out of the draught from the door – In fancy he heard himself intoning, extremely well:
“When-thou-didst-overcome the sharpness of death Thou didst open the King dom of Heaven to All Believers” and he saw the neat brass edged card on the corner of the pew “Mr Stanley Burnell and Family.” The rest of the day he’d loaf about with Linda. Now she was on his arm; they were walking about the garden together and he was explaining to her at length what he intended doing at the office the week following. He heard her saying: “My dear, I think that is most wise.” Talking things out with Linda was a wonderful help even though they were apt to drift away from the point . . . Hang it all! They weren’t getting along very fast. Pat had put the brake on again. “He’s a bit too ready with that brake! Ugh! What a brute of a thing it is – I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.” A sort of panic overtook Burnell whenever he approached near home. Before he was well inside the gate he would shout to any one in sight, “is everything all right?” and then he did not believe it was until he heard Linda cry “Hullo, you old boy!” That was the worst of living in the country. It took the deuce of a long time to get back. But now they weren’t far off. They were on top of the last hill – it was a gentle slope all the way now and not more than half a mile. Pat kept up a constant trailing of the whip across the mare’s back and he coaxed her – “goop now goop now!” It wanted a few moments to sunset, everything stood motionless bathed in bright metallic light and from the paddocks on either side there streamed the warm milky smell of ripe hay – The iron gates were open. They dashed through and up the drive and round the island stopping at the exact middle of the verandah. “Did she satisfy yer, sir,” said Pat, getting off the box and grinning at his master. “Very well indeed Pat,” said Stanley. Linda came out of the glass door – out of the shadowy hall – her voice rang in the quiet. “Hullo, you’re home again.” At the sound of it his happiness beat up so hard and strong that he could hardly stop himself dashing up the steps and catching her in his arms – “Yes home again. Is everything all right.” “Perfect” said she. Pat began to lead the mare round to the side gate that gave onto the courtyard. “Here half a moment” said Burnell “Hand me those two parcels – will you.” And he said to Linda “I’ve brought you back a bottle of oysters and a pineapple” as though he had brought her back all the harvest of the earth. They went into the hall; Linda carried the oysters under one arm and the pineapple under the other – Burnell shut the glass door threw his hat on the hall stand and put his arms round her, straining her to him kissing the top of her head, her ears her lips – her eyes – “Oh dear Oh dear” she said “Wait a minute let me put down these silly things” and she put down the bottle of oysters and the pine on a little carved chair – “What have you got in your buttonhole, cherries?” – and she took them out and hung them over his ear. “No don’t do that darling. They’re for you.” So she took them off his ear and ran them through her brooch pin – “You don’t mind if I don’t eat them now. Do you? They’ll spoil my appetite for dinner – Come and see your children. They’re having tea.” The lamp was lighted on the nursery table: Mrs Fairfield was cutting and spreading bread and butter and the three little girls sat up to table wearing large bibs embroidered with their names. They wiped their mouths as their Father came in ready to be kissed. There was jam on the table too a plate of home made knobbly buns and cocoa steaming in a Dewar’s Whisky Advertisement jug – a big toby jug, half brown half cream with a picture of a man on it smoking a long clay pipe. The windows were wide open. There was a jar of wild flowers on the mantelpiece and the
“When-thou-didst-overcome the sharpness of death Thou didst open the King dom of Heaven to All Believers” and he saw the neat brass edged card on the corner of the pew “Mr Stanley Burnell and Family.” The rest of the day he’d loaf about with Linda. Now she was on his arm; they were walking about the garden together and he was explaining to her at length what he intended doing at the office the week following. He heard her saying: “My dear, I think that is most wise.” Talking things out with Linda was a wonderful help even though they were apt to drift away from the point . . . Hang it all! They weren’t getting along very fast. Pat had put the brake on again. “He’s a bit too ready with that brake! Ugh! What a brute of a thing it is – I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.” A sort of panic overtook Burnell whenever he approached near home. Before he was well inside the gate he would shout to any one in sight, “is everything all right?” and then he did not believe it was until he heard Linda cry “Hullo, you old boy!” That was the worst of living in the country. It took the deuce of a long time to get back. But now they weren’t far off. They were on top of the last hill – it was a gentle slope all the way now and not more than half a mile. Pat kept up a constant trailing of the whip across the mare’s back and he coaxed her – “goop now goop now!” It wanted a few moments to sunset, everything stood motionless bathed in bright metallic light and from the paddocks on either side there streamed the warm milky smell of ripe hay – The iron gates were open. They dashed through and up the drive and round the island stopping at the exact middle of the verandah. “Did she satisfy yer, sir,” said Pat, getting off the box and grinning at his master. “Very well indeed Pat,” said Stanley. Linda came out of the glass door – out of the shadowy hall – her voice rang in the quiet. “Hullo, you’re home again.” At the sound of it his happiness beat up so hard and strong that he could hardly stop himself dashing up the steps and catching her in his arms – “Yes home again. Is everything all right.” “Perfect” said she. Pat began to lead the mare round to the side gate that gave onto the courtyard. “Here half a moment” said Burnell “Hand me those two parcels – will you.” And he said to Linda “I’ve brought you back a bottle of oysters and a pineapple” as though he had brought her back all the harvest of the earth. They went into the hall; Linda carried the oysters under one arm and the pineapple under the other – Burnell shut the glass door threw his hat on the hall stand and put his arms round her, straining her to him kissing the top of her head, her ears her lips – her eyes – “Oh dear Oh dear” she said “Wait a minute let me put down these silly things” and she put down the bottle of oysters and the pine on a little carved chair – “What have you got in your buttonhole, cherries?” – and she took them out and hung them over his ear. “No don’t do that darling. They’re for you.” So she took them off his ear and ran them through her brooch pin – “You don’t mind if I don’t eat them now. Do you? They’ll spoil my appetite for dinner – Come and see your children. They’re having tea.” The lamp was lighted on the nursery table: Mrs Fairfield was cutting and spreading bread and butter and the three little girls sat up to table wearing large bibs embroidered with their names. They wiped their mouths as their Father came in ready to be kissed. There was jam on the table too a plate of home made knobbly buns and cocoa steaming in a Dewar’s Whisky Advertisement jug – a big toby jug, half brown half cream with a picture of a man on it smoking a long clay pipe. The windows were wide open. There was a jar of wild flowers on the mantelpiece and the
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