There would always be trustful, credulous people like Doug and herself, like Miss Roberts, like the late Frankie Davis and the Allingham-Joneses and Mr. Gregory Loftus and his daughters, who left the gritty evil of towns behind them, intending to nestle closer to Nature, in the uncomplicated country amongst those quaint rustics.... Those same rustics who, a few years later, watching the broken, penniless procession wending their way back again to the towns, might murmur perhaps, with kindly, if contemptuous affection: “One learns to love these simple folk....” [X] JUNE 24th ended their tenancy at Parc Gooth; and the problem of its disposal was still unsettled the day before the Barrisons moved their belongings into Grey Stone, preparatory to moving in themselves the following morning. They had spent a day at St. Pol buying furniture; and the motor-van duly arrived on the morning of the 23rd, and halted a quarter of a mile away from the cottage, which was as near as the highway touched. Doug had collected two serfs to help him carry the pieces from the van across the rough ground to the house; Henry Endellion, a burly, grizzled gardener-fisherman, with a perpetual smile puckering his good-tempered features; and Jo Percy Jeyne, fisherman-gardener, and sexton and water-carrier in his spare time, a solemn anxious little old man, gnarled with the years. The van-men unloaded at the cross-roads, but refused to do any carrying; and the rain striped heavily on the comically absorbed trio, Doug and Endellion and Jo Percy Jeyne, who, with sacking over their shoulders, and maintaining exactly the same pace and regular distance one from the other, strode and trudged and trotted in Indian file to and fro between the van and Grey Stone. Ursula and Mrs. Endellion--Harry’s wife--stood ready to receive the articles as they were brought in, and to direct their destination; but Doug’s briefly Napoleonic: “My cabin” occurred so often that Ursula gave up her mild attempt to divert the flow of all that was most useful and precious into the small ground-floor room behind the big living-room. After a couple of hours steady work, the empty van drove away, the last splashed and dripping chair was carried in; the rain stopped; and the stolid children from the cove who had been lurking all the morning among the bushes near the house, some hiding, some claiming bold-eyed their right to satisfy curiosity, now scampered back to St. Miniot to report to their mothers exactly what the Barrisons had bought at St. Pol, and how many rugs, mattresses, saucepans and teacups they possessed. “Thank you, my men!” said Doug, dismissing his serfs in what Ursula termed his most hearty “leggings-and-landowner” voice. “Here’s something to drink my health in!”