When she moved her toes she could feel the
soppy liquid. Oh, for a light! It would lessen her terror if she could
just see what had happened and how she looked.
She groped her way to the small oblong of lesser darkness which
indicated the open bulk-head doors, and felt better when she was in
the free open darkness of outdoors. Wiggle, seeming to know that
something unusual was happening, kept close to her heels.
She reentered the kitchen, where those accusing, ghostly, red
slits of eyes in the stove seemed to watch her. She fumbled
nervously on the shelf above the stove and got some matches,
spilling a number of them on the floor. She could not pause to
gather them up while those red eyes stared. She had planned her poor
little enterprise with a view to secrecy, but in the emergency and with
the minutes passing, she did not now pause to think or consider. Near
the flour barrel hung several goodly pudding bags, luscious reminders
of Thanksgiving. Aunt Jamsiah had promised to make a plum-pudding for
Pee-Wee in the largest one of these and he had spent some time in
measuring them and computing their capacity, with the purpose of
selecting the most capacious. Pepsy now hurriedly took all of these
and a kitchen apron along with them, and descended again into the cellar.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110