Page:Peter Whiffle (1922).djvu/259

 embers. There was a long silence. In trying afterwards to reckon its length, I judged it must have been fully half an hour before I spoke. It was a noise that broke the charm of the stillness. The dead end of the log split over the andirons and fell into the grate.

Peter, I began.

He did not move.

Peter. . . . I rose and bent over him. The clock struck six. The cat stirred uneasily, rose, stretched his enormous length; then gave a faint but alarmingly portentous mew and leaped from the couch.

Peter!

He did not answer me.

April 29, 1921

New York.