Читать книгу The Peacock Feather. A Romance онлайн

25 страница из 53

The other child looked, screamed, and they both set off running frantically down the road.

“Great Scot!” ejaculated Peter; “did they take me for a ghost, or do they think I’m a poacher, and have gone to inform the neighbourhood? Trust they won’t disturb me; I’ve no mind to turn out into the deluge that’s coming.”

A couple of large drops of rain splashed down on his hand as he spoke, and he re-entered the cottage. He placed his second armful of sticks beside the fireplace. First he cleared away the charred embers in the hearth, then began arranging the newly collected sticks with the skill born of long practice in the art of fire-making. This done, he went into the inner room and took up the bucket. The pump was stiff with rust and disuse, but Peter’s vigorous arm soon triumphed over the stiffness, and, filling the bucket with water, he returned to the living-room. Here, with the aid of a couple of ragged cloths, he made a partial onslaught against the dust. The room became at least habitable to one not over-fastidious. Moth, by some miracle, seemed to have left the place untouched, though the bedclothes were damp with mildew.