"Manly Wade Wellman - The Dead Man's Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wellman Manly Wade)

exact spot. I'm sorry you and Dr. Trowbridge can't come. I'll report when I get
back." He listened a moment, then chuckled in his trim mustache. "Haven't I always
returned. Now, goodbye, or I'll miss my train."


Ward Conley lifted his wax candle overhead and grunted approvingly. "I was a
little worried, Berna, about buying the place sight unseen, even at a figure that would
make the worst land profitable." His eyes gleamed. "But this is worth coming home
to, hah?"
The old furniture looked comfortable and in good shape. Berna wondered if the
rich carpet in the hall was not valuable. In the room beyond was a table of dark
wood, with sturdy chairs around it, and farther on glass-doored closets with china
and silver and the white of folded linen. Conley dragged down a hanging lamp.
"Oil in it, and the wick ready trimmed," he announced. With his candle he lighted
the lamp and drew it up to the ceiling.
"Berna, someone's put this place in apple-pie order for us. Even swept and
dusted. Might it have been Mr. Shonokin's family? Neighborly, I call it." His stern
face was relaxing. They walked into a kitchen, well appointed but cool. There was
firewood in the box. Berna set down her hamper. Then they mounted to the upper
floor.
"The beds are made," Conley exulted. "This front room will be yours, Berna. I'll
take the next one. Suppose we eat now, and poke around more tomorrow. I want to
be up early, out at the barn and in the fields."
Returning to the kitchen, they brought out sandwiches and fruit and a jugful of
coffee. "It's getting cold," pronounced Conley, peering into the jug. "Let's fire up the
range and heat it."
Berna believed that the coffee was hot enough, but she was glad that her father
had made an excuse for a fire. The kitchen was downright shuddery. Even while the
kindling blazed up, she got a sweater from her suitcase and put it on. They ate in
silence, for Conley disliked conversation while he was at the important business of
eating. When Berna had brushed up the crumbs, he yawned.
"Bed now," he decreed, and again took up the candle. Walking through the front
room, he drew down the lamp and blew it out. Berna kept close to his heels as they
mounted the stairs. The little moving flame that Conley held up made a host of
strange and stealthy shadows around them.
Alone in the room assigned her, Berna drew back the bedclothes. They were so
chilly within as to seem damp, but she had brought up a blanket roll from the car.
She made the bed afresh, and before creeping in she knelt down. Her prayer was the
one taught her as a child, while her mother still lived:


Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the bed I lie upon.
There are four corners to my bed,
There are four saints around my headтАФ
One to watch and one to pray,
And two to bear my soul away.


She remembered her flutter of dread at the last two lines. Though serious and