Page:The Lark - E Nesbit, 1922.djvu/135

136 dazzled eyes in the candlelight; they looked at each other—doubtfully—anxiously. Then suddenly Jane laughed, Lucilla laughed; Mr. Dix laughed too, but only a very little—as became an outcast.

"Who says life isn't a lark?" said Jane.

"Not I, certainly," said Mr. Dix, "but I implore you to let me explain"

"Not yet," said Jane; "better light the fire—there's wood in that cupboard. And we'll boil the kettle; whatever happens, Mr. Dix, you shall have that tea that we invited you to."

"I ought to insist on explaining myself and then go away at once," said Mr. Dix, dealing expertly with wood and paper, "but no human being could resist your kindness."

After that he said no more till the table was set out with tea-things and what remained of the afternoon's cakes. The tea was brewing in the second best brown tea-pot, and Lucilla was beginning to apologise because they had drunk all the milk in the afternoon, when she stopped short at: "I'm so sorry . . ."

She had seen his boots. At least, she had seen one of them. The other was only half a boot. The sole was gone. This was all too plainly to be seen as he knelt to put more wood on the fire. There was quite an appreciable interval before she went on ". . . that we drank all the milk this afternoon. But there's lemon."

"And now," said Jane, very brisk and businesslike, handing is third cup of tea to Mr. Dix, "first we'll tell you how we came to be taking refuge in the summer-house in the middle of the night, and then you shall tell us how you did."

Their story was quickly told. "So you see," said Jane. "Now for your adventures."

"My simple story," said Mr. Dix, almost placidly, "is this. I started to walk from London, and it was further than I expected. My boots are not what once they were; and