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Fortescue, J. W. (John William), 1859-1933

"The Drummer's Coat"

At one point a mass of rock rose
out abruptly from the earth, which had evidently turned the water from
above, so that for a short distance the stream ran almost the reverse
way to its true course. Against the rock the washing of centuries had
thrown up a bank of pebbles, now thickly overgrown with grass; and
there lay the hut, almost invisible from any point, against the rock,
sheltered from the westerly gales and gathering more of the eastern and
southern sun than could have been thought possible. The goats ran
bleating towards the three as they rode up, for they had not been
milked that morning; and the woman's face was set hard as she went to
the door of the hut and presently returned to beckon Lady Eleanor in.
[Illustration: Still the woman led them on.]
It was little that could be seen of the sick man, except a white
shrunken face and closed eyes, as he lay on his bed of heather, with
every description of garment piled upon him. He lay quite still and
quiet, breathing rather heavily; and when his mother poured some wine
down his throat from the basket that Colonel George carried with him,
he only stirred slightly and composed himself again as it were to
sleep. Then Lady Eleanor came out to hold the horses and Colonel
George went in. She heard him ask a few questions, and when he came
out he could only shrug his shoulders in answer to her inquiring
glance.


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