They did the honours of the house with dignity, and without vulgar
apology for a state of things that was natural to them, and Ideala at
once adapted herself to the circumstances, and burnt her fingers while
attending to the baked potatoes, which Tom had somewhat neglected.
She always declared afterwards that there was nothing so good in the
world as baked potatoes and salt, provided the company was agreeable;
and now and then she would thrill us with reminiscences of that
evening's entertainment--with wonderful accounts of railway accidents--
and of one in particular that happened on a pitch-dark night when fires
had to be made to light the workers as they toiled fearfully amongst
the wreck of the trains, searching for the mangled and mutilated, the
dying and the dead, while the air was filled with horrid shrieks and
groans.
For it seems these three, when they had finished the baked potatoes,
drew their chairs to the fire and talked. And one can well imagine what
Ideala's stories were--her tales of the Japanese with whom she had
lived; of Chinese prisons into which she had peeped; of earthquakes,
tornadoes and shipwrecks, and other perils by land and sea, all told in
a voice that thrilled you, whatever it said.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197