tea,' said Mrs Tilling briskly. 'This the pot?' She peered into the murky depths of a battered tin object on the stove.
'Ah! Tea's in,' said Mr Piggott, making his way to the dresser.
The kettle boiled. With a brave shudder Nelly poured the
water on the tea leaves, comforting herself with the thought that boiling water killed germs of all sorts.
Five minutes later she put down her empty cup and smiled at her companion.
'Lovely cup of tea,' she said truthfully. 'I feel all the better for that. Now I must go over to Doctor Lovell's for my pills.'
'It's still pouring,' said Mr Piggott. 'Have another cup.'
'I'll pour,' said Nelly. 'Pass your own.'
'It's nice to have someone to pour out,' confessed Mr Piggott. He was beginning to feel unaccountably cheerful despite the disappointment of missing his customary pint of beer. 'This place needs a woman.'
'I'll say it does!' agreed Nelly, warmly. 'It needs a few gallons of hot soapy water too! When did your Molly see this last?'
'About a year ago, I suppose. She's coming again Christmastimeâshe and Ben and the baby. Maybe she'll give it a bit of a clean-up then.'
'It wouldn't hurt you to do a bit,' said Nelly roundly. 'Chuck out that milk and fish, for one thing.'
'The cat ain't had nothing to eat for days,' objected her host, stung by her criticism.
'That don't surprise me,' retorted Nelly. 'No cat would stay in this hole.'
'I got me church to see to,' began Mr Piggott, truculently. 'I ain't got time toâ'
'If Molly comes home to this mess at Christmas then I'm sorry for her,' asserted Mrs Tilling. 'And the baby too. Like as not it'll catch something and die on your very hearth-stone!'
She paused to let the words sink in. Mr Piggott mumbled gloomily to himself. The gist of his mutterings was the unpleasantness of women, their officiousness, their fussiness and
their inability to let well alone, but he took care to keep his remarks inaudible.
'Tell you what,' said Mrs Tilling in a warmer tone. 'I'll come up here and give you a hand turning out before Christmas. What about it?'
Mr Piggott's forebodings returned. What would the neighbours say? What was Nelly Tilling up to? What would happen to his own peaceful, slummocky bachelor existence if he allowed this woman to have her way?
Nelly watched the thoughts chasing each other across his dour countenance. After a few minutes she noticed a certain cunning softness replacing the apprehension of his expression, and her heart began to beat a little faster.
'No harm, I suppose,' said the old curmudgeon, grudgingly. 'Make things a bit more welcoming for Molly, wouldn't it?'
'That's right,' agreed Mrs Tilling, rising from her chair and brushing a fine collection of sticky crumbs from her coat. 'One good turn deserves another, you know, and we've been friends long enough to act neighbourly, haven't we, Albert?'
Mr Piggott found himself quite dazzled by the warmth of her smile as she made for the door, and was unable to speak.
The wind roared in as she opened the front door, lifting the filthy curtains and blowing the parish magazine into a corner. Might freshen the place up a bit, thought Nelly, stepping out into the storm.
'Thanks for the tea, Albert. I'll drop in again when I'm passing,' shouted the lady, as she retreated into the uproar.
Mr Piggott nodded dumbly, shut the door with a crash, and breathed deeply. Mingled pleasure and fury shook his aged frame, but overriding all these agitations was the urgent need for a drink.
'Women!' spat out Mr Piggott, resuming his damp raincoat. 'Never let a chap alone!'
His mind turned the phrase over. There was something about it that made Mr Piggott feel youngerâa beau, a masher, a man who was still pursued.
'Never let a chap alone!' repeated Mr Piggott aloud. He pulled on his wet cap, adjusting it at an unusually rakish and dashing angle, and made his way, swaggering very slightly, to his comforts next door.
'Do you know,' said Dimity Dean, looking up from
'Ah! Tea's in,' said Mr Piggott, making his way to the dresser.
The kettle boiled. With a brave shudder Nelly poured the
water on the tea leaves, comforting herself with the thought that boiling water killed germs of all sorts.
Five minutes later she put down her empty cup and smiled at her companion.
'Lovely cup of tea,' she said truthfully. 'I feel all the better for that. Now I must go over to Doctor Lovell's for my pills.'
'It's still pouring,' said Mr Piggott. 'Have another cup.'
'I'll pour,' said Nelly. 'Pass your own.'
'It's nice to have someone to pour out,' confessed Mr Piggott. He was beginning to feel unaccountably cheerful despite the disappointment of missing his customary pint of beer. 'This place needs a woman.'
'I'll say it does!' agreed Nelly, warmly. 'It needs a few gallons of hot soapy water too! When did your Molly see this last?'
'About a year ago, I suppose. She's coming again Christmastimeâshe and Ben and the baby. Maybe she'll give it a bit of a clean-up then.'
'It wouldn't hurt you to do a bit,' said Nelly roundly. 'Chuck out that milk and fish, for one thing.'
'The cat ain't had nothing to eat for days,' objected her host, stung by her criticism.
'That don't surprise me,' retorted Nelly. 'No cat would stay in this hole.'
'I got me church to see to,' began Mr Piggott, truculently. 'I ain't got time toâ'
'If Molly comes home to this mess at Christmas then I'm sorry for her,' asserted Mrs Tilling. 'And the baby too. Like as not it'll catch something and die on your very hearth-stone!'
She paused to let the words sink in. Mr Piggott mumbled gloomily to himself. The gist of his mutterings was the unpleasantness of women, their officiousness, their fussiness and
their inability to let well alone, but he took care to keep his remarks inaudible.
'Tell you what,' said Mrs Tilling in a warmer tone. 'I'll come up here and give you a hand turning out before Christmas. What about it?'
Mr Piggott's forebodings returned. What would the neighbours say? What was Nelly Tilling up to? What would happen to his own peaceful, slummocky bachelor existence if he allowed this woman to have her way?
Nelly watched the thoughts chasing each other across his dour countenance. After a few minutes she noticed a certain cunning softness replacing the apprehension of his expression, and her heart began to beat a little faster.
'No harm, I suppose,' said the old curmudgeon, grudgingly. 'Make things a bit more welcoming for Molly, wouldn't it?'
'That's right,' agreed Mrs Tilling, rising from her chair and brushing a fine collection of sticky crumbs from her coat. 'One good turn deserves another, you know, and we've been friends long enough to act neighbourly, haven't we, Albert?'
Mr Piggott found himself quite dazzled by the warmth of her smile as she made for the door, and was unable to speak.
The wind roared in as she opened the front door, lifting the filthy curtains and blowing the parish magazine into a corner. Might freshen the place up a bit, thought Nelly, stepping out into the storm.
'Thanks for the tea, Albert. I'll drop in again when I'm passing,' shouted the lady, as she retreated into the uproar.
Mr Piggott nodded dumbly, shut the door with a crash, and breathed deeply. Mingled pleasure and fury shook his aged frame, but overriding all these agitations was the urgent need for a drink.
'Women!' spat out Mr Piggott, resuming his damp raincoat. 'Never let a chap alone!'
His mind turned the phrase over. There was something about it that made Mr Piggott feel youngerâa beau, a masher, a man who was still pursued.
'Never let a chap alone!' repeated Mr Piggott aloud. He pulled on his wet cap, adjusting it at an unusually rakish and dashing angle, and made his way, swaggering very slightly, to his comforts next door.
'Do you know,' said Dimity Dean, looking up from
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