As a general rule I am not a smoker: your aunt does
not--ahem!--exactly like the smell. But it collects the thoughts,
and this wants thinking over. Meanwhile, you might dress if you feel
well enough. Run to the shed and get the packet; we will read it
over together when I have finished my pipe. It is a remarkable
story," he repeated, as he slowly opened the door, "a most marvellous
story. I must have a pipe. A most--remarkable--tale."
With this he went downstairs and left me to dress.
I did so, and ran downstairs to the cow-shed. No one had been there.
With eager fingers I tore away the bricks from the crumbling mortar,
and drew out my prize. The buckle glittered in the light that stole
through the gaping door. All was safe, and as I left it.
Clutching my treasure, I ran back to the house and found Mrs.
Busvargus spreading the midday meal. Until that was over, I knew
that Uncle Loveday would not attack the mystery. He was sitting
outside in the front garden smoking solemnly, and the wreaths of his
pipe, curling in through the open door, filled the house with
fragrance.
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