A third sample was more simply bedecked with a spray of
painted poppies, and Octavian hailed the flowers of forgetfulness as a
happy omen. He felt distinctly more at ease with his surroundings when
the imposing package had been sent across to the grey house, and a
message returned to say that it had been duly given to the children. The
next morning he sauntered with purposeful steps past the long blank wall
on his way to the chicken-run and piggery that stood at the bottom of the
meadow. The three children were perched at their accustomed look-out,
and their range of sight did not seem to concern itself with Octavian's
presence. As he became depressingly aware of the aloofness of their gaze
he also noted a strange variegation in the herbage at his feet; the
greensward for a considerable space around was strewn and speckled with a
chocolate-coloured hail, enlivened here and there with gay tinsel-like
wrappings or the glistening mauve of crystallised violets. It was as
though the fairy paradise of a greedyminded child had taken shape and
substance in the vegetation of the meadow. Octavian's bloodmoney had
been flung back at him in scorn.
To increase his discomfiture the march of events tended to shift the
blame of ravaged chicken-coops from the supposed culprit who had already
paid full forfeit; the young chicks were still carried off, and it seemed
highly probable that the cat had only haunted the chicken-run to prey on
the rats which harboured there.
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