Mr. Pendyce, who had
been on horseback all the morning, was standing in his riding-clothes,
tired and depressed, before the plan of Worsted Skeynes.
"What do you want, Bester?"
"There is a fire at Peacock's farm, sir." Mr. Pendyce stared.
"What?" he said. "A fire in broad daylight! Nonsense!"
"You can see the flames from the front, sir." The worn and querulous
look left Mr. Pendyce's face.
"Ring the stable-bell!" he said. "Tell them all to run with buckets
and ladders. Send Higson off to Cornmarket on the mare. Go and tell Mr.
Barter, and rouse the village. Don't stand there--God bless me! Ring the
stable-bell!" And snatching up his riding-crop and hat, he ran past the
butler, closely followed by the spaniel John.
Over the stile and along the footpath which cut diagonally across a
field of barley he moved at a stiff trot, and his spaniel, who had not
grasped the situation, frolicked ahead with a certain surprise. The
Squire was soon out of breath--it was twenty years or more since he had
run a quarter of a mile. He did not, however, relax his speed. Ahead of
him in the distance ran the second groom; behind him a labourer and a
footman. The stable-bell at Worsted Skeynes began to ring. Mr. Pendyce
crossed the stile and struck into the lane, colliding with the Rector,
who was running, too, his face flushed to the colour of tomatoes.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169