‘I’m upstairs, Trudy.’ Mum’s voice sounded strange, all hoarse and croaky. Trudy went upstairs two-at-a-time. She opened the bedroom door.
Mum lay in bed, holding a box of paper hankies. ‘I’ve got an awful cold,’ she said. ‘Don’t come too close or you might catch it.’ ‘Okay.’ Trudy stayed near the door. ‘Shall I make you a mug of tea?’ Mum said quickly, ‘No, thanks. I’ll wait till your dad gets home.’
Trudy sighed. She knew why Mum didn’t want her to make any tea. She was afraid Trudy would spill it coming up the stairs. ‘What’s that?’ Trudy asked eagerly.
‘Take a message to Mrs Willow. Tell her I shan’t be well enough to come to work tomorrow.’ Mum blew her nose into a paper hanky. ‘She’s a very old lady. I don’t want to give her my cold.’ Trudy turned to the door. ‘Thanks. Oh, but Trudy-‘ Trudy stopped. ‘Yes,
Mum?’
‘Mrs willow’s house is full of beautiful things. I have to be very, very careful not to break anything. So, if she asks you to come in, you’d better say no.’ Trudy sighed. ‘Yes, Mum.’
She went downstairs again and ran along the crowded street. ‘Oops, sorry,’ she said as she bumped into a passer-by. Luckily she didn’t have far to go. Mrs willow lived in a tall, graceful old house. Trudy knocked on the
door and waited. She heard the tap-tap of a stick coming from inside. The door opened. There stood an old lady with white hair and sharp blue eyes. Although she walked with a stick, she was tall and graceful, like her house.
‘Hello, Mrs Willow,’ said Trudy. ‘I’m Trudy Hubble. My mum’s your home help. She won’t be able to come tomorrow. She’s got a cold. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What she needs is my special cold cure.
Come inside and I’ll give you some.’ Mrs Willow opened the door wider. Trudy remembered her mother’s warning, I’ll wait here,’ she said. ‘Nonsense, you can wait in my sitting room.’ Mrs Willow turned and started to walk down the hall, her stick tap-tapping on the floor. Oh, help! thought Trudy. What should she do? ‘come in, come in,’ called Mrs Willow.
Trudy took a deep breath and stepped inside.
我恨的艺术，特鲁迪认为她坐公车回家。我恨学校！她希望她从来没有去上学了。