He
had at first supposed that within a few minutes the earth would be
shovelled in on him and he buried. Review of events showed the danger
not to be so acute. On arrival the previous night, after brief parley
with Mrs. Pinner he had gone straight to his room, bearing the Rose
tight hid in her basket. No reason, then, for suspicion yet to have
fallen upon him. He must continue to keep the Rose hid. It would be
difficult, infernally difficult; but so long as he could effect it he
might remain here secure. The beastly cat must of course be let out
for a run. That was a chief difficulty. Well, he must think out some
fearful story that would give him escape with the basket every
morning.
V.
Breakfast was laid in a little sitting-room over the porch, adjoining
his bedroom. George pressed the poor Rose into her basket; carried it
in.
Mrs. Pinner was setting flowers on the table. George carried the
basket to the window; placed it on a chair; sat upon it. With his
right hand he drummed upon the lid. It was his purpose to inspire the
Rose with a timid wonder at this drubbing that should prevent her
voicing a protest against cramped limbs.
"Some nice tea and a bit of fish I'm going to bring you up, mister,"
Mrs. Pinner told him.
Recollecting her deafness, and in fear lest she should approach the
basket, George from the window bellowed: "Thank you, Mrs.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347