Conradin
dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down
to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment,
then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the
bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.
"Tea is ready," said the sour-faced maid; "where is the mistress?"
"She went down to the shed some time ago," said Conradin.
And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin
fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded
to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it
and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of
eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell
in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish
screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering
ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and
hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the
scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy
burden into the house.
"Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life
of me!" exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the
matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of
toast.
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