140 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



the birch logs in the fireplace. This flue of the 

 chimney is almost vertical, with a slant to the 

 southward, and I have always liked the way 

 it lets in samples of the weather a patch of 

 yellow sunshine on clear days, a blur of soft 

 white light on gray ones, and on stormy 

 ones flicks of rain to make the fire sputter, 

 or, as on this particular day, to dampen 

 our kindling if it has been laid ready to 

 light. 



The belated postman s buggy, with pre 

 sumably a postman inside it somewhere be 

 hind the sheathing of black rubber, drove up, 

 our mail-box grated open and shut, and the 

 streaming horse sloshed on. Jonathan turned 

 up his collar and dashed out to the box, and 

 dashed in again, bringing with him a great 

 gust of rainy sweetness and the smell of wet 

 woolen. 



&quot;Jonathan,&quot; I said, &quot;let s take a walk.&quot; 



He was unfolding the damp newspaper 

 carefully so as not to tear it. &quot;What s 

 that? Walk?&quot; 



&quot;That s what I said.&quot; 



He had his paper open by this time, and 

 was glancing at the headlines. When a man 



