{"product_id":"2940013740754","title":"Betty Wayside","description":"THE waterside suburbs of Sydney, hugging the southern shores of its\u003cbr\u003efamous harbour, are the pick of the city. The three Points, rocky\u003cbr\u003etongues projecting into the harbour waters, and dropping in gentle\u003cbr\u003eslopes to the rocks and the seaweed, are the preserves of the rich,\u003cbr\u003ebut behind them, and one degree removed, like second cousins, lie the\u003cbr\u003eeastern suburbs, packed with houses, lined with shops, and clamorous\u003cbr\u003ewith the traffic that supplies the needs of the multitude.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePaddington is the chief of these, and Crystal Street lies in the\u003cbr\u003eheart of Paddington where a sudden dip in the land gives a tantalising\u003cbr\u003eglimpse of the harbour waters and the ships. On one side of the street\u003cbr\u003ethe houses are built high, on the other they are built low, the ground\u003cbr\u003eslipping from under their feet as it begins its descent to the water's\u003cbr\u003eedge. It was on this lower slope that the Wayside's cottage was built.\u003cbr\u003eIf second thoughts are best, then Cremona Cottage was the finest in\u003cbr\u003ethe street, but proverbs sometimes confound their makers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first builder had begun the cottage in wood, and at a later date\u003cbr\u003eanother had finished it in brick. This discrepancy was not apparent to\u003cbr\u003ethe casual eye, for layers of paint, added through the years, had\u003cbr\u003ecovered the front with a skin of uniform colour. The two main rooms,\u003cbr\u003eone of wood, and the other or brick, were surprisingly large and airy.\u003cbr\u003eBehind these were two more rooms as long as the others, but as narrow\u003cbr\u003eas a ship's cabin. Owing to the drop in the ground the floor here was\u003cbr\u003esupported on piles ten feet high. When you opened the back door, it\u003cbr\u003eseemed that the builders had forgotten the kitchen, for you were on a\u003cbr\u003elanding with a rail that stood level with the top branches of the fig-\u003cbr\u003etree. Then you discovered it in the yard below at the bottom of a\u003cbr\u003ewooden staircase.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd it stood apart from the house, conscious that it was more than a\u003cbr\u003ekitchen and something less than a dining-room. It may seem trivial to\u003cbr\u003emention that the door of the kitchen opened directly opposite the\u003cbr\u003estairs from above, but this was of considerable importance to\u003cbr\u003estrangers, for the ladder-like stairs were so steep and worn with age\u003cbr\u003ethat unwary visitors, gathering momentum in the descent, took the last\u003cbr\u003ethree steps at a run, and slid into the hospitable mouth of the\u003cbr\u003ekitchen as if impelled by sudden hunger. They had another and more\u003cbr\u003etragic aspect, dating from Betty's childhood. Beside, the house was a\u003cbr\u003elong brick room, its roof on a level with the street and containing\u003cbr\u003etwo large windows and a door that was always shut. It was here Mr.\u003cbr\u003eWayside worked when he was in the humour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOwing to the peculiar habits of Mr. Wayside, this story begins at\u003cbr\u003edaybreak on an April morning, for it was his custom in fine weather to\u003cbr\u003esalute the dawn, brew himself a cup of tea, and potter about the\u003cbr\u003egarden till the world was astir. Then, having breakfasted and read the\u003cbr\u003enewspaper, he retired to a couch in the workshop and slept soundly\u003cbr\u003etill noon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis morning, when he opened the door above the stairs, and slowly\u003cbr\u003edescended into the garden, the sun had not yet risen, but a wonderful\u003cbr\u003eshining brightness in the east marked its approach. Mr. Wayside\u003cbr\u003ewatched with adoration this celestial, virginal light spread\u003cbr\u003eimperceptibly over the upper reaches of the sky, blotting out the\u003cbr\u003estars in its noiseless approach. The cocks, immemorial heralds of the\u003cbr\u003edawn, threw their strident notes into the air with a ferocious energy.\u003cbr\u003eAs if in answer to their call, a direct shaft from the sun struck the\u003cbr\u003eleaden belt of clouds in the west. They flushed an adorable rosy red,\u003cbr\u003ehanging like curtains that had caught fire; the bright light leaped to\u003cbr\u003ethe horizon, and the day had come. There was the indescribable\u003cbr\u003efreshness of the morning in the air, something that touches the\u003cbr\u003eearliest springs of life, and the old man watched the sky with a rapt\u003cbr\u003egaze that turned to a sombre look, for the call of the dawn had grown\u003cbr\u003efainter across the years. Having paid homage to the day, for an hour\u003cbr\u003ehe paced the asphalt paths in a tranquil reverie.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47070245847280,"sku":"2940013740754","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013740754_p0.jpg?v=1763589634","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013740754","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}