"'Oh Gawd, our halp in a-ages paasst,
Our 'awp in yeears ter coom,
Our shal-ter from ther storm-ee blaasst,
And our ee-tarnal 'oam!'"
"'Ark at 'im! That's Jimmy arl over. T' think that 'is poor feyther's
not in 'is graave aboove a moonth, an' 'e singin' fit t' eave
barn roof off! They should tak' an' shoot 'im oop in t' owd powder
magazine," said Mrs. Gale.
"Well--but it's a wonderful voice," said Gwenda Cartaret.
"I've never heard another like it, and I know something about voices,"
Alice said.
They had gone up to Upthorne to ask Mrs. Gale to look in at the
Vicarage on her way home, for Essy wasn't very well.
But Mrs. Gale had shied off from the subject of Essy. She had done it
with the laughter of deep wisdom and a shake of her head. You couldn't
teach Mrs. Gale anything about illness, nor about Essy.
"I knaw Assy," she had said. "There's nowt amiss with her. Doan't you
woorry."
And then Jim Greatorex, though unseen, had burst out at them with his
big voice. It came booming from the mistal at the back.
Alice told the truth when she said she had never heard anything like
it; and even in the dale, so critical of strangers, it was admitted
that she knew. The village had a new schoolmaster who was no musician,
and hopeless with the choir. Alice, as the musical one of the family,
had been trained to play the organ, and she played it, not with
passion, for it was her duty, but with mechanical and perfunctory
correctness, as she had been taught. She was also fairly successful
with the village choir.
"Mebbe yo 'aven't 'eard anoother," said Mrs. Gale. "It's rackoned
there isn't anoother woon like it in t' daale."
"But it's just what we want for our choir--a big barytone voice. Do
you think he'd sing for us, Mrs. Gale?"
Alice said it light-heartedly, for she did not know what she was
asking. She knew nothing of the story of Jim Greatorex and his big
voice. It had been carefully kept from her.
"I doan knaw," said Mrs. Gale. "Jim, look yo, 'e useter sing in t'
Choorch choir."
"Why ever did he leave it?"
Mrs. Gale looked dark and tightened up her face. She knew perfectly
well why Jim Greatorex had left. It was because he wasn't going to
have that little milk-faced lass learning _him_ to sing. His pride
wouldn't stomach it. But not for worlds would Mrs. Gale have been the
one to let Miss Alice know that.
Her eyes sought for inspiration in a crack on the stone floor.
"I can't rightly tall yo', Miss Olice. 'E sang fer t' owd
schoolmaaster, look yo, an' wann schoolmaaster gaave it oop, Jimmy, 'e
said 'e'd give it oop too."
"But don't you think he'd sing for _me_, if I were to ask him?"
"Yo' may aask 'im, Miss Olice, but I doan' knaw. Wann Jim Greatorex is
sat, 'e's sat."
"There's no harm in asking him."
"Naw. Naw 'aarm there isn't," said Mrs. Gale doubtfully.
"I think I'll ask him now," said Alice.
"I wouldn', look yo, nat ef I wuss yo, Miss Olice. I wouldn' gaw to
'im in t' mistal all amoong t' doong. Yo'll sha-ame 'im, and yo'll do
nowt wi' Jimmy ef 'e's sha-amed."
"Leave it, Ally. We can come another day," said Gwenda.
"Thot's it," said Mrs. Gale. "Coom another daay."
And as they turned away Jim's voice thundered after them from his
stronghold in the mistal.
"From av-ver-lasstin'--THOU ART GAWD!
To andless ye-ears ther sa-ame!"
The sisters stood listening. They looked at each other.
"I say!" said Gwenda.
"Isn't he gorgeous? We'll _have_ to come again. It would be a sin to
waste him."
"It would."
"When shall we come?"
"There's heaps of time. That voice won't run away."
"No. But he might get pneumonia. He might die."
"Not he."
But Alice couldn't leave it alone.
"How about Sunday? Just after dinner? He'll be clean then."
"All right. Sunday."
But it was not till they had passed the schoolhouse outside Garth
village that Alice's great idea came to her.
"Gwenda! The Concert! Wouldn't he be ripping for the Concert!"