No Way Of Telling Read Online Free PDF Page A

with you. Yes, I will—I want to.”
    Amy held away the red chenille curtain while Mrs Bowen drew back the heavy bolts. Then with a thundering heart she opened the door just sufficiently wide for both of them and Mick to squeeze through, closing it instantly behind them; and there they were, outside, partly protected by the porch from weather, but not at all from anything else. They could hear the wind roaring away in the bare trees at the bottom, but round their own cottage there was for a moment a comparative lull. Mrs Bowen lifted the lamp high for them to see into the night as far as they could. All they could see was snow, steadily falling. The nearer flakes, dropping casually down across the beams of the lamp, looked wonderfully white and slow. But a little further off these drifting fragments seemed to alter, to draw closer together and quicken and darken until the spread of lamplight was confined by moving walls, hurrying down and down in endless descent.
    A staggered line of footprints, deep shapeless holes, led up to the porch, but already they were beginning to be blurred and softened by new snow and Amy, seeing this, was glad, for she felt that in blotting out his marks the snow was blotting out their visitor as well. Then they heard the wind roar up the hill towards them. In a fine cloud the fallen snow lifted and whirled. The lamp went out.
    “Quick, Amy—inside!”
    They snatched the door open and were through in a flash.
    “Granny—where’s Mick?”
    He was missing. But it was easier now to open the door a crack and shout:
    “Mick! Mick!”
    He came in a flurry of snow and excitement, and leapt round the room wagging his tail and sneezing. The bolts were triumphantly shot into place. They stamped their feet and laughed, exhilarated by their own daring.
    “I’m glad we went out, Granny—you were right. Now we know he’s not there.”
    But later on, in bed, it was hard to be quite so certain.
    “Granny?”
    “Yes?”
    “What was that noise? Didn’t you hear it?”
    “I heard a bit of snow fall off.”
    Amy lay still, considering this explanation.
    “There’s all sorts of noises go on every night,” said her grandmother’s voice, reasonably. “We don’t hear them mostly on account of we’re not mostly listening.”
    Amy shut her eyes, hoping to be able to shut her ears as well, and so to shut out all anxiety, but at once clear in her mind she saw that single line of footsteps filling up with snow. Her eyes flew open.
    “Granny!”
    “What now?”
    “There should have been more footsteps—going-away ones too.”
    Her grandmother said, after a pause:
    “But those may very well have been the going-away ones, Amy—how can we tell?”
    “Then where were the coming-here ones?”
    This silence seemed to last for much longer. Amy tried to sense in the dark whether her grandmother was thinking it over, or had simply dropped asleep.
    “Why, Amy,” said Mrs Bowen at last, “they could have been anywhere—we didn’t look for them, specially.”
    But Amy turned towards the old woman, clutching at her for comfort, whispering loud and fast:
    “I know why we didn’t see his going-away footsteps—they were so close up to the house, that’s why. And that noise was him, Granny, and I think he’s in our shed this very moment. He’s there— now. He never went away at all.”
    Mrs Bowen sat up. There was the scrape of a match and then Amy saw her, bending sideways to light one of the candles. She wore a white cotton nightgown made by herself, as all her nightgowns were, with a high neck and long sleeves, and her hair fell forward over her shoulders in two thinnish grey pigtails.
    When she was sure the candle was properly alight, she reached for a shawl and wrapped herself in it, and then she arranged the bolster and pillow behind her for greater support. These preparations calmed Amy. It was a relief to know that her grandmother was fully awake. It was even more a relief to see her, and to see