Читать книгу Susan Spray онлайн

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"Whur's Dad?" asked little Elis. Susan shook her head.

"He'll come."

But she did not feel as confident as her words. Even if her father had drunk too much to find his way home in the dark, he would by now have had four hours of daylight in which to cover the few miles from Pease Pottage. Either he was so drunk that he had not been able to sleep it off as usual, or . . . She did not quite know what was the alternative, though a dim poignancy which was half fear, half thrill, slightly stirred her blood.

Another hour passed. Susan had packed their belongings into the cart, and they all sat there waiting for their father to come hack and lead them on their way to the happy land of Canaan. But he still did not come. The rain ceased, giving place to a wind that sighed among the trees, and blew the clouds over their tops with chasing spots of yellow light. Then suddenly a burst of sunshine filled the doorway of the barn. Susan stood up.

"You bide here—I'm going out to look for him."

"I'll come too," said little Elis, but she angrily bade him stay where he was.