Rare sport we had, too. Do you mind passing over that saucepan? Thanks!
I say, Nan, I hope you don't mind it being a bit rough."
"My dear boy," Nan said impulsively, "if it were a palace I shouldn't
like it half so well."
Jerry grinned serenely.
"Yes, it's snug, anyhow, and I think you'll like that pheasant. There's
another one in the larder, so we shall have something to eat if we're
snowed up. That cupboard leads upstairs. Perhaps you would like to go and
explore. Dinner in half an hour."
Nan availed herself of this suggestion. She was frankly curious to know
what Jerry's ideas of feminine comfort might be. She ascended the steep
cottage stairs that wound up to the first floor, looking about her with
considerable interest. The narrow staircase was lighted from above, and
she finally emerged into a little room in which a fire burned brightly.
A sofa had been drawn in front of it, and was piled with cushions. There
were one or two basket-chairs, and a small square table bearing a
paper-shaded lamp, and a newspaper, a "Punch," Jerry's banjo, and a
cigarette case.
The window was covered with a red curtain, and the cosy warmth of the
place sent a glow of comfort through Nan. Jerry's efforts had not been
in vain.
From this apartment she passed into another beyond, the door of which
stood half open, and found herself in a bedroom. A small stove burned
in a corner of this, and upon it a kettle steamed merrily.
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