The cook, Mrs Washburn, agreed to take Henry to her home until the professor returned.
    Professor Penrose hated to send Henry to live on the other side of the city. There were no marble steps or red velvet drapes on Mrs Washburn's property.
    But Henry was buttoned into his red plaid coat and driven to the Washburn residence.
    Henry stepped out of the limousine. He was so shocked that his ears stuck out like two car doors.

    Such an untidy home he had never seen. It was all he could do to maintain a sense of dignity.
    He was picking his way through the toys on the muddy front steps when a tumble of children spilled onto the porch, scooped him up, and before you could say"One-two"Henry was deposited in a sea of soap bubbles in the Washburn bathtub.
    Each time he tried to jump out, little hands pushed him back in. "Don't be too rough, children," said Mrs Washburn. "Henry isn't used to such fun. "

    Dinner that evening was a big steamy ham bone. Bits of cabbage fell from it as one of the children tossed it from the pot to Henry. What! thought Henry. No plate?
    He wondered if he'd ever see a grilled lamb chop again.
    By bedtime, Henry was exhausted. His fur-lined basket had been left behind. Where would he sleep?

    Just then two of the children carried him off to a room with three bunk beds.
    "Henry's sleeping with me ! " announced one child , pulling him to one bunk.
    "Oh no! Henry's sleeping with me!" protested another, yanking him toward another bunk.
    A third child elbowed his way in, and Henry flopped to the floor.

    Before he could crawl under one of the beds, a pillow fight broke out.
    Thwack! A pillow smacked into Henry's face. He barked. Loud!
    Mrs Washburn came scurrying down the hallway. The children scattered into their beds.
    "Why, Henry!" scolded Mrs Washburn. "You never barked like that before! Quiet down, or the children will never get to sleep!"

    On Sunday there was no park or classical orchestra. No cool and fragrant grass. Just the Washburn's backyard with its dandelion clumps and creaky swings and a fort made out of empty cardboard boxes.
    The children wrestled with Henry. They scratched his ears and tied an old red Christmas ribbon around his neck. They tried to make him chase the cat next door. Baby Washburn even kissed him-a big, sloppy, wet, strawberry-lollipop kiss , right on the nose.

    Later, when Baby toppled over onto Henry's tail, they both cried: "
"Yeeeeooooooow !
    Mrs Washburn poked her head out of the back door. "Don't hurt Baby, Henry. "
    Days, weeks, months passed.
    Henry learned to put up with pillow fights and strawberry kisses. He learned to ignore the neighbour's cat and to wriggle Christmas ribbons off
his neck. He even learned to eat steamy ham bones.

    And then one day everything changed. Just. Like. That.
    Professor Penrose returned. ,
    The long black limousine came to take Henry back to the professor's fine stone house.
    The Washburn children gathered on their front porch. Tears streamed down their cheeks. "Good-bye, Henry," they sniffled sadly. "Good-bye!"

    That evening, after being groomed by Miss Fifi (who kept sighing over the tangles in his coat) and after being fed two plump, perfectly grilled lamb chops (in his own monogrammed dish), Henry climbed into his furlined basket in front of the fireplace.
    He yawned. He laid his head on his front paws. He closed his eyes.
    But he did not go to sleep.

    Something was wrong. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful. Too quiet. Too peaceful.
    Henry climbed out of his basket. He nudged open the front door and headed down the road to the Washburn house. At first he walked properly, as he had been taught. Then he ran.
    When he arrived, he scratched at the door.

    Mrs Washburn opened it. "Why, it's you, Henry. Welcome home!" Henry dashed up the stairs and into the children's bedroom. It was dark.
    Thwack! A pillow smacked into his face.
    Henry ducked under one of the beds. He smelled the faint scent of strawberry, and as he drifted off to sleep, he was thinking to himself; You have the life, Henry my boy. You have the life.

上一页  [1] [2] [3]