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But he did not know just how exciting that long-leave was destined to be. As soon as they saw it they went off to keep another urgent engagement—this time apparently with a long-distance hare—and Thomas was yelling and whistling for ten minutes before he brought them to heel. Przeczytaj fragment w darmowej aplikacji Legimi na: Also he heard snipe, but he could not locate them in the dim weather.

This was the second warning, for of course a hornbeam is a mysterious tree. He would cut himself an ashplant in the first hedge. The mood of eager anticipation died away, and he grew rather despondent. You would not have said that it was the kind of stick that Bill was looking for. Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na: Thomas, who had a sharp eye for poachers and vagabonds, did not stop to question him, but walked on as if he did not see him—which should have warned Bill that something queer was afoot.

Thomas cast a puzzled glance at the stick. Bill began his vigil in high excitement. Nor would he accept a knobbly cane proffered by Peter. It is right to take off your cap to a single magpie, or to three, or to five, but never to an even number, for an even number means mischief. Bill could not find his own proper stick.

But there it was, growing in a grassy patch by the side of the lane, and under it sat an old man. The minutes passed, the grey afternoon sky darkened towards twilight, but no duck came. He would have been bored if he had not been slightly awed. Yes, he was certain of it—they were coming from the direction of Thomas and the dogs.

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He was a funny little wizened old man, in a shabby long green overcoat which had once been black; and he wore on his head the oldest and tallest and greenest bowler hat that ever graced a human head.

On Monday morning, ebool a walk with the dogs, he was to motor to London, lunch with Aunt Alice, and then, after a noble tea, return to school in time for lock-up. This seemed to Bill to be all that could be desired in the way of excitement. Bill saw a wedge of geese high up in the air and longed to salute them.

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WHEN Bill came back for long-leave that autumn half, he had before him a complicated programme of entertainment. It was rather cold, and very wet under foot, for a lot of rain had dzicei in the past week, and the mere, which was usually only a sedgy pond, had now grown to a great expanse of shallow flood-water. There was far too much water on the moor, and the birds, instead of flighting across the mere to the boundary slopes, were simply settling on the flood.

But he said no more, for Bill had shaken it playfully at the dogs. Bill had to run to catch up Thomas, who was plodding along with the dogs, now returned from their engagement. From the misty waters came the rumour of many wildfowl.

The Magic Walking Stick – John Buchan – ebook – Legimi online

The lane ran bare between stone walls up to the hill pastures. Pobierz fragment dostosowany na: Thomas, the keeper, whom he revered more than anyone else in the world, was to take him in the afternoon to try for a duck in the big marsh called Alemoor.

Next day, which was Sunday, would be devoted to wandering about with Peter, hearing from him all the appetising home news, and pouring into his greedy ears the dzisci of the foreign world of school. Far away he thought he detected the purring noise which Thomas made to stir the duck, but no overhead beat of wings followed.

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A farthing sounded too little, so Bill proffered one of his scanty shillings.

The first shadow of a cloud appeared after luncheon, when he had changed into knickerbockers and Thomas and the dogs were waiting by the gun-room door. But Bill, looking out for ashplants, was heedless, and had uncovered his head before he remembered the rule.

Also Gyp, the spaniel, and Shawn, the Irish setter, at the sight of him dropped their tails between their legs and remembered an engagement a long way off.

Peter was a hullerbyn giver. Then, as he and Thomas ambled down the lane which led to Alemoor, they came upon an old man sitting under a hornbeam. I bought this stick from him.

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Indeed, if Bill had not been so absorbed in his purchase, he would have noticed that there was no sign of the hornbeam either. It was short and heavy, and made of some dark foreign wood; and instead of a crook it had a handle shaped like a crescent, cut out of a white substance which was neither bone nor ivory.

He seemed to know what was wanted, for he at once took a stick from his bundle. Now a farthing is not a common coin, but Bill happened to have one—a gift from Peter on his arrival that day, along with a brass dzidci, five empty cartridges, a broken microscope, and a badly-printed, brightly-illustrated narrative called Two Villains Foiled.

They both looked back, but there was no sign of any old man in the green lane. Our hero is a teenage boy who buys a walking stick from a beggar — a magic walking stick that allows the boy to visit many places at his command But Bill stopped, for he saw that the old man had a bundle under bullerybn arm, a bundle of ancient umbrellas and odd, ragged sticks.