“Now it’ll be quite dark,” he said.
“MRS. HONEYSETT WAS SITTING IN A LITTLE LOW CHAIR AT THE BACK DOOR PLUCKING A WHITE CHICKEN.”
And, of course, it wasn’t. You know the aggravating way rooms have of pretending to be quite dark until you want them to be dark—and then—by no means! This room didn’t even pretend to be dark, to begin with. Its shutters had two heart-shaped holes, high up, through which the light showed quite dazzlingly. Edred had to climb up on to the window-seat and stuff up the holes very tight with crushed newspaper, to get which he had to unbolt the door.
“There,” he said, as he pulled and patted the newspaper till it really and darkly filled the heart-shaped holes, “now it will be quite dark.”
And again it wasn’t! Long, dusty rays of light came through the cracks where the hinges of the shutters were. Newspapers were no good for them. The door had to be unbolted and Mrs. Honeysett found. She was sitting in a little low chair at the back door plucking a white chicken. The sight of the little white feathers floating fluffing about brought wonderful memories to Edred. But he only said—
“I say, you haven’t any old curtains, have you? Thick ones—or thin, if they were red.”
Mrs. Honeysett laid the chicken down among his white feathers and went to a chest of drawers that stood in the kitchen.
“Here you are,” she said, handing out two old red velvet curtains, with which he disappeared. But he was back again quite quickly.
“You haven’t got a hammer, I suppose?” said he.