Chapter 19 THE WET DAY

When the dirty slip-shod housemaid came in the morning with her blacksmith's-looking tool-box to light Mr. Sponge's fire, a riotous winter's day was in the full swing of its gloomy, deluging power. The wind howled, and roared, and whistled, and shrieked, playing a sort of ?olian harp amongst the towers, pinnacles, and irregular castleisations of th