The Start
WENDY sat up in bed. The sun was streaming in through her bedroom window, and her watch said a quarter to six. She got out of bed and listened: no, no one was moving. The house was still and quiet. She dressed quickly, remembering to wash, and said her prayers bore she crept down the stairs with her shoes in her hand.
She found some interesting looking parcels on the kitchen table. There was one labelled SANDWICHES and another labelled CAKE and another labelled PIES. And there was a little bottle of milk, and another little bottle of lemonade. And two apples.
Wendy had her school satchel with her, and she packed the food away inside it. Then she began to look for something for her breakfast. Her mother evidently had not supposed she would really be down so early, so nothing was ready. However, Wendy knew where things were kept; she found a packet of corn-flakes, a big jug of milk, and some sugar, and settled down to make a good breakfast.
When she had finished she put everything tidily away, and found another apple to eat on her way down to the village. Then, with the paper on which they had written their chosen texts, in her pocket, she set off down the hill.
Joan’s cottage was quite silent when Wendy arrived. She stood outside and whistled for a minute or two, and then, as there was no reply, she climbed up the ivy on the wall, and tapped on the tiny window of Joan’s room. The window was open, and presently she squeezed inside.
“Wake up, you lazy thing!” she whispered, shaking her friend. “I’ve been up simply hours. Have you forgotten our crusade?”
“Eh? Oh! What? Who’s that?” mumbled Joan, pulling the sheets up round her head. “Go away”!
“Joan! It’s me — Wendy! Aren’t you coming? Wake up, you fathead! It’s growing late
“Wendy?” Joan blinked and sat up. “Coo! Is it late really?”
“Ever so late,” said Wendy severely. “It’s long after six.”
“It can’t be. My Dad’s alarm goes off at six, and that always wakes me up,” said Joan, getting out of bed and hunting round for her clothes.
“Well, it is. I woke up at a quarter to six, and I got up at once. And Mummy had put out some lovely sandwiches and pies and cake and drinks for us. And I had some breakfast — do you want any breakfast, Joan?” asked Wendy.
“Of course I do!” said Joan crossly. “Oh, where is my frock? You’re sitting on it, Wendy! I must say, you might be more helpful on an important thy like this!”
“Sorry! I hope I haven’t crumpled it,” said Wendy, getting off the frock in a hurry. “Shall I go down and get your breakfast ready while you wash?”
“I’ll wash in the back kitchen. There — I’m ready now. Go quietly! Perhaps Dad doesn’t have to go to work this morning,” said Joan.
They went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Joan found a loaf of bread, some butter and jam, and settled down at the table. It looked so good that Wendy felt that she would like some, too, but she didn’t like to ask. However, Joan saw her eyeing the jam wistfully, and asked her if she’d like a slice. Wendy thanked her joyfully, and hacked a great doorstep off the loaf for herself, and spread it thickly with butter.
“Here’s the jam,” said Joan, pushing it over. “It’s Mum’s own make — strawberry. It’s jolly good.”
“It’s super!” said Wendy, with her mouth full.
When they had finished eating, Joan brought out some packages of her own that her mother had put ready for her the night before.
“There’s pies and cakes and buns in here,” she said. “I think we shall have enough to eat, don’t you”? When they had tidied away the things they had used for breakfast, and Joan had washed them up in the sink, Wendy had an inspiration.
“Let’s light the kitchen fire for your mother, shall we?” she suggested.
“All right,” said Joan. “Here’s the bucket for the ashes. I’ll get some sticks from the shed.”
“I suppose your father hasn’t gone to work already?” asked Wendy, as she raked the ashes out of the fire. I mean, he doesn’t usually stay at home, does he?
“I’ve never known him do it before,” said Joan. “Perhaps he thinks it’s Sunday!”
At that moment a shrill sound from the bedroom upstairs startled them.
“It’s the alarm!” exclaimed Joan. “Here — let’s look at that watch of yours! Why, there! It’s only just six! Whatever time did you get up, then?”
“It must have been a quarter to five!” gasped Wendy.
“Well, you are a silly little cuckoo”! cried Joan.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” snapped Wendy. “We’re up now. And I don’t think this fire wants to burn, somehow.”
“Let me have a go,” said Joan. “We must get it done before Dad gets down, now. He always lights it for Mum, and takes her up a cup of tea while he washes and gets his breakfast. Then she gets up and does our breakfast and sweeps the kitchen. But I’d like to get this lighted for Dad — he’d wonder what had happened!”
“But it wouldn’t really be part of the crusade,” said Wendy, pushing in sticks between the bars, hoping they would catch. “The crusade is helping people who aren’t our own families. And, anyway, your Dad doesn’t want telling about God — he sings in the choir.”
“Oh, yes, he’s all right!” said Joan. She sat back on her heels. “I think this fire’s going to burn now. I ought to wash again now — what a nuisance!”
“I’d better, too,” said Wendy. “What shall we do with the ashes first?”
“Oh, put the bucket outside the back door. Mum takes them down the garden when she feeds the chickens and gets the eggs. They like ashes — they hath in them, didn’t you know?”
“I wonder what it’s like, to bath in ashes,” said Wendy thoughtfully. “It must feel funny.” “Try it some day.” Joan grinned. “It won’t get you very clean, though. Now hurry up! Dad’ll be down in a minute, and we ought to be gone before he he’1l think of some jobs for me to do. It isn’t often he finds me up at this time of day, and he’d be sure to suggest that I took Mum’s tea up if he found me here.”
“We might as well put the kettle on,” said Wendy.
“Oh, all right!” said Joan, hopping first on one foot and then on the other in her anxiety to be gone. “Hurry! Hurry! Don’t slop it all over the place, silly! Now come along.”
Wendy put the heavy kettle on the stove, and then gave the fire a final poke, just to show that she wasn’t going to be ordered about by Joan! Then she heard a heavy footstep on the stairs, and she rushed out of the back door into the garden, where Joan was already half-way down the path.
“He’s coming!” she panted.
“And you didn’t shut the back door!” reproved Joan. “We’d better hide behind the raspberries for a bit.”
They crouched down behind the raspberry canes, and watched the back door. They were only just in time, for Joan’s father appeared at the door, evidently wondering why it had been left open. He stood there for a minute or two, looking round the garden; and then, not thinking that anyone was watching-him, gave a mighty yawn and stretch.
Joan began to giggle, but Wendy pinched her to make her keep quiet. Then Mr. Butler went indoors again, and was doubtless surprised to find the fire going and the kettle on. He came again to the door, wearing a puzzled look, and stared all round. But he did not see the two girls, who were by now eating raspberries hard, and when he went in they decided that it would be safe to proceed with their journey.
“Why didn’t you bring Pluto?” asked Joan.
“Oh, I forgot him!” cried Wendy, stopping short in the middle of the path. “Shall we go back and fetch him?”
“It’s out of our way,” grumbled Joan. “We are going to cut through the woods and go along the road that leads to the town. It’s no good trying to tell anything to the people in the village — they know us too well!”
“All right. We’ll leave him behind, then,” sighed Wendy, but she felt very sad about it. However, a surprising sight met her eyes as they reached the little white gate: there on the dusty road, with his tongue hanging out and wagging his tail hard, was Pluto! She gave a cry of joy, and rushed to put her arms round his neck.
“Good old Pluto!” she cried. “However did you know I was here? Now you can come with us.” They set off very happily now, through the quiet village until they came to the lane that led to the woods. Here Pluto bounded ahead, looking back as if to invite them to follow, and he barked with delight when he saw that that was just what they meant to do. Wendy called to him to be quiet — that he’d wake everyone up!
It was cool and fresh in the woods, and Pluto scampered off after rabbits. Of course he was so big and made so much noise that all the rabbits scuttled off into their holes long before he could reach them. Some jays started scolding him for disturbing them, and some wood-pigeons cooed rather severely. But Pluto didn’t care: he was enjoying himself, and he didn’t mind who knew it!
Suddenly Wendy stopped short.
“You didn’t say your prayers before we came out!” she said accusingly.
Joan went red.
“I forgot,” she said.
“And on this important morning, too!” said Wendy. “How can you expect to teach people about God if you don’t say your prayers?”
Joan sighed.
“Don’t preach at me! I know I ought to have remembered. I’ll say them here. God won’t mind.” “I’ll say mine again, to keep you company,” said Wendy “Will you? Oh, good!” said Joan, and they knelt down together. Pluto sat at a little distance away, with his head on one side. He was wondering what they were doing, kneeling there on the mossy ground underneath a big tree. But he didn’t disturb them; he must have realized that it was something important.
They each said, within themselves, the usual prayers that they said every morning, and they said “Our Father” together. Then Wendy looked at her friend shyly.
“Shall we ask God to let us help some people?” she asked.
“It’s a good idea,” said Joan.
“Well, you do it,” said Wendy.
“No, you,” said Joan.
They looked at each other for a minute or two, and then Pluto gave a sharp bark of impatience. Wendy shut her eyes, and gulped nervously. It was a very different thing from saying prayers that had been taught you, to talk to God about things, and she did not know quite how to set about it. However, her Sunday-school teacher had said that one could do it, so she tried.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “Joan and I are going out to tell people that You love them, and we thought it might help if we did things — kind things — to help them. I expect You know all that, really, because if all good ideas come from You, I expect You sent the idea to Joan yesterday. Well, please will You send us some people that want helping, please? For Jesus’ sake. Amen.”
And Joan echoed “Amen,” too.
They got up and went on their way through the woods. Joan thought that Wendy was awfully clever to have thought of a prayer like that, and presently she told her friend so. Wendy looked pleased.
“I hope it was polite enough,” she said. “It hadn’t got the sort of long words in it that church prayers have, but perhaps God doesn’t mind that. He knows we’re only eight, anyway.”
“I’m nine,” said Joan.
“Well, you do it next time, and see if you can do it any better!” said Wendy.
“No, you did it beautifully. I could never do it as well as that. If ever we want anything, you must do the asking for it,” said Joan. And I’m sure long words don’t matter. My Mum says they don’t, and she knows.”