For
Kate might see that her task was impossible, send Joan back, and that would
free them of the danger.
But where Kate left off, chance took up the battle and turned the scales.
Old Li, the Chinese cook, had not seen Kate for six long years, and now he
celebrated the return by hanging about her on a thousand pretexts. It was
just after he had brought in some delicacy from the kitchen, leaving the
door a little ajar, when a small ball of gray fur nosed its way through the
aperture and came straight for the glare of the fire on the hearth. It was
a small shepherd puppy, and having observed the faces of the men with
bright, unafraid eyes, it went wobbling on to the very hearth, sniffling.
Even at that age it knew enough to keep away from the bright coals of wood,
but how could it know that the dark, cold-looking andirons had been heated
to the danger point by the fire? It thrust out a tentative nose, touched
the iron, and then its shrill yelp of pain went startlingly through the
room. It pulled the three grown-ups out of their thoughts; it brought Joan
scampering across the room with a little happy cry.
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