SCANDAL AND EXPOSURE
Squinting Jack declared there were some things better than a murder. He
referred to the mystery which surrounded the unnatural tenants of Black
Anchor Farm. They had received a visitor, who was neither honest
gentleman, nor respectable lady; but a woman with bold red cheeks. She
had driven through Highfield, staring at the inhabitants and smiling at
their dwelling places; her driver had inquired of the first gentleman in
the place--George being set up above the vicar because he did no
work--which of the lanes ahead would be most likely to lead towards
Black Anchor; and a few days later this same red-cheeked lady had been
driven back through the village, staring and smiling as before. Her
clothes where the saddest part about her; for she was dressed in the
height of fashion.
So far the Dismal Gibcat had defended the Brocks because every other
person was against them; he admired their poverty and loved their
humility; he prophesied kindly concerning their future, and sent them
superfluous vegetables. The three stages of manhood were at last
represented in Highfield parish by righteous men: old Brock, young
Sidney, and his middle-aged self. But the vision and visit of the
painted lady caused two vacancies. The Dismal Gibcat drew the line at
well dressed women.
The Yellow Leaf was consulted because of his knowledge of the world's
history, and he gave it as his opinion that the atmosphere of Highfield
had been deprived by the nameless visitor of a considerable amount of
moral oxygen: in the first place she belonged to a higher class than the
Brocks; in the second place she came upon a secret mission, and in the
third place she entered a house which it was notorious contained no
other woman. She could not be a relation; while, if she had come as a
friend, all he could say was heaven preserve Highfield from such
friendships.
"Some poor folk do have rich relations, though mine ain't come along
yet," said Squinting Jack.
"What would you be saying about me, if I wur to receive a visit from a
young lady wi' red-hot painted cheeks?" inquired the Yellow Leaf.
"I should say you wur lucky," replied Squinting Jack.
"Her cheeks wur warmish, I allow; but I wouldn't exactly call 'em
painted," observed the Dumpy Philosopher.
"You'm mixing it up wi' doorpost paint. Ask your missus if her cheeks
warn't plastered wi' cosmetics," said the Yellow Leaf crossly.
"I'd rather not," retorted the Dumpy Philosopher.
"There be two ways of looking at pretty nigh everything, a gude way and
a bad way," urged the Gentle Shepherd. "There be ladies who take a
kindly interest in young men, and try to help 'em along a bit. Us knows
the Brocks ain't got much money, vor they ha' took the poorest farm in
the whole parish. Maybe this lady is helping young Sidney a bit, and her
come along to see how he wur doing."
The others listened doubtfully, then turned to hear the oracle's
opinion.
"I ha' heard tell o' such ladies, but I ain't seen one of 'em; and I
wants to see a thing avore I believes--ay, I wants to see it two or dree
times," said the Yellow Leaf. Then he asked, "How old do you say her
wur?"
The Dumpy Philosopher fancied the region of twenty; the Gentle Shepherd
thought the neighbourhood of forty; while Squinting Jack suggested
second childhood.
"You can tell an old lady when you sees one," replied the Yellow Leaf,
"and you can tell a young maid when you sees one; but when you can't
tell whether a woman be old or young, then you'm looking at something
what ain't respectable. 'Tis old folk what be charitable, and she
warn't old; and when young ladies be charitable to young men, their
charity ain't far away from home, I reckon. They Brocks ha' no woman to
mind vor 'em; 'tis because they don't dare to; 'tis because this lady
wouldn't like it, and they can't tell when she may be coming. She'm a
jealous lady vor certain, and she won't have no woman to Black Anchor
'cept it be herself. And she couldn't come to the farm if they had
another woman, vor her wouldn't have the face to do it."
This was one of the longest, and quite the wisest, of all the opinions
stated by the Yellow Leaf. Although it could hardly add to his
reputation, it destroyed entirely the credit of the Brocks.
"The old man don't hardly ever come into the village, 'cept it be to
church, and he don't pass the time o' day to no one," said the Dumpy
Philosopher.
"Now I come to think of it, young Sidney has a funny, uneducated sort o'
way of answering," added Squinting Jack.
"They'm mysteries," concluded the Yellow Leaf, "and I hopes to live to
see 'em all exposed to the vull light o' day."
Robert passed this scandal to Bessie, and she hurried it across to
Kezia, who carried it while still fresh into the parlour, and presented
it to both the ladies. Miss Yard expressed no interest, but Mrs. Drake
was painfully distressed. She was ageing rapidly, and beginning to lose
her memory too; she had forgotten what a very favourable impression the
boy had made upon her.
"Are you quite sure she did go to Black Anchor?" Mrs. Drake inquired.
"Yes, Aunt," said George, who was busy designing locomotives. "She asked
me the way--at least the driver did. They were both strangers to me."
"Quite a young gal, warn't she, Mr. George?" appealed Kezia.
"Not more than eighteen, I should think. But she wore a wedding ring; I
saw it distinctly."
"Yes, mum; I saw her drive past, so bold and staring. They say she's an
actress, mum."
"How awful! I suppose she's his wife."
"Well, mum, us all hopes she is."
"The wretched young man! How can he be so wicked!"
"Is anybody wicked?" asked Miss Yard vacantly.
"Never mind, Sophy. It's nobody you care about. Has she been told? You
know who I mean."
"Oh no, mum. We wouldn't like to say anything much to her. But of course
she mustn't go out with him any more."
"Of course not," said George vigorously.
"I suppose I must break it to her," said Mrs. Drake. "And he sings in
the choir too--miserable wretch!"
"I warned you, Aunt," said George.
"He must never come into the house again. Ask Robert to tell him."
"Oh no, mum! We couldn't drink coffee with him now. He seemed such a
nice young man too. Robert thought him almost like a gentleman."
"It's often these nice young men who turn out the greatest humbugs,"
said Mrs. Drake severely.
"What is she saying? I do hope there are no such things in the house,"
Miss Yard cried anxiously.
Nellie was thoroughly well told. Kezia, Bessie, and Robert were alike
eager to play the part of candid friend because they liked her so much;
indeed, they somewhat overwhelmed her with candid affection. According
to Bessie, the mysterious lady had been overheard imploring Sidney to
return with her; while Robert declared the young man had confessed the
whole truth. Kezia could invent nothing, so contented herself with
moaning over life's tragedies like the chorus of a Greek play. Nellie,
being a wise maid, argued with nobody, and smiled at everyone; but her
eyes made people sorry for her; and because of their sympathy they
brought yet other charges against Sidney.
Nellie waited for choir practice, when she hoped to hear a healthier
story. She expressed no gratitude when the heroic George offered to
accompany her to church, lest the dragon Sidney should abduct her
forcibly and add her to his collection in the cupboard at home. He
explained these references according to the best of his historical
information, quoting the story of Bluebeard at some length. He was still
talking when Nellie escaped from the house, and went to church by
herself.
During practice the other members of the choir shrank from Sidney, as if
afraid he should make some evil communication; and they practised the
hymns, which were of a penitential nature, at him. It was never the
custom in Highfield to allow even one sinner to go unpunished.
"At last!" exclaimed Nellie, when they were out of the church and alone
together in Dartmoor wind and darkness. "Of course you know what I am
going to say?" she added.
"You'm going to say this place be vull o' liars," suggested Sidney.
"Oh no, indeed! Our friendship is quite over, and you are not to come
near Windward House again."
"What's it all about, Nellie?"
"You know perfectly well. I'm walking with you this evening just to hear
what you have to say."
"You think I'm a bad lot?"
"I'm getting dreadfully certain of it."
"Because you've heard tales. I know you'm the prettiest maid in the
world, but if a stranger wur with us he wouldn't believe me if I said
so, vor 'tis too dark to see you. You can't be sure of anything you'm
told. I'm not the best chap in the world by a long way, but if you could
see me 'just as I am,' as we wur singing in church just now, you might
fancy I b'ain't quite what folks make me out to be."
Nellie was disturbed by this speech, and still more by the manner in
which it was uttered. She had an uncomfortable feeling that Sidney was
trying to bring himself down to her level, although her birth and
education were undoubtedly superior to his.
"I suppose it's easy to sing like that, especially as you must have had
no end of practice," she said crossly.
"Now you'm out o' tune, Nellie."
"Miss Blisland has discovered you have made a fool of her. You asked her
to--to--well, you know what, when all the time you are married--"
"Here, I say, steady! I didn't know it had got to that," he broke in
sharply.
"Then who was that girl who came to see you?"
"She's not a girl. If you want to know her age, I'll tell you. She is
forty-three--and I'm nineteen. Is it likely I'd be married to a lady old
enough to be my mother?"
"Who is she?"
"A very kind lady who has done a lot vor me. Her name is Mrs. Stanley."
"Then she is married!"
"Her husband's been very kind to me too."
"And I suppose you are very fond of her?"
"Well, that's natural, considering what she's done vor me."
"You love her!" cried Nellie, getting out of patience with his coldness.
"There's someone I love better."
"And that's yourself," she snapped.
"'Tis the pretty maid I'm going to marry, and that's you."
"If you dare to say such a thing again," gasped Nellie, "I'll--I'll run
away."
"You can run t'other end of the world, but I shall come and fetch ye
back," declared the bold youth.
"What's to prevent me from marrying someone else?"
"Yourself, I fancy."
"But I never did like you much, and now I hate you," she said, troubled
again by his accent, which recalled her own superior education.
"If you won't hate me any more than what you do now, I shan't grumble,"
replied the confident young man. Then he asked gently, "Won't you come
out Sunday afternoon?"
"No, I will not."
"I could tell you a tale what might make us sweethearts again," he
continued.
"I expect there is hardly any sort of tale that you don't know. But why
don't you?"
"I'm going to make you believe in me and trust me."
"Tell that to Mrs. Stanley--I'm sure she's a widow."
"I trust her, and she knows it. I told her about you, and she wanted me
to promise not to marry till I'm twenty-five."
"By then, I suppose, she'll have become sick and tired of you," said
Nellie, who was rapidly forming Highfield opinions about Mrs. Stanley.
"She doesn't mind who I marry--"
"How perfectly unselfish!"
"So long as 'tis the right sort o' maid."
"I hope you'll find her. Goodnight; I'm going now," said Nellie,
standing beside the garden-gate of Windward House. Then she added rather
faintly, "I'm sorry you ever came to Highfield."
Sidney struck a match and, making a lantern of his hands, turned the
light upon her face.
"Oh, Nellie darling! There's a tear upon your cheek!"
"Don't be rude and wicked," she murmured, searching for the gate handle,
which she generally found quite easily.
"The beautifullest tear from the loveliest eye in the world!"
"What's wrong with the other eye?" she asked trying to laugh.
"It's still more lovely. Nellie, you are--just Nellie, and that means
everything. You shall trust me, and I'll make you love me, if I have to
work a thousand times harder than I do on the farm."
"Will you have nothing more to do with Mrs. Stanley?"
"I can't do that."
"You mean she won't give you up!"
"She's the best and kindest lady in the world. But you come first, and
that's where you'll be always."
"I must be second too. It's no good, Sidney. I'm not going to be talked
about and laughed at--no girl can stand it. Besides, Mrs. Drake has
forbidden me to speak to you, and my poor mistress would go crazy if she
knew what has happened. I have a good home, and I must think of my
future. Leave me alone, please, and let me forget you. But I must give
up the choir and sit at the bottom of the church, for I--I can't sing
any more."
"Is that you, Nellie?" called Kezia; and the faithful band of protectors
and consolers appeared, putting the false Sidney to flight.
George was so pleased when Nellie did not go out upon Sunday afternoon,
that he presented her with a picture of his latest locomotive, very
handsomely designed, but without cylinders. He began about this time to
take an interest in his personal appearance, with the result that Mrs.
Drake, who was not at all prejudiced in his favour, remarked to Kezia
that Mr. George was undoubtedly the best looking man in the place,
which, after all, was not much of a compliment. Kezia, who was a Drake
in everything but surname, and contemplated assuming that to supply her
own deficiency, agreed, and went on to mention Mr. George was regarded
as the perfect pattern of an English gentleman by Highfield, where all
geese were swans.
Mrs. Drake was simple enough to believe George was preparing himself for
the duties of station-master, and he more than suggested this was indeed
the case; having the impudence to hint at negotiations for various
stations where it would be his business to receive all manner of
royalties; but the letters he received were of such a confidential
nature that he was not at liberty to show them to his aunt. He convinced
her they were all typewritten, and this was quite sufficient for his
purpose, because the old-fashioned woman supposed letters written by
machinery could emanate only from departments under the immediate
control of Ministers of State.
The cold-blooded George had drawn up a programme of his career under
such items as Courtship of Nellie, Annihilation of Sidney, Conciliation
of Aunt, Guarding of the Furniture, Departure of Aunt Sophy, Contract
with Nellie, Departure of Aunt, Marriage and Retirement. With fine
prophetic instinct a date was appended to each one of these events: Miss
Yard had but a single year of life remaining, while three more years
were allotted to Mrs. Drake. So far the programme was well ahead of
time, owing to the visit of Mrs. Stanley.
The careful mind of George was troubled concerning his forthcoming
marriage and subsequent retirement. He asked himself frequently whether
it could be prudent to enter into a matrimonial alliance with Nellie, or
indeed with any girl; was a wife preferable on the whole to a
housekeeper? George sought the opinion of the Dismal Gibcat, who replied
that the house presided over by a wife was bound to be respectable,
while the house ruled by spinster or widow was not; besides, a
housekeeper could not be scowled at with impunity, whereas a wife might
easily be taught all the accomplishments of her husband: that was to
say, if the husband found it necessary to slander another man, or to
deprive some woman of her character, the partner of his joys and sorrows
would slander these persons too; whereas a housekeeper might find it her
duty to defend them.
Then George consulted the Yellow Leaf, who was of the decidedly robust
opinion that men and women should not only marry as early as possible,
but should keep on doing it as often as the law allowed; and even if
they did offend against the law sometimes it was better to err upon the
right side. He alluded to his own brilliant example of marrying at
eighteen, with the happy result that the entire population of the
village were more or less related to him; and he went on to declare he
had already appointed a successor to his present wife, who had been
bedridden for some years.
Although George had some doubts remaining, he arrived sorrowfully at the
conclusion that it would be his duty to make Nellie happy, if the ladies
of Windward House should respect his programme and depart from the world
according to scheduled time. The question of his retirement remained the
only point to be disposed of. Should he conclude a life of usefulness as
the most respected parishioner of Highfield, or favour a wider circle?
Certainly it would be more agreeable to retire in a village, where
respect came automatically, than to run the risk of being dishonoured in
some town, where standing at corners or musing beside lamp posts might
be wrongly construed as revealing instability of character.
It might, he feared, become necessary to commence his retirement within
the next few months, for Mrs. Drake was clearly in a restless frame of
mind, and the impending failure of his negotiations with the railway
company might induce her to issue the expulsion order which Percy would
be called upon to execute. In such case George decided his health would
be forced to suffer a breakdown, although it might be possible, now Mrs.
Drake's powers were growing defective, to assure her his career upon the
railway was finished; but, unfortunately, owing to his inability to
serve full time, he enjoyed no pension.
A wet day assisted George in making a discovery which, although not
altering his programme, seemed to promise an extension of the indefinite
time limit.
"I want to go to the sea. Aunt Sophy worries so about her friends, and I
can't make her believe she hasn't got any. She will forget all about
them if we go away. When are you going to your station?" asked Mrs.
Drake, while Miss Yard looked up plaintively and wanted to know what she
had done now.
"Oh, nothing. I'm telling George we are going to the seaside directly he
is ready to leave."
"I think you had better not wait," said George warningly.
"You promised to go this month," his aunt said fretfully.
"Changes have occurred, with the result that I have now broken off the
negotiations."
"Then I have done with you!"
"I'm so glad somebody else has broken something," said Miss Yard
happily.
George left the room, and returned presently with an armful of plans and
diagrams.
"I knew they existed, and at last I have found them," he remarked
triumphantly.
"Take away your rubbish!" said Mrs. Drake.
"My uncle made these plans. These diagrams were the solace of his
closing years," said George; and directly he had spoken his aunt's face
softened, and she fumbled for her spectacles.
"My dear uncle charged me to carry out the work if he should not live to
complete it. These are his plans for a railway to link up the scattered
parishes of this moorland region. It is my earnest hope," said George,
"that I may be permitted to undertake the work which is to give Dartmoor
a railway and Highfield a station."
"I had forgotten all about it," Mrs. Drake murmured.
"I did not forget," said George reprovingly. "I should have acted long
ago, if I could have found these precious plans. Here is the prospectus
in dear uncle's writing. He shows how simple and inexpensive it would be
to build a railway across the Dartmoor, without a single viaduct,
tunnel, embankment, or cutting. It was his intention to make Highfield
Station a terminus, as he could not see his way to surmount the steep
drop into the valley without going to considerable expense. Now you can
understand why it is no longer my intention to occupy the poorly paid
position of station-master. I aim at higher things. I mean to be a
railway magnate."
"What can you do?" asked Mrs. Drake, much impressed by those relics of
her husband.
"I shall communicate with my railway friends; I shall float a company,
and appoint a Board of Directors; I shall pass a Bill through
Parliament."
"Whatever is George doing?" inquired Miss Yard.
"Making a railway," replied her sister.
"I wish I could do something half as useful," sighed Miss Yard.
George borrowed five pounds for postage stamps, converted his bedroom
into an office, and fed the village with false news which percolated
into the ears of Mrs. Drake by means of Robert the dripping tap and
Kezia the filter. George had anticipated this, and, knowing the truthful
ways of the village, was not greatly astonished when Robert informed him
in confidence how engineers had already been seen taking the level of
the Dartmoor heights; while the parishioners had sworn to tear up the
railway as fast as it was made, unless they received ample compensation
for this cynical infringement of their rights.
What he had not anticipated was the action taken by his aunt. Left to
herself she would have remained credulous to the end; but Kezia declared
Mr. George was not spending his days letter writing; while Bessie stated
the postmistress had told her Mr. George had bought no stamps lately.
"I have looked into his room and seen him writing," said Mrs. Drake
despairingly.
"He wur doing poetry, mum," said Kezia sadly.
"Oh, I'm sure he's not so bad as that," cried the lady.
"I don't want to say too much, mum, and I ain't going to say anything
against Mr. George, whom you might call a member of the family,"
continued Kezia in the voice of doom, "but I saw a lot of the paper he
had wrote some of his poetry on."
"I saw it too, mum," chimed in Bessie.
"And, mum, at the end of the first line wur six kisses."
"Crosses, mum," exclaimed Bessie, as an expert in this form of
literature.
"And the second line--oh, mum, I don't know as how I can say it."
"Shall I do it vor ye?" asked Bessie eagerly.
"No, Bess, I'll do it. He said, mum, his heart wur all jelly."
"Think of that, mum!" gasped Bessie.
"Oh no! Not jelly again. We had yesterday," cried Miss Yard, who liked
to be consulted concerning the bill of fare.
"I do hope the poor creature isn't going off his head," said Mrs. Drake.
"Don't you see, mum, that word wur meant to sound like the word at the
end of the first line what he wrote in crosses. And you know, mum,
there's someone in this house whose name do have the same sort of sound
as jelly."
"Ah, but she b'ain't so soft," added Bessie. "And he wrote she was so
bewitching, drinking cocoa in the kitchen. That was a rhyme, mum."
"I have heard quite enough," said Mrs. Drake wearily. "I wish to
goodness I had never seen the fellow," she murmured.
The following week she visited the Captain's grave, staying longer than
usual, and scribbling industriously on scraps of paper the whole
evening. Next day the exodus took place, Kezia and Nellie accompanying
the ladies to the seaside, while George remained in solitary possession.
As any pretence of industry was no longer necessary, he settled down to
enjoy a honeymoon with indolence, until a letter arrived to waken him
completely.
It appeared that Mrs. Drake had written to Percy, informing him of all
George had said and not done; also asking for information about the
floating of companies and the construction of railways, as, she
explained, George had decided to build one across Dartmoor, and was
inviting Miss Yard and herself to become debenture holders.
Percy's answer had crushed the poor lady entirely. He explained that, as
George of course was perfectly well aware, to obtain a position as
station-master it would be necessary to enter the service of the railway
company as a clerk, and work upwards gradually. As for building a
railway, that was not the recreation of a single individual, but a
superhuman undertaking, which in the first place would require to be
discussed by some of the greatest financial magnates upon earth for half
a century--at least such was his own impression--before Parliament could
even be approached; and then another half century would probably be
demanded for the arrangement of preliminary details; and after that a
new generation would have to begin the work all over again. While the
suggestion of a railway across Dartmoor could appeal only to a
Parliament with a sense of humour.
Accordingly Mrs. Drake disowned her nephew. She ordered him to depart
from Highfield, declaring also her intention of not returning to
Windward House while he remained there. For his maintenance she was
prepared to allow the sum of ten shillings weekly so long as she might
live. Should he delay in taking his departure, Percy would instruct
some gentleman learned in the law to hasten the eviction. And if he
took anything in the house away with him, he would thereby forfeit all
benefits under her will.
This letter made the world seem cold to George, who strongly suspected
Percy had dictated the punitory clauses. It was clear that his reign as
first gentleman of Highfield was over. Not being of that faint-hearted
disposition which abdicates without a struggle, George wrote a touching
letter which was also, he considered, a complete vindication of his
conduct; for, as Mrs. Drake must have been aware, he had suffered from
his spine since childhood.
Then he packed his belongings and travelled an hour's journey into the
next parish, where he arranged with the landlord of a wayside inn, which
bore the hospitable title of "Drink and be Thankful," to accommodate him
with board and lodging upon especially reduced terms; and from this
alcoholic address he despatched a daily apology for his existence to
Mrs. Drake, each document more poignant than the one preceding it. His
aunt sent a cheque for a quarter's allowance, which George cashed
gratefully; but she did not write. That business was entrusted to Percy,
who sent an ultimatum, giving George forty-eight hours to retire from
the "Drink and be Thankful," and warning him that, if at any future time
he should be discovered within twenty miles of Highfield village
without obtaining a permit, his prospects would be marred considerably.
George pronounced a malediction against Percy and all his tomatoes.
Then, as compliance seemed necessary--for he was terribly afraid his
aunt might destroy her will--he decided to make a farewell visit to
Highfield, in order that he might muse amid the scenes of his former
slothfulness, and inform the villagers he was going away to oppose on
their behalf the promoters of the Dartmoor Railway Company.
George was not surprised to discover the door of Windward House standing
open, as he supposed Bessie would be cleaning; but he was considerably
astonished to behold Miss Yard nodding in the parlour, with Nellie on
her knees hard by extracting the indifferent lady from a web of wool
which, with amazing thoroughness, she had wound about herself. George
made a sign to the girl not to disturb her mistress, but to follow him
as soon as possible into the garden.
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, hastily, adding that he was not
at all sorry to see her.
"Miss Sophy was so miserable I had to bring her back. When we went away
she thought she was going back to her old home; and then, when she
couldn't recognise anybody she kept on saying she was forsaken. She
would stop people in the street and ask them where she lived, and if
they didn't remember her. As she got worse every day I had to bring her
back. Aren't you living here now?" asked Nellie.
"No," said George sadly. "You gave me no encouragement."
"So you waited until I was out of the house, and then you ran away!"
"My aunt and I have now agreed to differ. How did you leave her?" asked
George pompously.
"Oh, very well. In fact, Kezia said she had not seen her in such good
health for years."
"Miss Yard is breaking up, I think," said George, thinking of his
programme, which was suffering sadly from interference.
"Indeed she's not. She is just mazed after the journey, as they say
about here. Then you are really not going to live here again?"
"Not for the present. But I shall write to you, Nellie, at least once a
week, and I shall think of you nearly every day."
"Thank you. Are you going to turn blacksmith?"
"Why do you ask a ridiculous question?"
"We have been playing at rhymes lately; and the only rhyme I can find
for your name is forge."
"Nellie," said George heavily, "it is frivolous conduct like this which
breaks a man up completely."
"I'll be serious then. When are you coming back?"
"Not until the place becomes my own. My aunt has injured me; she has
upset all my plans. I do not intend to speak to her again until she has
asked for my forgiveness."
"There goes the gate!" cried Nellie. "It's sure to be Bessie. If you
don't want to be seen here--run!" she laughed.
"I do not stir for Elizabeth Mudge."
"Or budge for any man," sang teasing Nellie. Then her note changed, for
the postmistress appeared from behind the rhododendrons.
"Why, it's Mrs. Cann! And she's got a telegram!"
"Vor you, Miss Blisland. Very bad news, miss. Terrible news. But she wur
an old lady, and 'tis better to be took avore you knows where you be
than to see it coming. I hopes and prays as how I'll be took the like
way--selling a penny stamp, or licking a label, or doing some poor soul
a gude turn by giving her an old-age pension."
She went rambling on, while Nellie tore open the telegram and read,
"Mistress passed away in her sleep. Kezia."
She shivered slightly, then handed it to George.
"Cruel bad news vor you, sir, especially as we'm all so sorry to hear
you be a leaving us," said the postmistress.
"I had meant to go away," replied the self-sacrificing and sorrowful
reprobate. "But I'm afraid I shall have to change my plans now."