don't read easy.’
T could neither read nor write till I was past eighteen. Then my sister learned me.'
'This sister?'
'I've only the one. Several brothers.'
'Sam is your brother, isn't he? The preacher. I seen him about often. A rare goo d man.' 'Are you a Methodist?' ‘ No, I just go church Sundays.'
They had reached the outskirts of Grambler. Both knew that if they once walked through the village together and as far as Sawle the news would be everywhere that Drake Carne was courting at last, and it was to be Rosina Hoblyn.
'Look’ said Rosina. 'I can manage from here. Reely. There's no weight to the stool, is there.'
He hesitated, the busy wind pushing and thrusting at him. 'No. Tis of no moment. That is if you don't have the mind to wish otherwise.'
‘I f you have not I have not,' said Rosina.
III
So exercised in mind was the Reverend Osborne Whitworth in matters closely concerning himself that he did not open Nathaniel Pearce's letter until two days after his return home. Of late Ossie had been finding excuses for refusing the old man's invitations to whist because like as not when the day came Mr Pearce would be laid up with gout and have to cancel, or when he played be too absent-minded to return his partner's lead. For a time Ossie had borne this because of the chance of meeting the notary's influential clients, but now he felt he had met them all and knew them well enough to do without an intermediary. But when he did finally read the letter it was not after a ll an invitation to whist. Mr Pearce was ill and urgently wished to see him.
Ossie delayed another couple of days, and then, being in Truro on other business, stopped outside a door bearing a wooden sign on which was printed, 'Nat. G. Pearce. Notary and Commissioner for Oaths'. As he mounted the shaky stairs which seemed ready to collapse under the attack of worm, following the slatternly pimpled woman who had let him in, Ossie wrinkled his nose at the stale smell in the house, a smell which became more pronounced as he was shown into the bedroom. Used to smells associated with occasional and reluctant sick visiting, Ossie did not have a tender nose, but this was distinctly unpleasing.
The Notary and Commissioner for Oaths was sitting propped up in bed in a nightshirt and nightcap, His fat face with its terrace of chins was the colour of a mulberry just before it comes ripe, A coal fire burned in the grate and the window was tight shut.
'Ah, Mr Whitworth, I had thought you had forgot me. Come in, my boy. You will regret to see me in this state. 1 regret it myself. Everyone regrets it. My daughter weeps tears nightly and says her prayers at my bedside. Eh? What's that? Speak plain, please, this gouty condition has affected my hearing a little.'
‘I have been busy with parish affairs,' shouted Ossie, not accepting the chair he was offered and standing with his back to the fire. 'There is a great deal to be attended to, with Whitsunday but two days off, and matters in Sawle needing my attention. I have also had business in St Austell. In what way may I assist you?'
'One thing,' said Air Pearce, 'one t hing about you, my boy, is that I can always hear what you say wi thout your having to raise your voice, Eh? I suppose it's you being a c leric, you're used to preaching and the like. Well ...' He blinked his bloodshot eyes a couple of times. 'Was it Thomas Nash who wrote a poem - "I am sick, I must the ,"? Well, I am sick, Mr Whitworth, and doubt not at all that Dr Be henna is right in taking a delete rious view of my chances of re covery. I'm sixty-six, my boy; though bless my soul it seems no time since I was your age. Life is like - lik e one of those hobby-horses you ride at a fair - round and round you go enjoying every momen t, and t hen the - then the music stops’
Ossie lifted his coat tails so that with his hands behind his back each tail was draped over one arm. He observed that Mr Pearce was emotionally moved. Indeed tears trembled
T could neither read nor write till I was past eighteen. Then my sister learned me.'
'This sister?'
'I've only the one. Several brothers.'
'Sam is your brother, isn't he? The preacher. I seen him about often. A rare goo d man.' 'Are you a Methodist?' ‘ No, I just go church Sundays.'
They had reached the outskirts of Grambler. Both knew that if they once walked through the village together and as far as Sawle the news would be everywhere that Drake Carne was courting at last, and it was to be Rosina Hoblyn.
'Look’ said Rosina. 'I can manage from here. Reely. There's no weight to the stool, is there.'
He hesitated, the busy wind pushing and thrusting at him. 'No. Tis of no moment. That is if you don't have the mind to wish otherwise.'
‘I f you have not I have not,' said Rosina.
III
So exercised in mind was the Reverend Osborne Whitworth in matters closely concerning himself that he did not open Nathaniel Pearce's letter until two days after his return home. Of late Ossie had been finding excuses for refusing the old man's invitations to whist because like as not when the day came Mr Pearce would be laid up with gout and have to cancel, or when he played be too absent-minded to return his partner's lead. For a time Ossie had borne this because of the chance of meeting the notary's influential clients, but now he felt he had met them all and knew them well enough to do without an intermediary. But when he did finally read the letter it was not after a ll an invitation to whist. Mr Pearce was ill and urgently wished to see him.
Ossie delayed another couple of days, and then, being in Truro on other business, stopped outside a door bearing a wooden sign on which was printed, 'Nat. G. Pearce. Notary and Commissioner for Oaths'. As he mounted the shaky stairs which seemed ready to collapse under the attack of worm, following the slatternly pimpled woman who had let him in, Ossie wrinkled his nose at the stale smell in the house, a smell which became more pronounced as he was shown into the bedroom. Used to smells associated with occasional and reluctant sick visiting, Ossie did not have a tender nose, but this was distinctly unpleasing.
The Notary and Commissioner for Oaths was sitting propped up in bed in a nightshirt and nightcap, His fat face with its terrace of chins was the colour of a mulberry just before it comes ripe, A coal fire burned in the grate and the window was tight shut.
'Ah, Mr Whitworth, I had thought you had forgot me. Come in, my boy. You will regret to see me in this state. 1 regret it myself. Everyone regrets it. My daughter weeps tears nightly and says her prayers at my bedside. Eh? What's that? Speak plain, please, this gouty condition has affected my hearing a little.'
‘I have been busy with parish affairs,' shouted Ossie, not accepting the chair he was offered and standing with his back to the fire. 'There is a great deal to be attended to, with Whitsunday but two days off, and matters in Sawle needing my attention. I have also had business in St Austell. In what way may I assist you?'
'One thing,' said Air Pearce, 'one t hing about you, my boy, is that I can always hear what you say wi thout your having to raise your voice, Eh? I suppose it's you being a c leric, you're used to preaching and the like. Well ...' He blinked his bloodshot eyes a couple of times. 'Was it Thomas Nash who wrote a poem - "I am sick, I must the ,"? Well, I am sick, Mr Whitworth, and doubt not at all that Dr Be henna is right in taking a delete rious view of my chances of re covery. I'm sixty-six, my boy; though bless my soul it seems no time since I was your age. Life is like - lik e one of those hobby-horses you ride at a fair - round and round you go enjoying every momen t, and t hen the - then the music stops’
Ossie lifted his coat tails so that with his hands behind his back each tail was draped over one arm. He observed that Mr Pearce was emotionally moved. Indeed tears trembled
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