Five on a Treasure Island Read Online Free

cliff path. The others watched her go. They thought she was the queerest girl they had ever known.
    "Who in the world can Timothy be?" wondered Julian. "Some fisher-boy, I suppose, that George's parents don't approve of."
    The children, lay back in the soft sand and waited. Soon they heard George's clear voice coming down from the cliff behind them.
    "Come on, Timothy! Come on!"
    They sat up and looked to see what Timothy was like. They saw no fisher-boy— but instead a big brown mongrel dog with an absurdly long tail and a big wide mouth that really seemed to grin! He was bounding all round George, mad with delight. She came running down to them.
    "This is Timothy," she said. "Don't you think he is simply perfect?"
    As a dog, Timothy was far from perfect. He was the wrong shape, his head was too big, his ears were too pricked, his tail was too long and it was quite impossible to say what kind of a dog he was supposed to be. But he was such a mad, friendly, clumsy, laughable creature that every one of the children adored him at once.
    "Oh, you darling!" said Anne, and got a lick on the nose.
    "I say— isn't he grand!" said Dick, and gave Timothy a friendly smack that made the dog bound madly all round him.
    "I wish I had a dog like this," said Julian, who really loved dogs, and had always wanted one of his own. "Oh, George— he's fine. Aren't you proud of him?"
    The little girl smiled, and her face
    altered at once, and became sunny and
    pretty. She sat down on the sand and her
    dog cuddled up to her, licking her wherever
    he could find a bare piece of skin.
    "I love him awfully," she said. "I found him out on the moors when he was just a
    pup, a year ago, and I took him home. At
    first Mother liked him, but when he grew
    bigger he got terribly naughty."
    "What did he do?" asked Anne.
    "Well, he's an awfully chewy kind of dog," said George. "He chewed up everything he could— a new rug Mother had bought— her nicest hat— Father's slippers— some of his papers, and things like that. And he barked too. I liked his bark, but Father didn't. He said it nearly drove him mad. He hit Timothy and that made me angry, so I was awfully rude to him."
    "Did you get spanked?" said Anne. "I wouldn't like to be rude to your father. He looks fierce."
    George looked out over the bay. Her face had gone sulky again. "Well, it doesn't matter what punishment I got," she said, "but the worst part of all was when Father said I couldn't keep Timothy any more, and Mother backed Father up and said Tim must go. I cried for days— and I never do cry, you know, because boys don't and I like to be like a boy."

    "Boys do cry sometimes," began Anne, looking at Dick, who had been a bit of a cry-baby three or four years back. Dick gave her a sharp nudge, and she said no more.
    George looked at Anne.
    "Boys don't cry," she said, obstinately. "Anyway, I've never seen one, and I always try not to cry myself. It's so babyish. But I just couldn't help it when Timothy had to go. He cried too."
    The children looked with great respect at Timothy. They had not known that a dog could cry before.
    "Do you mean— he cried real tears?" asked Anne.
    "No, not quite," said George. "He's too brave for that. He cried with his voice—
    howled and howled and looked so miserable that he nearly broke my heart. And then I knew I couldn't possibly part with him."
    "What happened then?" asked Julian.
    "I went to Alf, a fisher-boy I know," said George, "and I asked him if he'd keep Tim for me, if I paid him all the pocket-money I get. He said he would, and so he does. That's why I never have any money to spend— it all has to go on Tim. He seems to eat an awful lot— don't you, Tim?"
    "Woof!" said Tim, and rolled over on his back, all his shaggy legs in the air. Julian tickled him.
    "How do you manage when you want any sweets or ice-creams?" said Anne, who spent most of her pocket-money on things of that sort.
    "I don't manage," said George. "I go without, of course."
    This