A Magical House

A Magical House

Anything hour you woke there was a entryway closing. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a spooky couple.

"Here we cleared out it," she said. And he included, "Gracious, but here device" "It's upstairs," she mumbled. "And within the plant," he whispered. ""Be discreet, or we might wake them," they warned.

But it wasn't that you simply woke us. Gracious, no. "They're seeking out for it; they're drawing the shade," one might say, and so studied on a page or two. "Presently they've found it,' one would be certain, ceasing the pencil on the edge. And after, that tired of perusing, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all purge, the entryways standing open, as it were the wood pigeons bubbling with substance and the murmur of the sifting machine sounding from the cultivate. "What did I come in here for? What did I need to discover?" My hands were purge. "Maybe its upstairs at that point?" The apples were within the hang. And so down once more, the plant still as ever, as it were the book had slipped into the grass.

But they had found it within the drawing room. Not that one seem ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the takes off were green within the glass. If they moved within the drawing room, the apple as it were turned its yellow side. However, the minute after, if the entryway was opened, spread around the floor, hung upon the dividers, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the most profound wells of quiet the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Secure, secure, secure" the beat of the house beat delicately. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the beat halted brief. Gracious, was that the buried treasure?

A moment afterward the light had blurred. Out within the cultivate at that point? But the trees spun haziness for a meandering bar of sun. So fine, so uncommon, coolly sunk underneath the surface the pillar I looked for continuously burned behind the glass. Passing was the glass; death was between us, coming to the lady to begin with, hundreds of a long time prior, clearing out the house, fixing all the windows; the rooms were obscured. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned within the Southern sky; looked for the house, found it dropped underneath the Downs. "Secure, secure, secure," the beat of the house beat happily. 'The Treasure yours."

The wind roars up the road. Trees stoop and twist this way which . Moonbeams sprinkle and spill fiercely within the rain. But the bar of the light falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Meandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the spooky couple look for their delight.

"Here we rested," she says. "Kisses without number," "Waking within the morning," "Silver between the trees," "Upstairs," "In the cultivate," "When summer came," "In winter snowtime," and "The entryways go closing distant" are some of the other lines he includes. within the separate, tenderly thumping like the beat of a heart.

Closer they come, desist at the entryway. Rain and wind cause silver to trickle down the pane. Our eyes don't see, we listen no steps next to us; we see no woman spread her spooky cloak. His hands shield the light. "See," he breathes. "Sound sleeping. Cherish upon their lips."

Stooping, holding their silver light over us, long they see and profoundly. Long they stop. The wind drives straightly; the fire stoops somewhat. Wild bars of moonlight cross both floor and divider, and, assembly, recolor the faces bowed; the faces considering; the faces that look the sleepers and look for their covered up delight.

"Secure, secure, secure," the heart of the house beats gladly. "Long years--" he moans. "Once more you found me." "Here," she mumbles, "resting; within the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the hang. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the tops upon my eyes. "Secure! secure! secure!" the beat of the house beats fiercely. Waking, I cry "Gracious, is this your buried treasure? The light within the heart."