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"
They
burn
feathers
,
I
know
,
"
said
Phyllis
.
"
What
's
the
good
of
saying
that
when
we
have
n't
any
feathers
?
"
"
As
it
happens
,
"
said
Phyllis
,
in
a
tone
of
exasperated
triumph
,
"
I
've
got
a
shuttlecock
in
my
pocket
.
So
there
!
"
And
now
Peter
rubbed
the
hands
of
the
red-jerseyed
one
.
Bobbie
burned
the
feathers
of
the
shuttlecock
one
by
one
under
his
nose
,
Phyllis
splashed
warmish
milk
on
his
forehead
,
and
all
three
kept
on
saying
as
fast
and
as
earnestly
as
they
could
:
--
"
Oh
,
look
up
,
speak
to
me
!
For
my
sake
,
speak
!
"
"
Oh
,
look
up
!
Speak
to
me
!
For
MY
sake
,
speak
!
"
The
children
said
the
words
over
and
over
again
to
the
unconscious
hound
in
a
red
jersey
,
who
sat
with
closed
eyes
and
pale
face
against
the
side
of
the
tunnel
.
"
Wet
his
ears
with
milk
,
"
said
Bobbie
.
"
I
know
they
do
it
to
people
that
faint
--
with
eau-de-Cologne
.
But
I
expect
milk
's
just
as
good
.
"
So
they
wetted
his
ears
,
and
some
of
the
milk
ran
down
his
neck
under
the
red
jersey
.
It
was
very
dark
in
the
tunnel
.
The
candle
end
Peter
had
carried
,
and
which
now
burned
on
a
flat
stone
,
gave
hardly
any
light
at
all
.
"
Oh
,
DO
look
up
,
"
said
Phyllis
.
"
For
MY
sake
!
I
believe
he
's
dead
.
"
"
For
MY
sake
,
"
repeated
Bobbie
.
"
No
,
he
is
n't
.
"
