Just before he reached it a sharp turn in the lane brought him upon a very minute copse set a pace or so back from the road, and in the copse was a small cottage or hut. There was a forlorn look about it, and the windows were broken.

Peter peered through the trees. There was no sign of life whatever. The place was apparently deserted. A couple of yards farther on a small and [Pg 27]broken gate led into the copse. The gate was hanging on one hinge in a dejected and melancholy fashion.

[Pg 27]

Peter propped it up with a little pat of encouragement before he passed through it and up among the trees to the cottage door. It was unfastened, and Peter went in. He found himself in a small square room. To his amazement it was not empty, as he had imagined to find it. On the contrary, it was quite moderately furnished.

A low bed stood at one side of the room; it was covered with a faded blue quilt. A cupboard with a few tea-things on it stood against one wall. A table, old and worm-eaten, was in the centre of the room. There were two wooden chairs, and a wooden armchair with a dilapidated rush seat. There was a big open fireplace with an iron staple in the wall; from this staple was suspended an iron hook. Both were thickly covered with rust. On the shelf above the fireplace was a clock; it was flanked by a couple of copper candlesticks covered with verdigris. Ragged yellow curtains hung before the broken window.

And everywhere there was dust. It lay thickly on the table and the chairs; the tea-things on the [Pg 28]cupboard were covered with it. It lay upon the floor in a soft grey carpet, thicker at the far side of the room, where the wind through the broken window had swept it in a little drift against the wall.

[Pg 28]

Peter looked around in bewilderment. During how many years had this dust accumulated? What memories, what secrets, lay buried beneath it?

He looked towards the fireplace. Charred embers were within it. By the hearth lay an old newspaper. Peter picked it up. It tore as he touched it. It bore the date May the nineteenth, eighteen hundred and sixty-six. Forty-five years ago! Had this cottage lain uninhabited for forty-five years?—thirteen years before he was even born! He glanced up at the clock. It had stopped at twelve o’clock—midnight or noon, who was to say?

Peter turned and again looked round the place. At the foot 

 Prev. P 15/156 next