"
He entered the house and closed the door. In addition to the
sitting-room there was a bedroom and a kitchen, all bearing the signs of
recent occupancy. He found a small petroleum lamp, but he concluded not
to light it. Instead he sat on a wooden bench in the main room beside a
small window, ate a little more from the knapsack, and watched a while
lest friend or enemy should come.
It had grown somewhat darker and the clouds were driving across the sky.
The wind was rising and the threatened flurries of rain came, beating
against the cottage. John was devoutly glad that he had found the little
house. Having spent many hours immersed to his neck in a river he felt
that he had had enough water for one day. Moreover, his escape, his snug
shelter and the abundance of food at hand, gave him an extraordinary
sense of ease and rest. He noticed that in the darkness and rain one
might pass within fifty feet of the cottage without seeing it.
The wind increased and moaned among the oaks that grew around the house,
but above the moaning the sounds of battle, the distant thunder of the
artillery yet came. The sport of kings was going merrily on. Neither
night nor storm stopped it and men were still being ground by thousands
into cannon food. But John had now a feeling of detachment. Three days
of continuous battle had dulled his senses. They might fight on as they
pleased. It did not concern him, for tonight at least. He was going to
look out for himself.
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