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Chapter Nine: Chimney Sweeping
Matthew
dozed
dreamily
in
his
hammock
the
next
morning.
His
eyes
opened
and
closed,
mirroring
the
swaying
of
the
Harrower.
The
squawk
of
a
seagull
had
woken
him
up
earlier
with
a
start.
The
comfiness
of
his
hammock
and
the
warmth
of
his
goose
feather
bedcover,
however,
had
sent
him
back
to
his
pillow.
The
swaying
was
really
nice.
Wait
a
minute.
How
was
that
possible?
The
boat
was
sunken.
It
shouldn't
be
moving.
Matthew
sat
up
bolt
right,
a
portrait
of
a
pirate
hanging
from
the
cabin
wall
glaring
at
him.
There
was
something
wrong
with
the
boat.
Was
it
miraculously
floating
again?
If
so,
they
were
in
danger.
It
could
be
drifting
out
to
sea
or
towards
the
rocks.
He
was
about
to
warn
everyone
when
he
noticed
her.
The
girl,
her
hair
as
red
as
fire,
was
swinging
his
hammock.
'Morning.
Time
to
get
up,'
she
whispered.
'We
have
to
get
ready.'
'Okay,'
Matthew
replied.
'Your
name's
Astrid,
right?'
'That's
me.'
Astrid
hurried
off
to
Norman,
his
arms
and
legs
hanging
over
his
hammock,
and
slapped
him
hard
across
his
face,
waking
him
up
immediately.
She
did
the
same
to
John,
who
fell
to
the
floor
in
surprise.
'Why
can
you
never
wake
me
up
normally,
Astrid?'
groaned
John.
'Same,'
said
Norman.
'Now
that
wouldn't
be
fun,
would
it?'
replied
Astrid
with
a
cheeky
grin.
Norman
helped
Matthew
down
from
his
hammock.
'So,
the
order
of
the
morning
is
this
.
.
.
breakfast,
get
ready
and
then
walk
to
our
job.
We
never
take
the
car
because
gas
costs
money,
and
also,
the
ladder
doesn't
fit.
And
let
me
warn
you,
be
very
quiet
while
you're
getting
ready
'cause
you'll
never
hear
the
end
of
it
if
you
wake
somebody
up.
Although,
you're
new
so
you
might
be
forgiven.'
'I
wouldn't
want
to
chance
it,'
Matthew
replied
as
Norman
led
him
to
the
table,
where
Astrid,
John,
who
was
rubbing
his
cheek,
and
Stacy
were
sitting.
'I'll
start
breakfast,'
said
Norman.
Taking
a
seat,
Matthew
said,
'I
was
wondering.
How
do
you
pick
up
these
chimney
sweeping
jobs.
Do
you
guys
go
door-to-door
offering
your
services?'
'No,
people
call
us?'
said
John.
'Remember
I
showed
you
that
public
telephone
box
in
Whatever-grows
park,
hidden
in
the
hedge.
Well
that's
how
people
reach
us.
Now,
how
do
they
know
how
to
reach
us?
I'll
show
you.'
John
reached
over
and
grabbed
a
newspaper
from
a
pile
next
to
the
stove.
Then
riffling
through
it,
he
said,
'Should
be
somewhere
here.
There
we
go.'
He
showed
the
newspaper
to
Matthew
and
pointed
to
a
small
square
in
the
middle.
It
was
an
advertisement.
'Want
your
chimney
swept
for
dirt
cheap?'
said
Matthew,
reading
the
advertisement.
'Then
let
children
do
it
for
you.
P.S.
The
narrowest
of
chimneys
is
no
match
for
a
child.'
There
was
a
telephone
number
at
the
bottom
and
the
best
time
to
call.
'We
place
it
in
a
few
of
Spring
Heights'
newspapers
every
now
and
again.'
Matthew
scanned
the
newspaper.
'I
see
there
are
a
few
other
advertisements
for
chimney
cleaning.'
There
was
one
that
read,
'The
Chimney
Cleaning
Chaps.
In
and
out
in
no
time,
with
no
mess.
With
our
heavy
duty
vacuum
we
suck
your
chimney
clean
in
five
minutes.'
Another
one
read,
'1-555-CHIMNEY.
Professional
chimney
cleaning
service.'
And
another.
'SOOT-BE-GONE.
Family-run
since
1985.
Call
us
or
come
by
our
business
on
Beckonsfield
Street
to
make
an
appointment.'
'Yep.
There's
a
lot
of
competition
in
Spring
Heights,
but
we're
the
best.'
Rays
of
sunlight
had
just
bathed
the
tops
of
the
cliffs
inside
the
cove
when
they
stepped
outside
the
cabin
dressed
in
soot-covered
overalls.
Matthew
was
carrying
sooty
sheets
and
the
others
had
chimney
brushes
slung
over
their
shoulders.
Taking
a
rowboat
(they
had
two
rowboats
all
together,
one
small
and
the
other
big),
they
crossed
the
cove
to
the
beach.
They
then
made
their
way
up
the
storm
drain
to
Whatever-grows
Park,
where
they
picked
up
a
long
ladder
hidden
under
some
twigs.
'So,
where
are
we
going?'
asked
John
as
they
exited
the
park.
'Number
four,
Wellington
Street,'
said
Stacy.
'Ah,
next
to
Maple
Hill,'
said
John.
'Matthew,
that's
where
the
cart
races
take
place.
We
keep
our
carts
around
there
as
well.'
He
turned
to
Norman.
'Maybe
after
work
we
can
show
him.'
'That's
a
good
idea.'
Norman
replied.
'Matthew,
do
you
want
to
do
that?'
Matthew
beamed
with
excitement,
'That'll
be
wonderful.'
Last
night,
before
going
to
bed,
the
talk
was
mainly
about
the
cart
races.
And
the
race
Slink
had
won
six
months
ago
was
told
to
Matthew
with
the
greatest
of
enthusiasm
(John
had
acted
some
of
it
out).
Through
the
first
quarter
of
the
race,
Jennifer,
Norman,
Slink,
Astrid
and
Ramon
were
in
the
middle
positions,
but
after
an
incredible
pile
up
('Thankfully,
nobody
was
injured,'
said
Slink,)
they
moved
up
to
the
leading
pack.
Slink
had
then
managed
to
take
the
lead
and
kept
it
all
the
way
to
the
finish
line.
Matthew
had
been
so
engrossed
by
all
the
talk.
He
was
really
looking
forward
to
seeing
the
next
race.
Walking
through
the
parts
of
Spring
Heights
to
get
to
Wellington
Street
felt
incredible
to
Matthew.
China
Town,
with
all
its
people
selling
various
things,
felt
as
if
he
wasn't
in
Spring
Heights
at
all.
The
waterfront
with
its
pier,
of
which
there
was
a
huge
Ferris
wheel
right
on
the
end,
was
something
to
marvel
at.
And
the
Old
Town,
with
its
stone
houses
and
cobblestone
roads,
gave
Matthew
the
sense
an
adventure
was
waiting
around
every
corner.
Wellington
Street
was
a
street
of
tiny
(but
not
at
all
poor)
houses
with
decorative
eaves,
small,
lush
green
lawns,
well-groomed
hedges
and
wraparound
porches.
It
was
relatively
quiet.
A
postman
was
on
his
rounds
and
a
few
squirrels
were
chasing
each
other.
As
they
walked
up
to
a
bright
blue
house
of
number
four,
Matthew
had
just
realized
how
hot
the
day
was
getting.
'Why
do
people
want
their
chimneys
cleaned
in
the
summer?
They
can't
be
using
them,
can
they?'
'No,
people
aren't
using
their
chimneys,'
replied
Norman,
slinging
his
chimney
brush
over
to
his
other
shoulder.
'The
time
when
people
aren't
using
them
is
the
best
time
to
clean
them.'
'That
makes
sense,'
said
Matthew.
He
rolled
up
the
legs
of
his
overalls.
They
were
a
bit
long.
'So,
who
lives
here?'
'Mr
and
Mrs
Peterson,'
John
said
to
Matthew
as
Stacy
rapped
on
the
front
door.
'Old
clients
of
ours.
Actually,
they
were
our
first
ever
clients.
Nice
couple
.
.
.
crazy,
but
nice.
They
were
once
professional
singers.
In
a
lot
of
musicals
on
stage,
they
told
us.'
'Oh
wait,
there's
something
we
forgot
to
tell
you,
Matthew,'
said
Norman,
after
readjusting
his
eyepatch.
'We're
not
orphans,
who
live
on
the
street,
got
it?
We
each
live
with
our
own
parents
and
this
is
just
a
summer
job.
It's
a
story
we
tell
all
our
clients.'
Matthew
was
reminded
of
the
made-up
story
he
had
to
tell
at
Bordash
Manor.
The
door
opened.
'Gooood
moooorning,'
sang
the
man
standing
in
front
of
them.
The
man
had
on
buckled
shoes,
black
tights,
and
a
red
jacket
with
golden
epaulettes.
'Crazy,'
John
mouthed
to
Matthew.
'Good
morning
to
you,
too,
Mr
Peterson,'
said
Stacy.
Mr
Peterson
bent
down.
'My
word,
Stacy.
You
have
grown
a
great
deal
since
I
last
saw
you.
A
half
foot,
at
least.'
'Six
and
a
quarter
inches
to
be
exact,'
Stacy
replied.
Mr
Peterson's
eyes
fell
on
Matthew.
'I
don't
think
I've
ever
seen
you
before.
No
.
.
.
I'm
very
good
at
remembering
faces.'
'This
is
Matthew,'
said
Norman.
'He's
just
joined
our
chimney
sweeping
business.
He
and
his
parents
live
next
door
to
me.'
'Well
nice
to
meet
you,
Matthew,'
he
said.
'And
what
do
your
parents
do?'
Norman
answered
for
him.
'They're
teachers,
like
mine.'
'A
noble
profession
is
teaching,'
said
Mr
Peterson,
nodding
sincerely.
'
If
I
didn't
become
a
singer,
it
was
teaching
for
me.
Any
who,
enough
standing
around.
Come
on
in.'
He
disappeared
inside.
'Stacy
and
I
will
go
up
to
the
roof,'
said
Norman,
and
the
two
of
them
took
the
ladder
around
the
side.
John
led
Matthew
and
Astrid
through
the
house
and
into
a
room
that
was
very
musically
inclined.
There
were
pianos,
harps,
a
set
of
drums,
and
several
other
instruments
which
Matthew
didn't
know
the
names.
There
were
stacks
of
sheet
music,
and
a
record
player
with
piles
and
piles
of
classical
records.
Also,
a
disco
ball
hung
from
the
ceiling.
Mr
Peterson
was
waiting
for
them
just
inside
as
if
he
was
a
butler
or
a
footman
for
some
lord.
Mrs
Peterson,
a
woman
with
a
warm
and
caring
glow,
was
also
there,
playing
a
harp.
She
had
on
a
frilly
pink
dress
and
her
face
was
completely
white
with
makeup.
Mrs
Peterson
stopped
playing
as
soon
as
she
saw
the
children
and
smiled,
small
flecks
of
her
makeup
floating
to
the
carpet.
'Hello
there.
Ooh
.
.
.
a
new
one
I
see.'
'Yes,
my
dear,'
said
Mr
Peterson.
He
waved
his
hand
dramatically
toward
Matthew.
'This
is
Matthew.
His
parents
are
teachers.'
'They
teach
at
the
same
school
as
Norman's
parents,'
said
John.
'Uptown,
right?'
said
Mrs
Peterson,
her
eyes
narrowing
on
Matthew.
'I've
heard
the
teachers
there
are
going
to
protest
at
City
Hall
against
their
funding
cuts.
Is
that
true?
Have
your
parents
said
anything
to
you?'
'Not
a
thing,'
said
Matthew,
'sorry.'
'Shame,'
said
Mrs
Peterson.
'Maybe
you
could
ask
them
and
then
give
me
a
ring
if
they
tell
you
anything.
We
would
really
like
to
join
them.
Lend
them
our
voices.
We
could
lead
the
charge.'
'Children
are
our
future,'
added
Mr
Peterson
in
all
seriousness.
Mrs
Peterson
shrieked
in
delight,
making
her
husband
flinch
with
fright.
'We
could
put
that
on
a
sign,
dear.
In
bold
letters.'
She
gestured
in
the
air,
imagining
Mr
Peterson's
words
on
a
sign.
'Children
are
our
future.'
Mr
Peterson
laughed
out
long
and
loud
in
approval.
It
was
boisterous
and
jolly,
drowning
out
all
other
sounds.
He
finished
by
saying,
and
in
a
very
pompous
tone,
'Yyyeesssss.'
Matthew
thought
it
all
very
comical.
John
nudged
Matthew
and
mouthed
again,
'Crazy.'
'I
will
ask
them,'
said
Matthew.
'I'll
get
Norman
to
ask
his
parents
as
well.'
Mrs
Peterson
smiled.
'I
like
you,
Matthew.'
She
plucked
a
string
of
her
harp.
'Are
you
two
practicing
for
something?'
John
asked.
He
had
taken
the
sooty
sheets
from
Matthew
and
was
laying
them
down
on
and
around
the
hearth
of
the
chimney.
'Rehearsing,'
Mr
Peterson
said
sternly,
tucking
his
chin
into
his
neck.
He
seemed
slightly
offended
that
John
used
the
word
'practicing'.
'And
yes.
Our
local
amateur
choir,
which
we
are
a
part
of
and
head,
is
putting
on
a
show
for
charity
–
the
money
will
go
towards
the
new
public
hospital
they're
building
on
Marley
Avenue
–
and
we
need
to
be
perfect.
There
are
rumors
the
mayor
of
Spring
Heights
could
be
attending.'
'How
wonderful,'
said
Matthew.
'Oh,
it
will
be,'
said
Mr
Peterson.
'And
guess
what?
The
Doctor
Alex
Parker
will
be
accompanying
the
vocals.
Doc
is
Spring
Height's
best
pianist.'
'Are
you
going
to
be
wearing
the
costumes
you
have
on
now
at
the
show?
Cause
I
really
like
them,'
said
Matthew.
'Well
thank
you
for
that,'
said
Mrs
Peterson.
'They
are
spectacular,
aren't
they?
But
no,
we
won't
be
wearing
them
at
the
show.
We
just
felt
like
putting
these
on
today.'
Matthew
and
John
just
shot
each
other
looks.
'Would
you
guys
like
to
come?'
Mr
Peterson
said.
'We
have
quite
a
few
tickets
that
we
can
give
away
for
free.
You
can
bring
your
parents,
friends
and
the
rest
of
your
chimney
sweeping
troupe.'
'That's
a
brilliant
idea,
dear,'
said
Mrs
Peterson.
She
didn't
shriek
this
time
but
went
all
giddy,
plucking
her
harp
again.
'Count
us
in.
We
would
love
to
come,'
said
John.
Matthew
couldn't
tell
if
he
meant
it.
'I'll
give
you
the
tickets
once
you've
finished
what
you
need
to
do,'
said
Mr
Peterson.
'Come
on,
my
dear,
let's
leave
them
to
it.
It's
a
lovely
morning
.
.
.
we
can
go
outside
and
rehearse.
The
neighbors
will
adore
it.'
Arm
in
arm
and
singing,
Mr
and
Mrs
Peterson
slipped
out
of
the
room.
A
voice
came
down
the
chimney.
It
was
Norman.
'Ready
to
go?'
'Yes,'
John
bellowed
back
up.
Sweeping
a
chimney
isn't
rocket
science.
You
just
stick
a
brush
inside
the
chimney
and
just
move
it
up
and
down.
Even
though
it
sounds
easy,
it
is
hard
physical
work,
especially
when
you
have
to
stand
on
someone's
shoulders
to
get
to
unreachable
places.
It
is
also
extremely
dirty
work.
Matthew,
John
and
Astrid
were
showered
with
soot
with
every
brush
stroke,
their
faces
ending
up
completely
black,
like
Matthew
had
imagined.
'Get
the
money?'
Norman
asked
when
Matthew,
John
and
Astrid
met
him
and
Stacy
back
outside.
Norman
and
Stacy's
faces
were
hardly
covered
in
soot.
'Yep,
got
paid,'
said
John,
patting
his
pocket.
'Good,'
said
Norman.
'Now
don't
lose
it
because
that
money
is
for
buying
next
week's
flour
supply.'
Setting
off,
John
said,
'I'm
not
going
to
lose
it,
but
if
you
don't
feel
comfortable
with
me
holding
it,
here.'
'What
do
you
have
there?'
Stacy
asked
Matthew.
Matthew
held
up
an
envelope
and
said,
'Mr
and
Mrs
Peterson's
choir
is
putting
on
a
show
and
they
gave
us
tickets.'
'I
said
we
would
go,'
said
John.
Norman
and
Stacy
did
not
look
too
enthused.
'Why
the
long
faces?'
Astrid
asked.
'After
hearing
that
news,'
said
Norman,
'and
having
just
heard
them
sing
from
all
the
way
up
on
the
roof,
you
would
look
like
this
too.'
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Quest - Reading Lv.10/1
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