Читать книгу The Fairy Latchkey онлайн

27 страница из 40

Outside the afternoon’s sad yellow sunlight lay all across the lawn; it awoke diamond flashes in the wall, and even gilded the handle of the pump. The metallic notes of the starlings were heard on every side, and London was doing its best to forget that it was the largest pile of brick and mortar in the world. Philomène ran to her own garden and up its little pathway. A great fear was at her heart lest yesterday’s experience should prove to have been a make-up also, and nothing more, like Mrs Handy and the rest. Tremblingly she tapped upon the wall, and prompt to her signal came the sound of a step inside, and the turning of the key in the key-hole. Sweet William stood before her in his green suit, with the red and white cockade in his hat.

“Come in,” said he in his delicate high-pitched voice, “everything is quite ready.”

Philomène entered, and the catkin tapestries rustled in the draught of the closing door. The little room looked cool and friendly. On the giant mushroom lay a packet of satin-smooth lily petals, a swan’s quill pen, and two snails’ shells, one filled with red and the other with violet ink, distilled from red roses and from violets. There was also a little pad of moss upon which to dry the pen. Philomène sat down upon the nearest toadstool.