“Probably just that,” said Jonathan: “grain of sand in the valve, very likely.”
“Shall I get a plumber?”
“Plumber! I’ll fix it myself in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Well,” I said, relieved: “you can do that after supper while I see that all the chickens are in, and those turkeys, and then we’ll have our walk.”
Accordingly I went off on my tour. When I returned the pale moon-shadows were already beginning to show in the lingering dusk of the fading daylight. Indoors seemed very dark, but on the kitchen floor a candle sat, flaring and dipping.
“Jonathan,” I called, “I’m ready.”
“Well, I’m not,” said a voice at my feet.
“Why, where are you? Oh, there!” I bent down and peered under the sink at a shape crouched there. “Haven’t you finished?”
“Finished! I’ve just got the thing apart.”
“I should say you had!” I regarded the various pieces of iron and leather and wood as they lay, mere dismembered shapes, about the dim kitchen.