Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

Di it ie il ' ‘THE OTHER WING 7 | 85 that gave him the feeling of being in the Crystal Palace, Euston Station, or St. Paul’s. High,-narrow windows, cut deeply “into the wall, stood in a row upon the other side; an enormous open fireplace of burning logs was on his right; thick tapestries hung from the ceiling to the floor of stone; and in the centre of the chamber was a massive table of dark, shining wood, great chairs with carved stiff backs set here and there beside it. And in the biggest of these throne-like — there sat a figure looking at him pee hs figure of an old, old man. Yet there was no surprise in the boy’s fast-beating heart; there was a thrill of pleasure and excitement only, a feeling of satisfaction. He had known quite well the figure would be there, known also it would look like this exactly. He stepped forward on to the floor of stone without a trace of fear or trem- bling, holding the precious cane in two hands now before him, *as though to present it to its owner. He felt proud and pleased. He had run risks for this. And the figure rose quietly to.meet him, advancing in a stately manner over | the hard stone floor. The eyes looked gravely, sweetly down at him, the aqui- line. nose stood out. Tim knew him perfectly: the knee-breeches of shining satin, the gleaming buckles on the shoes, the neat dark stockings, the lace and ruffles about neck and wrists, the coloured waistcoat opening so widely— all the details of the picture over father’s mantelpiece, where,it hung between two Crimean bayonets, were reproduced in life before his eyes,at last. Only the polished cane with the ivory handle was not there. Tim went three steps nearer to the advancing figure and held out both his hands with the cane laid crosswise on them, “Puc brought it, Grandfather,” he said, in a faint but clear and ead tone; “here it 13.’ Amdahe wither stooped a little, put out three fingers half consul’ by falling lace, and took it by the ivory handle. He made a courtly bow to Tim. He smiled, but though there was pleasure, it was a grave, sad smile. He spoke foes hic voice was slow and very deep. There was a delicate softness 1 in it, the suave politeness of an older day. “Thank you,” he said; “I value it. It was given to me by my grandfather. I forgot it when [| m ERSioibe grew indistinct a little. eeYes?” said. Tim. “When I—left,” the old gentleman repeated. - “Oh,” said Tim, thinking how beautiful and kind the gracious figure was. The old man ran his slender fingers carefully along the cane, feeling the polished surface with satisfaction. He lingered specially over the smoothness of the ivory handle. He was evidently very pleased. “I was not quite myself—er—at the moment,” he went on gently; “my ‘memory failed me somewhat.” Hesighed, as though an immense relief was in him. ‘ : “I forget things, too—sometimes,’ Tim mentioned sympathetically. He i books. cor j