you what. How would you like some of my paintings, or how about some of
these things in this room. They're no use to me. Just sit here gathering
dust!"

Spike gazed at the valuable ornaments, the beautifully crafted statues,
the elegant bronze castings, and swallowed hard.

"OK," he said, "I don't mind. They're quite nice to look at aren't they?"

"I suppose so," said Miss Huddy, "I can't see anything very well these
days. What's the use of having things you can't see?" she chuckled.

"No point at all" agreed Spike.

"Would you like some milk and cookies?"

"Not just now, thanks," said Spike, "I have some things to do. I'll be
back in about an hour, if that's alright by you?"

"That will be just lovely," said Miss Huddy in a voice like roses.

Spike let himself out again and went to the shed. He pulled the books from
his backpack as he walked.

"This shouldn't be too hard." he said.

Half an hour later he had the car coughing and back-firing. His hands were
red and raw from wrenching on the crank-handle, and his face was dripping
with sweat again.

He leaned, like a nearly punch-drunk boxer, on the square, black radiator
and gasped for breath, then he tried again.

The engine started. He ran to the front seat and increased the revs, then
he carefully put it into gear and jerked out of the garage into the
sunshine. The motor was so quiet he could hardly hear it. "Amazing!" he
thought, as he drove to the front of the house.

He left the engine ticking over as he went down the hall and into the
kitchen. Miss Huddy was there, with two tins of biscuits opened, and a big
jug of orange cordial.

"I know who you are," she said, as if Spike had been playing a game with
her, "You're that boy who does my gardening, aren't you!"

"That's right." said Spike.

"Well help yourself. There's plenty more biscuits in the cupboard, and
plenty of fizz in the fridge. We can't have you wasting away, can we?"