In God's name, who was there to
welcome me? None but my hounds, and the flying squirrel I had
caught and tamed. Groping my way to the corner, I took from my
store two torches, lit them, and stuck them into the holes pierced
in the mantel shelf; then stood beneath the clear flame, and looked
with a sudden sick distaste upon the disorder which the light
betrayed. The fire was dead, and ashes and embers were scattered
upon the hearth; fragments of my last meal littered the table, and
upon the unwashed floor lay the bones I had thrown my dogs. Dirt
and confusion reigned; only upon my armor, my sword and gun,
my hunting knife and dagger, there was no spot or stain. I turned to
gaze upon them where they hung against the wall, and in my soul I
hated the piping times of peace, and longed for the camp fire and
the call to arms.
With an impatient sigh, I swept the litter from the table, and,
taking from the shelf that held my meagre library a bundle of
Master Shakespeare's plays (gathered for me by Rolfe when he was
last in London), I began to read; but my thoughts wandered, and
the tale seemed dull and oft told. I tossed it aside, and, taking dice
from my pocket, began to throw. As I cast the bits of bone, idly,
and scarce caring to observe what numbers came uppermost, I had
a vision of the forester's hut at home, where, when I was a boy, in
the days before I ran away to the wars in the Low Countries, I had
spent many a happy hour.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29