The Argosy — page 136: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Caramel Cottage. 121 “He —— he never told me he was going. He never said any- thing about it.” ‘‘And why should he tell you?” demanded Mr. Barbary. “It was enough that he told me. He thought he had been quite long ‘enough away from his work, and that it was high time to go back to it. I thought the same. ‘That’s all, Katrine; you need not inquire further. And now you can go indoors.” She walked slowly up the narrow path, conscious that some mystery must le behind this. Joan was standing in the yard, outside the back kitchen door, trying to pull it open. ‘This here back’us door’s locked !” exclaimed Joan, in her country vernacular. ‘‘I want the spare jack out; ’t other’s given way at last.” “It can’t be locked,” dissented Katrine. ‘‘ It never is.” ‘Well, I’ve never known the door locked afore ; but ’tis now, Miss Katrine. I noticed it was shut to all day yesterday, but I didn’t try #e” “Tt is only stuck,” said Katrine, laying hold of the high old- fashioned bow handle which served to lift the latch inside; and she Shook it well. ‘What's that? What are you about?” called out Mr. Barbary, dashing up the path like a flash of lightning. ‘‘ Let the door alone.” ‘Joan says it is locked, papa,” said Katrine, frightened by his ananner. “And what if it is? JI have locked up some—some wine there that came in. How dare you meddle with the places I choose to keep closed ?” “It’s the other jack I want out, master,” said Joan, hearing amperfectly. ‘You can’t have the other jack.” ‘But, master, the old jack’s broke clean in two, and it’s time to put the loin o’ lamb down.” “Cut it into chops,” he cried, waving them both off, and standing, himself, before the door, as if to guard it, with a white, imperious, passionate face. Single-minded old Joan went indoors, marvelling a littlhe—such a hit of a trouble for him to have opened the back’us door and given her out the jack! Katrine followed, marvelling very much. She did not believe in the wine: felt sure no wine had come in; they never had any; what was it that was locked up there? All in a moment a thought flashed over her that it might be game: poached game: pheasants and partridges and hares. But, upon that thought came another: why should the spoil have been brought in on Tuesday night when it had never (as she believed) been brought before? Just a little came in for their own use, nothing more. | CORNICELIOO cS (SO)