The Borrowers: Chapters 1–4

“Where’s your work, child?” asked Mrs. May one day, when Kate sat hunched and silent upon the hassock. “You mustn’t sit there dreaming. Have you lost your tongue?”

“He wasn’t a very strong little boy: the first time he came home from India he got rheumatic fever. He missed a whole term at school and was sent away to the country to get over it. To the house of a great-aunt. Later I went there myself. It was a strange old house....”

"...You see, on the way back to India my brother and I had to share a cabin—my sister used to sleep with our governess—and, on those very hot nights, often we couldn’t sleep; and my brother would talk for hours and hours, going over old ground, repeating conversations, telling me details again and again—wondering how they were and what they were doing and—”

“...Everything they had was borrowed; they had nothing of their own at all. Nothing. In spite of this, my brother said, they were touchy and conceited, and thought they owned the world.”

Routine is their safeguard. They must know which rooms are to be used and when. They do not stay long where there are careless people, or unruly children, or certain household pets.

“This particular old house, of course, was ideal—although as far as some of them were concerned, a trifle cold and empty...."

At night, if the schoolroom door was open, he had a view down the lighted passage which led to the head of the stairs, and it would comfort him to see, each evening at dusk, Mrs. Driver appear at the head of the stairs and cross the passage carrying a tray for Aunt Sophy with Bath Oliver biscuits and the tall, cut-glass decanter of Fine Old Pale Madeira.

There were yards of dark and dusty passageway, with wooden doors between the joists and metal gates against the mice.

“Not that I’m afraid of mice,” Homily would say, “but I can’t abide the smell.”

There was a lacquer trinket box, padded inside and with the lid open, which they used as a settle; and that useful stand-by—a chest of drawers made of match boxes.

There was a lacquer trinket box, padded inside and with the lid open, which they used as a settle; and that useful stand-by—a chest of drawers made of match boxes.

There was Bryce’s Tom Thumb Gazetteer of the World, including the last census; Bryce’s Tom Thumb Dictionary, with short explanations of scientific, philosophical, literary, and technical terms...and, last but not least, Arrietty’s favorite Bryce’s Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, with a saying for each day of the year and, as a preface, the life story of a little man called General Tom Thumb, who married a girl called Mercy Lavinia Bump.

There was Bryce’s Tom Thumb Gazetteer of the World, including the last census; Bryce’s Tom Thumb Dictionary, with short explanations of scientific, philosophical, literary, and technical terms...and, last but not least, Arrietty’s favorite Bryce’s Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, with a saying for each day of the year and, as a preface, the life story of a little man called General Tom Thumb, who married a girl called Mercy Lavinia Bump.

There was Bryce’s Tom Thumb Gazetteer of the World, including the last census; Bryce’s Tom Thumb Dictionary, with short explanations of scientific, philosophical, literary, and technical terms...and, last but not least, Arrietty’s favorite Bryce’s Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, with a saying for each day of the year and, as a preface, the life story of a little man called General Tom Thumb, who married a girl called Mercy Lavinia Bump.

There was Bryce’s Tom Thumb Gazetteer of the World, including the last census; Bryce’s Tom Thumb Dictionary, with short explanations of scientific, philosophical, literary, and technical terms...and, last but not least, Arrietty’s favorite Bryce’s Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, with a saying for each day of the year and, as a preface, the life story of a little man called General Tom Thumb, who married a girl called Mercy Lavinia Bump.

There was Bryce’s Tom Thumb Gazetteer of the World, including the last census; Bryce’s Tom Thumb Dictionary, with short explanations of scientific, philosophical, literary, and technical terms...and, last but not least, Arrietty’s favorite Bryce’s Tom Thumb Diary and Proverb Book, with a saying for each day of the year and, as a preface, the life story of a little man called General Tom Thumb, who married a girl called Mercy Lavinia Bump.

Arrietty trickled only a few grains, tilting the mustard spoon, not to spoil the blaze. Then she stood there basking in the warmth.

The spokes of the cogwheel stood out in starry rays, and the fire itself nestled in the center.

An arrangement of pipes, from the spout of the funnel, carried the fumes into the kitchen flues above.

They bathed in a small tureen, which once had held pâté de foie gras.

The soap, too, a great cake of it, hung on a nail in the scullery, and they scraped pieces off.

She took the onion ring from Homily, and slung it lightly round her shoulders, while she foraged for a piece of razor blade.

“Maybe,” said Homily. “But I went on about it so. What’s a tea cup! Your Uncle Hendreary never drank a thing that wasn’t out of a common acorn cup, and he’s lived to a ripe old age and had the strength to emigrate...."

“You know what?” exclaimed Arrietty suddenly.
Homily brushed away a tear. “No,” she said wanly, “what?”

“Oh!” gasped Homily. “Oh, you wicked heathen girl! How can you speak so!” and she crumpled up again on the cork stool. “So it’s come to this!” she said.

“But don’t you see, Arrietty...” gasped Homily; she stared down at the table at loss for words and then, at last, she raised a haggard face. “My poor child,” she said, “don’t speak like that of borrowing...."

Homily put out a groping hand for the edge of the table; she grasped it and lowered herself slowly on to the stool.

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Homily, aghast.

“He might have caught you,” shuddered Homily in a stifled voice.

“Pod,” said Homily solemnly, “we haven’t told Arrietty.”