Half the windows on this side had been blocked up and painted black,
with white streaks down and across to represent framework.
He pulled at an iron bell-chain which dangled by the great door.
The bell clanged far within and a dozen dogs took up the note,
yelping in full peal. He heard footsteps coming; the door was
opened, and the dogs poured out upon him--spaniels, terriers,
lurchers, greyhounds, and a big Gordon setter--barking at him,
leaping against him, sniffing his calves. Taffy kept them at bay as
best he could and waved his letter at a wall-eyed man in a dirty
yellow waistcoat, who looked down from the doorstep but did not offer
to call them off.
"Any answer?" asked the wall-eyed man.
Taffy could not say. The man took the letter and went to inquire,
leaving him alone with the dogs.
It seemed an age before he reappeared, having in the interval slipped
a dirty livery coat over his yellow waistcoat. "The Squire says
you're to come in." Taffy and the dogs poured together into a high,
stone-flagged hall; then through a larger hall and a long dark
corridor. The footman's coat, for want of a loop, had been hitched
on a peg by its collar, and stuck out behind his neck in the most
ludicrous manner; but he shuffled ahead so fast that Taffy, tripping
and stumbling among the dogs, had barely time to observe this before
a door was flung open and he stood blinking in a large room full of
sunlight.
Pages:
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53