The
old willow at the gate was writhing in the storm and the orchard
was a place of weird music, born of all the tears and fears that
haunt the halls of night. But little we cared for the gloom and
the loneliness of the outside world; we kept them at bay with the
light of the fire and the laughter of our young lips.
We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is,
it had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it
because we found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing
himself to be caught too easily, in order that he might have the
pleasure of catching Felicity--which he never failed to do, no
matter how tightly his eyes were bound. What remarkable goose
said that love is blind? Love can see through five folds of
closely-woven muffler with ease!
"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather
quickly and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's
sit down and get the Story Girl to tell us a story."
But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a
significant glance at me which intimated that this was the
psychological moment for introducing the scheme she and I had been
secretly developing for some days. It was really the Story Girl's
idea and none of mine.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25