None could be idle but
the very young and the very old: little Rol, who was hugging a
puppy, and old Trella, whose palsied hand fumbled over her
knitting. The early evening had closed in, and the farm-servants,
come from their outdoor work, had assembled in the ample hall,
which gave space for a score or more of workers. Several of the
men were engaged in carving, and to these were yielded the best
place and light; others made or repaired fishing-tackle and
harness, and a great seine net occupied three pairs of hands. Of
the women most were sorting and mixing eider feather and chopping
straw to add to it. Looms were there, though not in present use,
but three wheels whirred emulously, and the finest and swiftest
thread of the three ran between the fingers of the house-mistress.
Near her were some children, busy too, plaiting wicks for candles
and lamps. Each group of workers had a lamp in its centre, and
those farthest from the fire had live heat from two braziers
filled with glowing wood embers, replenished now and again from
the generous hearth. But the flicker of the great fire was
manifest to remotest corners, and prevailed beyond the limits of
the weaker lights.
Little Rol grew tired of his puppy, dropped it incontinently, and
made an onslaught on Tyr, the old wolf-hound, who basked dozing,
whimpering and twitching in his hunting dreams. Prone went Rol
beside Tyr, his young arms round the shaggy neck, his curls
against the black jowl.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25