Uncle Felix looked up, however, as she said it.
"That reminds me," he observed, "I dreamed too. I dreamed that you
dreamed."
"Yes," Maria replied briefly, moving her eyes in his direction, but
not her head. No other remarks were made; the statement was too
muddled to stimulate interest particularly.
When breakfast was over they went to the open window and threw crumbs
to a robin that was obviously expecting to be fed. They all leaned out
with their heads in the sunlight, watching it. It hopped from a twig
on to the ground, its body already tight to bursting. It looked like a
toy balloon--as though it wore a dress of red elastic stretched to
such a point that the merest pinprick must explode it with a sharp
report; and it hopped as though springs were in its feet. The earth,
like a taut sheet, made it bounce. Tim aimed missiles of bread rolled
into pellets at its head, but never hit it.
"It's a lovely morning," remarked Uncle Felix, looking across the
garden to the yellow fields beyond. "A perfect day. We'll walk to
church." He brushed the breakfast crumbs from the waistcoat of his
neat blue suit, lit his pipe, sniffed the air contentedly, and had an
air generally of a sailor on shore-leave.
Pages:
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443