becuz i have to help my mom with this arts and crafts thang thats for my bro whom is coming back from the war over seas so yayz ^_^ he'll be home in 1 mounth and 6 days so ya srryz plpz that i cant be on but ya ^_^ hope u all have a good day/ night so ya ^_^ and becuz in bored here what i got to type out in the homeschooling thang lolz i choose it so ya ^_^ u dont have to read it i just coping one of my fav. books this is only 6 pages of it if u wunt more then ask ill send ya the name of the book in a pm or comment when i git back ^_^ well here u go ^_^
IT WAS RAINING the day that Mark first heard about Hitler's daughter. The cows in Harrison's paddock were wet and brown and mournful. Raindrops dripped down their noses as thay huddled with their backs to the wind.
There was nothing in the world quite as sad looking as wet cows, thaght Mark as he hauled his damp schoolbag further into the bus shelter. Do cows ever get colds? he wondered. What would happen if they sneezed?
The Wallaby Creek Progress Association had built the bus shelter last year. It was made of curved yellow tin easily big enough for the four kids who caught the bus at this corner.
The idea had had been to keep the kids out of the wind and rain while they waited for the buss. In Mark's opinion the whole idea was a flop.
Before the bus shelter was built he sat in the car with Mum when it rained, dry and warm with the heater going till the bus trundled around the corner. And everyone else sat in their cars too.
Ever since the shelter had been finished Mum just dropped him off with a kiss and a wave and hurried back to the warm kitchen at home till it was tim for her to leave for her job at the stock-and-station agent's in town, leaving him in the damp, cold bus shelter with fingers of rainwater tickling down his neck.
Mark usually got to the bus stop first. Mum usually got to the buss stop first.Mom was early for everythaing, thought Mark dismaiiy, pulling his jacket colser around his shoulders.She always left enough time to have a flat tire and go back if Mark forgot his homework and fill in any note he'd forgotten to give her last nite and just remembered at the bus stop,as well as--- "Hey move your bag!" Ben said as he shoved it out of his way and dashed under the shelter. "Did you see the creek?" It's gone all yellow. The bridge'll go if this keeps up," he added hopefully.
Ben lived on the other side of the paddock. It took about two minutes for him to race between the cow dropping to the bus shelter.
"Hey, have you ever noticed that cows look shiny when they're wet?" asked Mark.
"No," said ben. He shoved the hood on his parka back.
"Like someone polished them"
"Who cares?" Ben scraped his boots heels across the concrete floor to get rid of the mud. "Hey there's Anna."
"Her mum must have picked up Little Tracey too," said Mark.
Anna dashed from the car,her bag cutched close to try and protect it form the rain. Little Trracey stomped through the puddles.
Little Tracey had been "Little"since her first day on the bus. (Big Tracey got on two stops later.) Little Tracey was little thought Mark. He woundered if she'd always be little---like Mum's fox terrier, wich would grow into an ankle-biter no matter how old it was.
"Hi," said Anna, dumping her bag in the shelter.
"Hi," said Mark. "Hey anna, have you ever heared a cow sneeze?"
Anna considered the question "No" she admitted.
Little Tracey shover her bag under the seat and plunked herself down beside the others. She wore yellow boots.splattered with orange clay."Anna says we can play the Game!" she announced.
Ben shrugged, and went back to scraping the mud off his boots."I don't mind," he said.
"Alright," said Mark obigingly. The Game was okay, and, anyway, there wasn't anything else to do till the bus came.
The Game had started last year on tracey's second day at school. She was cryed, with great deep sniffs and eyes widened as though that could keep the tears away.
Anna had grabbed Little Tracey hand and hauled her into the bus shelter and announced, "Let's play a game,"
Little Tracey had sniffed back more tears.
"What sort of game?" Mark had asked. He'd hoped it wasn't going to be I Spy or some thang dumb like that.
"The Story Game," Anna had said." I used to play it with my grandma."
Little Tracey had looked up enquiringly at Anna, blinking her wet eyelashed.
"you make up a charater,"Anna had said to Little Tracey, "And i'll make up a story about them."
Mark thought it sounded boring, but Little Tracey had sat still, quietly sniffling, so, to be helpful, Mark said,"Okay. How about a story about a . . . a . . . an alien who comes to eath . . ."
Anna had shaken her head."It's Tracey's story," she'd said "What do you wunt a story about, tracey?"
Little Tracey had just sniffled.
"How about a fish?" Mark had suggested helpfully. "Or a whale or a mermaid or a . . ." He'd hesitated.What were little kids interested in?
"A horse,"Little Tracey had wispered suddenly."I wunt a story about a house." Anna had grinned "Okay," she'd said. "Whats the horse's name?"
"Socks," Little Tracey had said."And he has a baby brother called . . . called buttons and he lives in a pdock with his mum and dad and . . ."
That was the beginning of the Game.
Thay'd played the Game every day for a week until Little Tracey got use to the bus and school, and then that played it just for a treat on birthday, or when it was raining and you couldn't leave the bus shelter to play cach and the wind was biting at your ankles.
The rain gurgled down the gutter, hiccuped at a bit of rock, then sped down and around the corner to the creek. A cow mooed sadly across the wet grass. "Okay, what do you wunt the story to be about?" Mark asked.
"I wunt a story about . . . about a fairy," said Little Tracey, drumming her muddy heels on her school bag.
Ben groaned."How about a gangster who steals a millon dollars and . . ."
"How about a dinosaur?" suggested Mark.
"A baby one," agreed Tracey eagerly. "A baby dinosaur called billie and she gets separated from her mother and . . ."
"Ugh!" snorted Ben rudely.
"I'll choose this time," said Anna suddenly.
Mark stared. "But you never choose."
Anna shrugged."Then it's my turn, isn't it?"
"Just choose somethang decent," said Ben."No fairies or goldfish like last time."
"I'm getting another goldfish next time we go to town," said Tracey. "It's going to be black and red and . . ."
"How can you have a black-and-red goldfish?" demanded Ben."That's dunb."
"The bus'll be here if you don't shut up," said Mark. "Go on, Anna. What's the story going to be about?"
Anna hesitated. "It's . . . it's about Hitler's daghter," she announced.
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