Ivy

by Hearn, Julie

• ISBN13: 9781416925071
• ISBN10: 1416925074
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2009-07-21
• Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

Summary

The author of "The Minister's Daughter" and "The Sign of the Raven" has created a memorable tale of 19th-century England with a character destined to take her place alongside Dickens's Pip and Oliver Twist.

Author Biography

Julie Hearn was born in Abingdon, near Oxford, England, and has been writing all her life. A former features editor and columnist, she was studying for a teaching degree when she decided to take a class with Philip Pullman. “You don’t want to teach,” Pullman told her. “You want to write.” She took his advice and became a children’s book novelist.

Excerpts

Chapter One In Which Ivy Is Treated Rather Badly by Philanthropists in Ridiculous DressesMrs. Hortense Merryfield and Mrs. Christiana Larrington of the Ragged Children's Welfare Association (South London branch) chose a bitterly cold spring morning upon which to patronize the deserving poor of Lambeth.Picking their way along filthy streets, the hems of their crinolines blotting up slush and the beads on their bon-nets tinkling like ice, they were so obviously out of their element that by the time they reached the corner of New Cut, a sizable crowd of ragged children was on their tail, hopping and flapping and begging for coppers."Jus' a ha'penny, missus. Jus' enough for a hot tater.""It's for me bruvver, missus. Me little bruvver wot's sick.""Shoo!" cried Mrs. Merryfield. "Scram!" And she waved her umbrella and stood her ground until all but one of the little imps had given up the clamor and scattered. Mrs. Larrington, who was younger than her companion, drew a mohair shawl tighter 'round her shoulders and tried not to seem afraid. This was her first time out among the deserving poor and she was beginning to wish she had stayed in Norwood, among snowdrops and servants and the undeserving rich. Where had they come from, all those ragamuffins? So pale, so dirty, and so clearly half-frozen that they might have sprung fully formed from the slush. Yet they'd had the strength, all of them, to run like bunnikins from the point of Mrs. Merryfield's umbrella. Even the girls had scarpered.It was the sight of those scarpering girls, Mrs. Larrington realized, that had disturbed her the most. For she herself had never run anywhere. Not even as a child. It wasn't ladylike; it wasn't natural for the female of the species to move so fast.She was about to say as much to dear Mrs. Merryfield when she felt a tugging at her sleeve. "Ugh!" She shuddered, shrinking away. "Don't touch me, you...you insolent creature.""I live '??'ere, if you please," piped a voice at her elbow. "Only, your dress is blockin' the way."Looking down over the slope of her crinoline, Mrs. Larrington found her gaze being met by a little scrap of indeterminate age. This, readers, was Ivy, the heroine of our story, but all Mrs. Larrington saw was a small girl with huge hazel eyes and a veritable halo of tangled hair. It was a cross between a nest and a cloud, that hair, and such an extraordinary color that Mrs. Larrington's gloved hand moved instinctively to stroke it."Stop! My dear Mrs. Larrington. What can you be thinking of? There will be more lice on this child than you'll find crumbs in a biscuit barrel. First rule of home visits'?? -- '??keep your distance."And with a prod and a twist, the redoubtable Mrs. Merryfield hooked the crook of her umbrella under the ragged girl's collar and yanked her up and away."Oh my," declared Mrs. Larrington as the child rose into the air, flailing like a raggedy fish. "Oh my goodness me."But the child said not a word, only struggled and gulped while her face turned very pink beneath several layers of dirt and her extraordinary hair whipped around her head in a flurry of tangles and tendrils.Now, had Mrs. Merryfield's umbrella been a dainty contraption of ruched silk and spindled ivory, it would have snapped for sure. But this umbrella was like its owner'?? -- '??sturdy. Its point had seen off pickpockets, bull terriers, and many a drunken sailor. And its hard wooden handle, carved to resemble a bird with its beak open, was more than equal to bearing'?? -- '??temporarily, anyway'?? -- '??the weight of a skinny, underfed little girl."Oh my," Mrs. Larrington repeated as her companion swung the child expertly across the cobbles and landed her with a barely audible thwunk into a puddle of muck and melting snow. "Oh my goodness me.""There!" Mrs. Merryfield unhooked the umbrella. "That's more like it." And from somewhere about her person