A mile or two farther on they came out on a clearing where two or three
low houses lay in stony fields, crouching among the rocks as if to brace
themselves against the wind. They were hardly more than sheds, built of
logs and rough boards, with tin stove-pipes sticking out of their roofs.
The sun was setting, and dusk had already fallen on the lower world,
but a yellow glare still lay on the lonely hillside and the crouching
houses. The next moment it faded and left the landscape in dark autumn
twilight.
"Over there," Liff called out, stretching his long arm over Mr. Miles's
shoulder. The clergyman turned to the left, across a bit of bare ground
overgrown with docks and nettles, and stopped before the most ruinous of
the sheds. A stove-pipe reached its crooked arm out of one window, and
the broken panes of the other were stuffed with rags and paper.
In contrast to such a dwelling the brown house in the swamp might have
stood for the home of plenty.
As the buggy drew up two or three mongrel dogs jumped out of the
twilight with a great barking, and a young man slouched to the door and
stood there staring.
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255