Jack did shut off the power, although he had no idea anything serious was impending in the way his companion hinted.
The days crept on, I say, and got bright again; no June days ever stretched themselves to half such length; there was perfect stillness in the house,——it seemed to me that I counted every tick of the clock. In the evenings the neighbors used to drop in and sit mumbling over their fearful memories till the flesh crawled on my bones. Father, then, he wanted cheer, and he’d get me to singing “Caller Herrin’.” Once, I’d sung the first part, but as I reached the lines,——
I have spoken before of his address, and even now it did not fail him, for I could mark no sign of surprise on his white face; he might have come to a rendezvous for all he shewed.
He slept at his chambers that night, and went down to Helmingham the next day. There was a station now at the village, and it was here that Joyce alighted, not merely because it was more convenient than going to Brocksopp, but because it saved him the annoyance of having to run the gauntlet of a walk through the midst of his constituency, every other member of which had a complaint to make or a petition to prefer. The Helmingham people, of course, were immensely impressed by the sight of a man who, originally known to them as pursuing the mysterious profession of a Schoolmaster, had grown into that yet more inscrutable being, a Member of Parliament; but their wonderment was simply expressed in gaping and staring. They kept their distance peasant-like, and never dreamed of button-holing their member, as did the Brocksoppians. The road that led from the station to the village skirted the wall of the school-garden. It was a low wall, and looking over it, Joyce saw Maude Creswell tying up a creeper which was trained round the study window. Her attitude was pretty, a sunbeam shone on her hatless head, and the exertion given to her task had brought a bright colour to her usually pale face. Never before had she looked so attractive in Joyce's eyes. He dismissed from his mind the interesting question of compulsory education for factory children, which he had been revolving therein for the last hour and a half, and quickened his pace towards the house.
“But we’ve got to be mighty careful, Jack,” he warned the other. “These men are desperate, and not to be trusted.”
‘Though he comes from the woodland, he is my Ludwig;
A. T. Cordray, of London, Ohio, is willing to dispose of a six-year-old sorrel gelding that has never been started, but will go if given a chance. Read his ad. in this issue.
Perhaps, however, he detected a tinge of irritation in my own look, for that evening, as we sat over the fire after Leila had yawned herself off to bed, he glanced up at the armoured image, and said:
Copyright © 2020