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Then, as he and Thomas ambled down the lane which led to Alemoor, they came upon an old man sitting under a hornbeam. Yet Bill, as soon as he saw it, felt that it was the one stick in the world for him.
Bill could not find his own proper stick. Pobierz fragment dostosowany na: Bill had to run to catch up Thomas, who was plodding along with the dogs, now returned from their engagement.
But they were not coming to him, and he realised what was happening. He hunted for it high and low, but it could not be found. Bill began his vigil in high excitement. This is a free sample. This was the second warning, for of course a hornbeam is a mysterious tree. It is right to take off your cap to a single magpie, or to three, or to five, but never to an even number, for an even number means mischief. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
Thomas, the keeper, whom he revered more than anyone else in the world, was to take him in the afternoon to try for a duck in the big marsh called Alemoor.
It was so very quiet down there by the dyke that Bill began to feel eerie.
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It was short and heavy, and made of some dark foreign wood; and instead of a bullerbyn it had a handle shaped like a crescent, cut out of a white substance which was neither bone nor ivory. I bought this stick from him. From the misty waters came the rumour of many wildfowl. You would not have said that it was the kind of stick that Bill was looking for.
A farthing sounded too little, so Bill proffered one of his scanty shillings.
But Bill stopped, for he dziecu that the old man had a bullerybn under his arm, a bundle of ancient umbrellas and odd, ragged sticks. He thought he saw duck moving. Now a farthing is not a common coin, but Bill happened to have one—a gift from Peter on his arrival that day, along with a brass cannon, five empty cartridges, a broken microscope, and a badly-printed, brightly-illustrated narrative called Two Villains Foiled.
Bill saw a wedge of geese high up in the air and longed to salute them. He was a funny little wizened old man, in a shabby long green overcoat which had once been black; and he wore on his head the oldest and dzieeci and greenest bowler hat that ever graced a human head.
As soon as they saw it they went off to keep another urgent engagement—this time apparently with a long-distance hare—and Thomas was yelling and whistling for ten minutes before he brought them to heel. Also he heard snipe, but he could not locate them in the dim weather. The first shadow of a cloud appeared after luncheon, when he had changed into knickerbockers and Thomas and the dogs were waiting by the gun-room door. He would have been bored if he had not been slightly awed.
bullerbyyn Peter was a famous giver. The minutes passed, the grey afternoon sky darkened towards twilight, but no duck came. Feeling a little aggrieved and imperfectly equipped, he rushed out to join Thomas. There seemed to be redshank calling, too, which had no business there, for they should have been on the shore marshes. He drove his new stick into the ground, and used the handle as a seat, eblok he rested his gun in the orthodox way in the crook of his arm.
On Monday morning, after a walk with the dogs, he was to motor to London, lunch with Aunt Alice, and then, after a noble tea, return to school in time dziei lock-up. It was a double-barrelled bore, and Bill knew that he would be lucky if he got a duck with it; but a duck was to him a bird of mystery, true wild game, and he preferred bullerbyb chance of one to the certainty of many rabbits.
But he did not know just how exciting that long-leave was destined to be. WHEN Bill came back for long-leave that autumn half, he had before him a complicated programme of entertainment. But he said no more, for Bill had shaken it playfully at the dogs. Thomas cast a puzzled glance at the stick.
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They both looked back, but there was no sign of any old man in the green lane. This seemed to Bill to be all that could be desired in the way of excitement. Next day, which was Sunday, would be devoted to wandering about with Peter, hearing from him all the appetising home news, and pouring into his greedy ears the gossip of the foreign world of school.
There was far too much water on the moor, and the birds, instead of flighting across the mere to the boundary slopes, were simply settling on the flood.
But Bill, looking out for ashplants, was heedless, and had uncovered his head before he remembered the rule. He scrambled up the bank of the dyke and strained his eyes over the mere between the bare boughs of the thorn. It was a long hazel staff, given him by the second stalker at Glenmore the year before—a staff rather taller than Bill, a glossy hazel, with a shapely polished crook, and without a ferrule, like all good stalking-sticks.
Nor would he accept a knobbly cane proffered by Peter.