Pigeon Post. Arthur Ransome

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      Mrs Blackett seemed to need a good deal of persuading. From the camp on the lawn, anxious watchers saw that neither Nancy nor her mother was in a hurry to join them. The two of them came round the corner of the house into the garden but they did not at once cross the lawn to the group of small white tents. Instead they walked up and down under those curtainless windows. Fragments of talk, sentences, half sentences, single words, floated across the garden. Mrs Blackett was explaining again and again why it was that, though she did not mind having six children not her own safely camped in her garden, she did not at all like the idea of letting them go camping miles away up on the fells where anything might happen to them and she would not be there to help. And then, whenever she got a chance, there came a loud, cheerful rush of persuasive talk from Nancy.

      “As safe as houses … Much safer in case of earthquakes and things. And anyway, now we know it’s there, it wouldn’t be much fun looking anywhere else. And you know we couldn’t get home every evening. Not from High Topps. Cruelty to animals. We’d be on the road all day and never have any time there at all. Besides, it’d be much better if none of us were here while you’re finishing up the papering and painting. Better for cook, I mean. And you know you’re always saying Susan can be trusted to be sensible …”

      That was all Nancy, but when she paused for breath, Mrs Blackett began again. “It would be all very well if you were all Susans. There’s only one Susan in the eight of you. It’s the Dicks and Dots and Rogers I’d be worrying about …”

      “Me?” whispered Roger indignantly.

      “Shut up,” said Titty. “They’re coming.”

      Mrs Blackett had turned suddenly off the path and was walking across the lawn to the tents. Nancy, with dancing eyes, as if she knew the victory was won, was close behind her.

      “Where is Susan?” said Mrs Blackett. “Oh, there you are.” She turned aside towards the camp-fire, from which Susan had just lifted a boiling kettle.

      “It’s no good trying to get any sense out of my harumscarums,” said Mrs Blackett. “Tell me, Susan, do you really want to go camping away up on High Topps instead of staying here?”

      “Of course she does,” said Nancy.

      “Pirates hold their peace,” said Mrs Blackett, “long enough to let Susan answer for herself.”

      “It’s very nice here, of course,” said Susan.

      Mrs Blackett laughed. “So you do want to go?” she said.

      “Only because of the gold,” said Susan.

      “I’m sure there’s just as much gold here as anywhere else,” said Mrs Blackett.

      “Slater Bob said High Topps,” said Susan, “and he told us just what to look for …”

      “Well done, Susan,” said Nancy.

      “But, of course, there may be other places.”

      Nancy almost groaned.

      “If only my brother were at home,” said Mrs Blackett.

      “But the whole point of everything is to find the gold before he comes back,” said Nancy.

      “It’s to be a surprise for him,” said Dorothea.

      “Or if you could only wait till your mothers are here to decide for themselves.”

      “He’ll be here before that,” said Nancy.

      “And when they come we’ll all be sailing,” said John.

      “And somebody else is looking for it already,” said Titty.

      “Not really,” said Mrs Blackett. “Now, Susan. You tell me, what would your mother say?”

      “She’d say all right if Roger went to bed at the proper time.”

      “She’d tell us about gold-mining in Australia,” said Titty. “She might even want to come too.”

      “I dare say she would,” said Mrs Blackett. “But that’s just what I can’t do with the house all upside down. And what about you?” she added, turning to Dick and Dorothea. “What would Mrs Callum say?”

      “She wouldn’t mind if we promised to do what Susan told us,” said Dorothea.

      “You see how it is, Susan. It all comes down to depending on you.”

      “It’s much safer than the island,” said Susan, and the others looked at her most gratefully. “No night sailing or anything like that, even if we wanted. Nothing can go wrong.”

      “If only it wasn’t so far,” said Mrs Blackett.

      “You’ve got Rattletrap,” said Nancy.

      “And what about milk every day? It’s not like the island, with Mrs Dixon just across the bay.”