Miles away, down through an opening
in the hills, he could catch glimpses of a road where motor-cars
sometimes passed, and yet here, so little removed from the
arteries of the latest civilization, was a bat-haunted old
homestead, where something unmistakably like witchcraft seemed to
hold a very practical sway.
Passing out through the farm garden on his way to the lanes
beyond, where he hoped to recapture the comfortable sense of
peacefulness that was so lacking around house and hearth--
especially hearth--Crefton came across the old mother, sitting
mumbling to herself in the seat beneath the medlar tree. "Let un
sink as swims, let un sink as swims," she was, repeating over and
over again, as a child repeats a half-learned lesson. And now and
then she would break off into a shrill laugh, with a note of
malice in it that was not pleasant to hear. Crefton was glad when
he found himself out of earshot, in the quiet and seclusion of the
deep overgrown lanes that seemed to lead away to nowhere; one,
narrower and deeper than the rest, attracted his footsteps, and he
was almost annoyed when he found that it really did act as a
miniature roadway to a human dwelling.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187