"
He looked at her amusedly again, and then at the kettle boiling on the
little spirit-stove.
"I say, old lady, theories are all very nice--after tea," he suggested.
"Oh, is it tea time?" she said, with a little sigh. Then, brightening,
she hummed a little tune all wrong as she cut bread and butter, laid a
little spray of bush roses round his plate and went down to the kitchen
to ask Mrs. King's advice about what treatment she could give to eggs to
make them nicer than usual for him.
At the door she turned back.
"You know, Louis--they've such lovely, shining wings--all beautiful
colours--"
"What?" he said. He had already dismissed the "silly little girl's"
arguments from his mind.
"I'm thinking about people and bluebottles! Lovely iridescent wings all
sploshed down in sticky stuff. And swift legs--it seems such a pity to
cripple them so that they can't fly or run."
"I _do_ so want my tea," he said, pretending to groan.
She ran down the stairs with a laugh.
That day she discovered the possibilities of the roof.
At the end of the landing on which their big top room opened was a short
iron ladder. She decided to explore and, climbing up the iron ladder,
pushed up the trapdoor. A cry of delight escaped her as she thrust her
head through the opening. It was a great, flat roof, separated from the
next ones by low copings of stone work, flat topped and about two feet
high.
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