United States or Montserrat ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He crossed two fields and got on to a road, his breath coming painfully as he toiled along with an occasional glance behind him. It was uphill, but he kept on until he had gained the top, and then he threw himself down panting by the side of the road with his face turned in the direction of Holebourne.
The old man, nothing loath, assented, and having tasted of the cook's bounty, crawled beside him through the little town to put him on the road to Holebourne, and after seeing him safe, returned to his beloved post. The cook went along whistling, thinking pleasantly of the discomfiture of the other members of the crew when they should discover his luck.
He took the portrait from the hands of the now sulky cook and strove to jog his memory with it. "John Dunn's his name," he cried suddenly. "John Dunn." "Where does 'e live?" inquired the cook eagerly. "Holebourne," said the old man "a little place seven miles off the road." "Are you sure it's the same," asked the cook in a trembling voice. "Sartain," said the other firmly.
The wagons moved off first, jolting and creaking their way to Holebourne, and the cook, after making a modest luncheon of bread and cheese and smoking a pipe, got on the road again. "Look how he walks!" said the landlord, as the couple watched him up the road. "Ah!" said his wife. "Like a bloodhound," said the landlord impressively; "just watch him.
Conversation became general, and it was evident that the wagoners shared the sentiments of the landlord and his wife with regard to Mr. Dunn. They regarded the cook with awe, and after proffering him a pint with respectful timidity, offered to give him a lift to Holebourne.
In this frame of mind he entered Holebourne, a small village consisting of a little street, an inn, and a church. At the end of the street, in front of a tidy little cottage with a well-kept front garden, a small knot of people were talking. "Somethin' on," said the cook to himself as he returned with interest the stares of the villagers. "Which is Mr. Dunn's house, boy?"
The stout man drew another pint, and subsiding on to his stool with a little sigh, disposed himself for conversation. "Taking a country walk?" he inquired. The cook nodded. "Not all pleasure," he said importantly; "I'm on business." "Ah, it's you fellows what make all the money," said the landlord. "I've only drawn these two pints this morning. Going far?" "Holebourne," said the other.
"He come here first about six years ago, an' then he quarrelled with his landlord and went off to Holebourne." The cook, with a flushed face, glanced along the quay to the schooner. Work was still proceeding amid a cloud of white dust, and so far his absence appeared to have passed unnoticed.
Word Of The Day