Chapter 17 Chapter 16 Tree House

In a letter to his brother, Tom wrote: "...I'm glad you're cured of the measles. I wish you were here. We're building a tree house on 'St. Paul's Steps.'" Peter read the letter He had burned it after that, and now he had to burn every letter that Tom came.Sullenly, he walked into the small back garden of Lange's house, and began to build a building on the apple tree listlessly. Mrs. Lange, watching him from the kitchen window, now exclaimed, "I wish Tom was at home helping you." There was anxiety in her voice.She told herself over and over that she had every confidence that Gwen and Allen would treat her son well, and she did.But she was still aware of some unusual and mysterious things in the dark, which made her feel uneasy.

The Kitsons were better off than the Langs—mainly because one family had two children and the other had no children, so there was a big difference in expenses.Tom may have been dissatisfied with the luxury of living away from home - but he hadn't, Mrs Long had to admit.Tom's letters to his parents were always short and dry, telling them about his dreary life there, with only his aunt and uncle for company.He didn't seem to find much enjoyment in it - not even good food interested him now.Yet more than once he begged to be allowed to stay longer. "There were no other children there," Mrs. Long analyzed to her husband that night. "Tom never seems to go anywhere in particular. Did his letters to you say more? Those The letters seem to be long enough."

Peter looked down at the ground. "I think he just likes being in that suite." "It doesn't matter, when he gets home, he won't be willing to be alone in the house anymore." Mr. Long said happily, "Isn't it, Peter?" "I think he'll have to come back to school anyway," said Peter. "He missed his final term last term because I had measles, and he'll have to go home as soon as school starts." "As soon as the fall term starts!" Mrs. Long exclaimed. "Why, we must call him back before then, Peter!" Seeing Peter's hesitation, Mrs. Lange said, "You don't want Tom to be away for the whole summer vacation, do you?"

"I think—" Peter paused deliberately, waiting for them to ask him what he thought. "how?" "I figured if Tom didn't want to leave Aunt Gwen's, I couldn't go there with him..." Mrs. Lange stared at her son, terrified.But Mr. Long laughed. "What can two boys do in a cramped suite without a garden?" "I'd like to stay there with Tom," said Peter stubbornly. "You must mean," said Pa, "that you would like to stay here with Tom. You want him to come home quickly." "You can't really want to stay in that suite with him," Mom said.

"I would!" said Peter. "I would! I couldn't sleep all night thinking I could get there. When I fell asleep, I dreamed I was there. I wanted to-- — I want it! I want it!” "But why, why, why?" Mom asked.Peter just lowered his eyes and said in a dry, stubborn voice that he knew he just liked it there. The conversation was over.That night Mrs. Long crept upstairs to the room where Peter and Tom shared.The door was ajar as usual, and she looked in: Peter was not asleep.She could see Peter's eyes open in the light of the street lamp outside, staring at the postcard Tom had sent him across the room--he had propped it on the mantelpiece.Mrs. Long stole away, then came up to look again, and looked again.On the third visit Peter fell asleep.Mrs. Long went straight into the bedroom, stood by Peter's bed, and looked down at him.Peter must have dreamed something, even though he fell asleep, the expression on his face changed.Once, he actually smiled, and then sighed softly; another time, he had such a dazed look on his face that my mother couldn't help but bend down to wake him up, call him back to the her side.But she restrained herself and left him.

Mrs. Lange passed the small window on the landing when she came out of the bedroom, and the back garden was outside: she saw the black thing protruding from the apple tree-the material that Peter built the tree house .His progress was certainly not as fast as that of the hut on St. Paul's Steps-of course, Mrs. Lange couldn't make such a comparison.Tom's tree house was started earlier than Peter's - the building had already started over there, and after a letter was written, the postman delivered it, finished it, and burned it, and then started here. "Hatty worked so hard building the treehouse," wrote Tom to Peter, "and she loved the treehouse." He could understand how she felt: Hattie was so excited about the treehouse, that The degree simply surprised Tom.First, she thought it was her home, and the big house wasn't; the big house was her aunt and her cousin's, and she just barely endured it there.And this tree house could be her house, her home, and she talked enthusiastically about how to furnish it, about getting her toy tea set and even things she stole from the spare bedroom in the big house put it in.Tom was terrified and had to reason with her to get her to reason.

Also, Hattie loves the tree house because it's her most secluded hiding place in the garden. "No one would have thought of the cottage," she said, "unless they saw it being built. None of the cousins ​​knew." "Did Abel see it?" Tom asked. "He never saw me moving materials, climbing trees, or even coming in this direction. I was always careful to avoid him." "I didn't try to avoid him," said Tom. "He couldn't see me anyway." "Of course not," Hatty agreed, and they changed the subject hastily, for the two still vividly remembered their quarrel about ghosts, and who they were.

However, judging from what happened later, Abel must have known about the tree house. Abel was working in the garden that afternoon, putting up trellises in the strawberry field: Hattie and Tom knew this, because they never went to their house without knowing where Abel and the others in the garden were. Come to the tree house.This time, they were sure Abel was the only one around, and he was at a distance from them.So they climbed up the tree. By this time, the cottage had been built, but Hattie was still ambitious. "For it to feel like a real house," she said, "there should be windows—not just a few cracks that happen to crack in the wall." The windows had to be rectangular, like in a big house, Hattie said. same as windows.

"Your expectations are too high," Tom complained.In the end, Hattie had to make the windows herself.Made a total of two. They still don't look like windows, but like two jagged openings.Hatty worked patiently, now in, now out, braiding the branches around the window tightly so that they looked strong and flat. Tom didn't help.He hoped Hatty would get tired of the idea of ​​building a real house with two real windows—but that didn't seem likely right now.He thought that when she got tired of it, he would come up with an even more interesting idea: the windows were actually two portholes, and the cabin was the cockpit of a ship on the open ocean.

Hattie failed to finish her window.She was moving from branch to branch outside the cabin, humming, and then she stopped and asked Tom aloud, "Tom, there's a cracked branch over here--is it all right? You sat on it ?" "Cracked branch?" said Tom. "Oh, yes, I sat on it." Hattie began humming again, breaking off as she began to move again. "Only," added Tom, "I guess I'm different, and I advise you not to—" He didn't see how it happened, but the split branch must have snapped off just as Hatty's little body weighed down.He heard a crack, a snap, and a little "Oh!" from Hattie in surprise, and for a split second it became a scream as she felt herself fall.

Hatty's cry was high and thin, and it pierced through the whole garden.The birds were startled when they heard this, and flew in all directions.A red squirrel was running over the top of a hazel stump, and froze, frozen into a branch.And Abel—Abel threw down a bunch of strawberry shelves in his arms and ran towards the "St. Paul's Steps". Tom jumped higher than the treetops, and landed beside Hatty more lightly than a cat.Hattie was lying motionless on the ground, already passed out: her body was curled up tightly, her apron flipped up as she fell, half covering her face.Where the apron touches her forehead, blood seeps heavily into the fabric. Tom stood beside her in bewilderment, and it was Abel who came running thumping.Abel groaned loudly when he saw the blood.He picked up Hattie and walked towards the big house.Tom followed them. It was Abel who suddenly stopped in his tracks.He turned slightly to face exactly where Tom was standing.Dazed by what he saw, Tom realized that Abel's gaze was on his face rather than penetrating him.And he started talking to him. "Go away!" Abel said hoarsely. Tom stared at him too.None of them moved. "Where did you come from, and where are you going back! I know you. I have always seen you, but I would rather not see you; I have always heard your voice, but I would prefer to be deaf. But I I knew you a long time ago, and I know what you did!" Tom didn't pay attention to anything else but noticed that Abel said he could hear his voice, so he could answer him too. "Oh!" he cried, "do you know—is Hatty alive, or dead?" "Hmph," said Abel, "you tried to kill her more than once—poor thing she had no mother, no father, no home here—she had nothing, and you killed her with vicious bows and knives. She even led her to climb high and low, but she didn't know how to be on guard. Get out, do you hear me, get out of here!" Tom didn't go, but Abel started to back off with Hatty in his arms, and he walked across the lawn towards the big house.As he walked, he repeated a prayer loudly. Tom thought it was just a prayer of thanksgiving after the meal: "... I hope God will protect me from any evil spirits." Abel's voice trembled slightly, and he held The girl, keeping her eyes on Tom, staggered back up the garden steps and through the garden gate.There was a bang when the garden door closed, and Tom heard the latch snap into place. Tom was startled and woke up like a dream.He hurried to the door, slammed his whole body against it, and slammed his fists on the wooden door frantically, first asking Abel to let him in, and then calling out to Hattie. The door was closed all the time, and no one paid any attention to him banging on the door and shouting as hard as he could.It seemed that of those who could hear him and let him in, one was unwilling to do so, and the other simply couldn't.