THE CINDER PATH by Yelena Kopylova Read Free Book Online Page A

Mister Charlie? What's he done?"
    Charlie stared down at the boy before he repeated,
    "Nothing that I know of, Peter. Where is he now?"
    "He went the copse way." He thumbed over his
    shoulder.
    "Don't worry"-Charlie grinned now-
    "Arthur gets that way, he has fits and starts, you should know that by now."
    "Aye. Aye, Mister Charlie, but. . . but
    something up, "cos me ma didn't come in to her
    dinner an" our Polly was sick in the sink. Is
    the boss gona do somethin' to us, Mister Charlie?"
    Polly sick in the sink. . . . "The boss. .
    . . No, no, don't be silly. Whatever it is,
    it's got nothing to do with your work, you're all
    splendid workers." He absentmindedly
    ruffled the boy's hair; then looking at the horse,
    he said quietly, "You'll give her a good rub,
    won't you?"
    "Aye, Mister Charlie, aye, I'll see
    to her well," and taking the bridle, the boy tugged the horse forward into its stall, and Charlie went out into the yard and stood looking about him for a moment.
    Polly had been sick in the sink. She had
    heard what she had to do and was terrified at the
    prospect. And Arthur knew and he was mad about it,
    and of course he would be, because in his rough way he was fond of his sister, deeply fond. And the mother, she was keeping out of the way, likely unable to face her
    husband, a poor sick man.
    He turned quickly about. He must find
    Arthur and tell him, and he could tell Polly and
    put her mind at rest. He went past the cut that
    led to the cinder path, through the big barn and out of a side door, then across the field to the rise and the copse.
    As he entered the piece of woodland he asked
    himself what Arthur would be wanting with a rope in here for all the dead trees had been taken down last
    Christmas and hauled up to the sawing bench; he himself had helped and enjoyed doing so.
    It was at this point of his thinking that he saw
    Arthur. He was crouched down behind a stunted holly
    growing near the foot of an oak tree. Almost
    immediately, he heard the approach of a horse from the far end of the copse. It was coming at some speed and although he couldn't see the rider he knew it would be his father.
    He remembered afterwards how he had stood
    rigidly still and wondered what had kept him so, why
    he hadn't gone straight on down the slope towards
    Arthur. But no, he had remained stock still until
    the horse and rider came into view around the curve
    of the path. The horse was cantering, sending the dried leaves like spray from its hooves. Then he saw his
    father rise from its back into the air
    as if he was beginning to fly, except that he was doing so in reverse. His head back, his arms widespread
    like wings and his legs like a divided tail, he seemed
    to hover in the air for a moment, then his limbs converging together he fell to the ground, at the same time as the horse's forefeet struck the path and the frightened
    animal's neighing died away. It was like a scene
    enacted in the blink of an eyelid.
    Dear God! Dear God! Charlie was conscious
    that his mouth was wide open and that his face muscles were stretched to their fullest extent, but for the life of him he couldn't move from the spot, until he
    saw Arthur spring up from his hiding place and clutch
    at the bole of the oak, tearing at something there. It was then he moved. Like a goat leaping down a mountain,
    he sprang down the hillside and reached the
    prostrate, huddled form lying amid the leaves just as
    Arthur stopped in his frantic running, the rope
    loose in his hand, and stared down at his master.
    The two boys now lifted their eyes from the man
    on the ground and gazed at each other. Then Charlie,
    dropping onto his knees, went to turn his father from his side on to his back, but no sooner had his hands
    touched him
    than they left him again, for as he went to move the
    body the head lolled drunkenly on to the shoulder.
    Again the boys were gazing at each other, Charlie
    looking upwards, Arthur looking down; and it was
    Arthur who, on a deep gulp,