The half-open door was full of peering faces, so somewhat encouraged we
gave them a selection of rounds.
We left next morning early in a heavy downpour, after being exorbitantly
charged, glad to leave Jabooka for ever.
The professor was before us, an aged red Riding Hood, clad in his
scarlet blanket. The day was long and uneventful. Trudge, trudge,
splash, splash. The dividing line between snow and rain still was
heavily marked, but it sleeted and our hands were quite numbed. We
crossed an angry stream on a greasy pole and most of us splashed in.
Whatmough stood in the water, remarking, "I'm wet and I'll get no
wetter," and helped people across. Again after dark we arrived at Lieva
Rieka, to find our dirty old inn again; but it had a real iron stove
which gave out a glorious heat, and we crowded around in the ill-lit
room, clouds of steam arising from us. We tried to dry our stockings
against the stove pipe, but the old mother did not approve. She was
afraid of fire. When she ran out of the room, socks were pressed
surreptitiously against the pipe with a "sizz," and when she returned,
innocent looking people were standing against the wall, no socks to be
seen.
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