Читать книгу Miss Bunting онлайн

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"I think they are grandpapa's lettuces, Frank," she said, trying to sound as if she knew her own mind. "But if Tom's rabbits really need some, we'll go to the kitchen garden after Chaffinch has gone home, and see if there are some very tall ones. Cook won't want them."

On hearing this joyful news the little boys fought each other with bears' hugs and the snail-pot was upset.

"Come on, Tom," said Frank to his friend, "we'll pretend the snails are Japs and put them on a stone and scrunch them."

"I don't like Japs," said Tom stolidly.

"All right. Yours can be Germans and mine can be Japs," said Frank. "Come on. I bet I'll scrunch more than you."

Leaving the little boys to their war-time avocations, Jane went back to the house, wondering if children ought to be allowed to hate enemies. Being pretty truthful with herself, she came to the conclusion that if enemies were not only unspeakably horrible, but highly dangerous, it was just as well for everyone to hate them. And if hating them meant being un-Christian, she was jolly well going to be un-Christian. And if she saw a real Japanese she hoped she would be brave enough to hit him with the first sharp and heavy object she could find, or throw him down the bricked-up well in the churchyard. Full of these reasonable thoughts she telephoned to several people about the camouflage netting work-party, and was answering some letters when Mrs. Morland rang up.