Country life -- England -- Fiction; Dartmoor (England) -- Fiction
He saw Jacob and Margery enter the outer gate and came to welcome
them.
"Well, Mr. Catt, and how d'you find yourself?" asked the landlord,
shaking hands.
"Pretty peart, master; but seventy-five years is a middling load,"
answered the other, putting his hand to his ear. "And who's the
young lady? They tell me----"
"I know what they tell you, Matthew; they tell you; I've gone the way
of all flesh and fallen in love."
"So they do then; and this will be Mrs. Huxam's daughter."
He shook hands with Margery.
"A godly mother you've got, my dear, and a godly husband you'll have.
Come in and take a sup."
Jacob Bullstone's eyes were about the place while he smiled on the
old man.
"How's Mrs. Parsons?" he asked,
"Nicely. She was here a minute agone. Dogs I see. When was you
known without a dog? I'll call her."
Mr. Catt, who farmed Bullstone with a widowed daughter to keep his
house, brought them to the kitchen, and Margery praised the room. It
was rosy-washed, of surprising cleanliness and bright with brass upon
the mantel-shelf and copper on the walls. There hung two
warming-pans of ancient pattern and, between them, an 'eight-day'
clock.
"You're a thought slow," said Jacob; then came Milly Parsons.
"Wish you both good luck and good fortune," she said, shaking hands
with them. "When's it going to be, master?"
"Next November, Milly; and I'm hopeful you and Mr. Catt will mind the
day and come along as my guests."
She brightened.
"Thank you, I'm sure. A great compliment."
Milly was a thin, sallow woman with pale hair and a kindly, but
anxious face. With her came a pretty little, fair girl of ten years
old--her daughter. Milly raised her voice and talked to her father,
who heard badly.
"Mr. Bullstone's inviting us to the wedding next November, my dear."
"If I'm here, I'll gladly come," said Matthew.
Mrs. Parsons fetched a seed cake, two plates and two glasses.
"I was just thinking of 'forenoons," she said. "Father likes a snack
about now. He've been trying a cup of cocoa, and he catches a nice
bit of heat from it. He's a cold, old man, because he can't travel
much about nowadays. But laziness don't fatten him. I wish it
would. This is my daughter, Jane."
Mr. Catt nodded and smiled, aware that they were speaking of him, but
not hearing the words. Margery made friends with the child who was
very shy.
"I've got an old coat lined with rabbit-skin and only a bit worn,"
said Jacob. "Too hot for me in the coldest weather. Would he take
it amiss from an old friend?"
"Not him," answered Mrs. Parsons. "He'd be proud to wear a coat
after you I'm sure."
"He shall have it, then, next time somebody's along for Red House."
"Your father was always his great hero," continued Mr. Catt's
daughter. "He often runs back over the past now and always says the
same thing. He says 'Ah--ah--there were giants in the land in them
days, and George Bullstone was the best of 'em.'"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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