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Updated: May 24, 2025
He used but one match often he travelled a week on seven. When they were wet he rubbed them in his hair. Again the sharp whack of the axes cut out a ridgepole and two forked supports. Before it grew dark they had a snug lean-to built and covered with boughs at the edge of the tamaracks out of the wind. Here, after a warm meal, they passed the first night of their flight.
Who can describe the narrow and intricate ways; the odd houses with many little gables; great roofs breaking out from eaves to ridgepole, with dozens of dormer-windows; hanging balconies of stone, carved and figure-beset, ornamented and frescoed fronts; the archways, leading into queer courts and alleys, and out again into broad streets; the towers and fantastic steeples; and the many old bridges, with obelisks and memorials of triumphal entries of conquerors and princes?
Barry, what has happened to her?" she gasped, more white and shaken than the self-contained, sensible Marilla had been for many years. Anne herself answered, lifting her head. "Don't be very frightened, Marilla. I was walking the ridgepole and I fell off. I expect I have sprained my ankle. But, Marilla, I might have broken my neck. Let us look on the bright side of things."
It was a noise from the closet into which Wort had plunged, or, rather, a noise that started there, for it was continued down into the story below, even as the noise of a rushing snow-slide along a roof begins at the ridgepole, but ends on the ground beneath the eaves. "It's Wort!" said Charlie, excitedly. "O dear! he's gone." "Gone where?" inquired Sid. "Into the bowels of the earth?"
Don't he look ridiculous, sitting up there a-straddle of his ridgepole, with a tin-cup? A tin-cup, if you please. Over this way a little. See better. They're wetting down the roof. Line of fellows passing buckets to the ladder, and a line up the ladder. What big sparks those are! Puts you in mind of Fourth of July. How the roof steams! Must be hot up there. O-o-o-oh!
The only dwellings are the old, whitewashed stone cottages, with thatched roofs, on the brown straw of which grow various weeds and mosses, brightening it with green patches, and sprouting along the ridgepole, the homeliest hovels that ever mortals lived in, and which they share with pigs and cows at one end. Hens, too, run in and out of the door.
There was a skylight, but either they overlooked or scorned that prosaic expedient. At the other end of the ridgepole Keith made out the dark forms of two men from another company. His own companions, acting under orders, now descended the ladder, leaving him alone. The next building was a raging furnace, and on it Keith directed the heavy stream from his nozzle. It was great fun.
The woman was clad in a short, damp underskirt which fell about to her knees; she had drawn on the only dry article of apparel in sight, a man's sweater jacket; she had thrust her bare feet into a pair of beaded moccasins; on a line attached to the ridgepole over her head sundry outer garments were steaming.
The ridgepole came crashing down, bringing part of the roof and ceiling with it. Rocks and a great boulder fell into the room, knocking the stove over. Ashes and soot went everywhere. One rock grazed me and knocked the sewing basket from my lap. Part of a railroad tie carried the window sash and curtains in with it and landed on the piano.
But of all the Killooleets, and there were many that I soon recognized, either by their songs, or by some peculiarity in their striped caps or brown jackets, the most interesting was the one who first perched on my ridgepole and bade me welcome to his camping ground.
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