating in safe, rhythmic unison with hers. And
• 2:12:50
  Speaker 1: in the very center of that warm, downy circle... Dandelion
• 2:12:54
  Speaker 1: gave one final sleepy chirp, breathed in the scent of
• 2:12:58
  Speaker 1: his mother's feathers, and drifted into the deep, sweet slumber
• 2:13:01
  Speaker 1: of the wild river. Nine. Nine slow, bronze strokes drifted
• 2:13:06
  Speaker 1: down through the chimney and died away and into the
• 2:13:09
  Speaker 1: glowing coals of Barnaby's grate. Nine o'clock. The day was done.
• 2:13:18
  Speaker 1: The work was finished. The lost was found, and the
• 2:13:21
  Speaker 1: whole world was safely folded into sleep. Mrs. Pipsqueak set
• 2:13:25
  Speaker 1: her empty cup upon the hearthstone, leaned her head back
• 2:13:29
  Speaker 1: against the soft cushion of the rocking chair, and closed
• 2:13:32
  Speaker 1: her amber eyes. A deep, steady purr rose from her chest, low, rich,
• 2:13:38
  Speaker 1: and resonant, blending with the singing of the kettle. and
• 2:13:41
  Speaker 1: the ticking of the clock, into a single, eternal lullaby
• 2:13:45
  Speaker 1: of hum. The fire burned on with a steady, crimson glow.
• 2:13:50
  Speaker 1: The bread rested in fragrant perfection upon the sideboard. The
• 2:13:54
  Speaker 1: jars of marmalade shone like gold in the quiet dark,
• 2:13:58
  Speaker 1: and on putting lane, all was warm, all was well,
• 2:14:02
  Speaker 1: and all was everlasting peace.