With the exception of his enthusiasm for Lucy he was no sentimentalist.
He hated being kissed, he did not care very greatly for Roger and
Dorothy and Robert, and regarded them as nothing but nuisances when they
interfered with his games or compelled him to join in theirs.
And now this is the story of his Odyssey.
II
It happened on a wet April afternoon. The morning had been fine, a
golden morning with the scent in the air of the showers that had fallen
during the night. Then, suddenly, after midday, the rain came down,
splashing on to the shining pavements as it fell, beating on to the
windows and then running, in little lines, on to the ledges and falling
from there in slow, heavy drops. The sky was black, the statues in the
garden dejected, the almond tree beaten, all the little paths running
with water, and on the garden seats the rain danced like a live thing.
The children--Lucy, Roger, Dorothy, Robert, Bim, and Timothy--were, of
course, in the nursery. The nurse was toasting her toes on the fender
and enjoying immensely that story by Mrs. Henry Wood, entitled "The
Shadow of Ashlydyat.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122