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5 Dress comfortably. Wear loose, comfortable, layered clothing.
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"Why should you grow kind? Why should you change your nature?
Haven't I right and reason to doubt what motive is under this? 'To look after
me'? That's how Winter speaks of his daft brother. I may be daft and small
wonder—but—but——"
"Father," broke in Avis angrily, "I'm going to have a baby, and it's very
hateful and wicked of you to shout and say cruel things like this to upset
me. And it's all lies, because we meant nothing but what was right. We're
grown up, and we've got our share of sense and proper feeling."
But he had only heard her first assertion and it calmed him. He stared at
her and the anger faded out of his face.
"You married Joe Elvin's son, Robert. Well, why not? Bullstones have
wedded with Elvins before to-day. I'm glad you're going to have a little one,
Avis, and I command this. If it's a girl, you call it after your mother."
"I mean to," she said, "and if it's a boy, Bob wills it shall be called after
you."
"Come here and sit by me and take my hand," he said to Avis; and then
he turned to John Henry.
"If I was harsh, you can overlook it. I'm not the man I was. I'm a good
deal fallen down from the man I was. I'm colder than the man I was. I'll
give you credit for saying what you said in a right spirit, I believe it. That's
your mother in you. But you swear it was your own thought—not
whispered to you by Billy or some such well-wisher to me?"
"I swear before God it was my own thought, father; and I say again that
if you'll come to live with me, I'd be very glad indeed."
"I'm bound for the only place that can offer peace. Auna and I. And I
hope you'll make time as you can and come and see me now and again. I
feel friendly to you and Peter. You know that actions speak louder than
words. I hope it will be a girl for the sake of the blessed name. I'll come to
the christening. Ill do that. Mark me. I'm a man of my word. You take all
care of yourself, Avis, and don't be too busy."
Peter spoke.
"Why for can't you go to John Henry, father? Then we should have you
in the midst."
"You know we're all right, father," added the elder brother. "It isn't as if
you'd see a lot to vex you, and things being done you didn't hold with. You
could come and go and keep your eye on the dogs too."
"I'd like to believe that you could wish it. And I will believe it,"
repeated Jacob. "I'll make myself believe it, hard though it may be. It's a
sign of grace and I'm glad it came into your thoughts. And Avis is going to
have a child. That's well. Be sure to call it after your mother if it's a girl."
He stared and nodded and they were conscious that his mind had
wandered far from them.
"Let's go for a walk up the valley, father," said Auna. "You always like
to talk best in the air."
"I'm going to do so," he answered, "but I'm going alone. You children
can stop together, and I'll be back for tea drinking. I'm a good deal shaken
by this great thought of John Henry's. It means his mother in him, working
up to the surface. And he can thank the Lord she's there. She's in you all.
Not that I can change my plans, for my help comes from the hills you must
know—such as it is. But that I was wanted at Bullstone is worth a good bit
to me,—good payment, you might say, for what I've done."
"Is he all right? Is it safe for him to go alone?" asked Avis; and her sister
answered that she need fear nothing.
"It's up and down like that. His memory fails him sometimes in little
things. Not in big things. It shook him to find John Henry and you wanting
him. But it's done him good already."
"He'll forget about it before he comes back," added Peter. "He'll often
go out to think over something, or say he's going to, and then he comes
back and you find it's slipped out of his mind altogether."
"It's as much for you as for him," continued Avis. "It's not a place for
you to be lost in—Huntingdon isn't—and if you have to go and live with
him there, he'll very likely end by losing his reason altogether, and it's very
bad for a young creature like you."
"Don't you say that, Avis. I couldn't live away from him. And he'll get
better I expect. Days often happen when he's all right and his mind quite
peaceful."
"It would be a lot more convenient if he went to John Henry," said Avis.
"It's clear he finds it too wretched to stop here. I feel it creepy myself—with
mother's ghost in every corner, and in the garden too. She was so busy that
you can't see a thing without remembering her part of it. But he wouldn't be
haunted with her at Bullstone, and we could make jobs for him, and keep
him running about and doing something."
"I'd much like it to happen," admitted Auna, "for his sake. It's all one to
me where I go, if I see him getting better."
"I'll keep it before him, and speak up for it so much as he'll let me,"
promised Peter. "Of course it's what ought to be. But I don't think it will.
Because loneliness is his stronghold, and the lonelier he is, the better he is."
"You might put old Billy and Adam Winter on to him," said his brother.
"He sets store by what they think. Tell 'em the fine offer I've made, Auna,
and see what they say."
"I will, then. But Mr. Marydrew is always very strong that father's mind
will mend up at Huntingdon. He says that I must be wits and staff for father,
and I will be. And he'll come through. Some day he'll come through, if you
and Avis and Peter can show kindness now and then. It's kindness he
wants."
"And that shows how rocky his mind is for the minute," declared Peter,
"because anything soft, like kindness, was gall to him in the past. He was
ashamed of the kindness he did himself. And now his mind has shrunk. He
dwells on little silly things and messes about trifles that he links up with
mother."
"When is he going to divide her clothes?" asked Avis; "it's a cruel waste
and no respect to mother to let things get moth-eaten and useless, that might
be worth money to the living."
"I've been at him," answered Auna. "He says that I'm to have the
clothes, when I'm grown a bit more, because I'm mother's shape; but that's
silly. Now you've been so nice to him, I'll get on about the clothes again to-
morrow and very like he'll let me go through them, or ask you to come over
and take what you want."
"I don't think he will mend," said John Henry. "I think it's a lot more
likely he'll go from bad to worse and become a raving man. There's
suspicions moving deep in him. When I told him about this, you remember,
he asked if I wanted to have him locked up. People, with softening of the
brain coming on, often look ahead in that way and know, by a sort of fearful
instinct, what's going to overtake them."
"He's all right about that," declared Jacob's younger son, "but he's sharp
enough for Auna. He told me plain that he didn't trust none of us but her,
and that a hair of her head was worth the lot of us. But now belike he'll
change, if he remembers. It was a great thought to offer him to come to
Bullstone."
"If you want to please him, John Henry, put flowers on mother's grave
now and again," advised Auna. "Her grave will always draw him down
from the moor, same as it does now."
They talked until tea time, when Jacob returned, and John Henry went
to put in his horse. Their father was now calm and cheerful. He said no
more concerning the new suggestion; but he had not forgotten it, for when
Avis and her brother were gone and Peter at the kennel, he questioned
Auna.
"Can you tell me, faithful and true, that you had no part in what John
Henry said?" he asked. "Because if you, or any other, put it into his head,
then it's all in vain."
"Nobody put it in John Henry's mind, dear father," she answered. "It
was his very own thought."
"And you? Would you rather be with Avis or your brother, or——?"
"Father! You know better than that," she said very earnestly. "You and
me are one, and what's right for you is right for me."
"So I think," he answered. "A very clever, deep thought in you to say
that we are one."
CHAPTER VII
WILLIAM'S BIRTHDAY
George Middleweek came to see old William with a message and a gift.
It was Mr. Marydrew's eighty-fourth birthday and Auna had sent him a very
fine ham, and a reminder that he had promised to eat his dinner at Red
House.
"You look ten years less than your age, Billy," said the kennel-man.
"You get into your coat and boots," said George. "If you be coming with
me, we must start."
They were soon upon the road and William asked after Jacob.
"He's up and down," declared the other. "Says silly soft things one day,
so as you think he's growing tootlish; and then, the next, he'll be short and
sharp and seemingly all right. He's going through everything that belonged
to his wife, and Miss tells me that it shakes him up. He's keeping some of
her things for himself. His old ideas—the stuff he was taught as a child—
sticks out now and again. But he's shed most of it I reckon. Life's knocked
faith out of him, William, same as it does out of most honest people. But the
old stuff clings to him. He'll often say he's a miserable sinner, though in my
experience it's only the good people yelp about being miserable sinners.
The real, right-down wicked men go on their way rejoicing."
"It ain't the sense of sin makes people miserable, because misery's a
matter of character, not conscience, George."
"You don't understand religion, and the fall of man, George," answered
Mr. Marydrew mildly. "The mysteries of faith are beyond you. Your mind
ban't built to hold 'em."
They reached Red House, where Billy thanked Auna for her gift and
bade her go on with her work and not mind him, as he was early. But she
was glad to stop a while and brought down Jacob from an upper chamber.
His present business alternately excited the widower and cast him down. He
spoke and thought much of Margery as he handled her garments; and
sometimes he was normal and uttered intelligent words; but not seldom his
memory tormented him and he said strange things.
"Every stitch dear mother ever wore puts father in mind of something,"
explained Auna. Then Jacob joined them. His eyes showed that his mind
was roaming, but he remembered the occasion.
"A man can wish you many happy returns of your birthday, Billy," he
said; "because life's good to you still. You can live on very safely, I reckon.
But I'm different from that. It's come over me strong of late that if there's a
life beyond, I must get to it soon—else there'll be more trouble. I must be
there before a certain other party, William!"
"Leave all that in Higher Hands, Jacob. The length of the thread be no
part of our business."
"I must be first, however; I must reach Margery before her mother does.
That's commonsense, because we well know that I'd get but a bleak
welcome if Judith Huxam had her daughter's ear before I did. She robbed
me before, and she would again. A fault in Margery—to say it kindly—to
listen to that old fiend. But I don't want her mind frozen against me for
eternity. I still live in hopes that we'll be very dear friends, William—so far
as a ghost man and a ghost woman can be friends."
"And why not, Jacob? Where there's no secrets hid, the people must
surely come together in love and understanding."
"I say these things, because this is one of the days when I believe in a
future life. Some days I do and some days I do not. To-day I do; and why do
I, should you think? Because my mind is a good deal filled up with my late
wife; and if there's any sort of justice and any sort of Almighty Being to do
it, then there ought to be a heaven—if it was only for her."
"We found the things she was nearly drowned in to-day," continued
Bullstone. "Oh, my God, Billy, what a mad shape life takes, if you see it
steady with a glance spread over quarter of a century! For look at it. If
Adam Winter hadn't saved her, then four lives hadn't come in the world and
my children would never have been born. And what does that mean? It
means that Winter is responsible for my children as much as I am; and why
for shouldn't they thank him for their existence instead of me? Such
thoughts go too deep for the mind of man, William; but if we could
understand them, they might throw a good deal of light on life."
"Don't you be silly, my dear. It ain't a deep thought at all, but just a
brain-sick fancy. And you mustn't feel no fear about the old witch doctor
going to glory before you do. In the course of nature, she'll be called, and I
dare say she'll hate going, quite as much as they uncommon good people
often do. By the same token I hear that she and Barlow ain't finding the
villa residence all that they hoped and deserved. And I'll tell you for why:
you can't alter the habits of a lifetime in a minute and not feel it in mind and
body. I know, because when I retired, though naturally rather a lazy old
man, I missed my work above a bit, and often did a good heavy day for a
neighbour—not so much on his account as my own."
"So you did," answered Jacob. "I'll bear you out there. You sawed a
good many hundred logs for me in your time, William."
"Barlow Huxam misses the shop and owns up; but his better half won't
own up so far, because that would be to say the wrong thing has happened.
And we well know it's a cast-iron rule the wrong thing cannot happen in
their tabernacle. Then again she's had a fearful facer, and so's Amelia
Winter. A very nasty jar has fallen upon them and it have cast them down a
lot. I heard it from Adam Winter himself, and I've felt a good bit amused
about it, though sorry for Amelia, because it looks to her as if the end of the
world had got in sight."
"Why, Adam, after taking a good bit of thought, have chucked the
Chosen Few and joined up with the Establishment. And, of course, that
means that Sammy have done the same, for what his brother doeth, he does.
'Tis a hugeous shock to Amelia and she's very sorry for all concerned."
"Uncle Jeremy's two little boys have been taken into the Chosen Fews,"
said Auna. "Aunt Jane told me they are received in. So they'll take the place
of Mr. Winter and his brother, and the numbers will be kept up."
"The axe is at the root," declared Jacob, "and I'm glad of it. They're a
self-righteous crew and it was well within Adam Winter's nature to find
them out and leave them. I hope I'll live to see the end of them, and if that
hag died, the hornets' nest would soon empty."
"I'm waiting for a fine day to ride up over on a pony. But not while the
floods are out."
"We've got everything very vitty now," added Auna, "and a nice load of
peat stacked by the door, and the new stove. The stores go up after
Christmas, and when the stores are in, our things go up."
"Peace—please God peace is in sight," said Jacob, "and I shall have a
good few of her treasures around me, William. I find they are a great help to
peace. Virtue goes out of these things. I was wondering if it would give her
any pleasure to put her favourite junket bowl on the grave, William? Auna's
against; but for my part, after deep thinking, I wouldn't be over-sure. All's
doubtful with the dead. They may like to know the grey birds are hopping
over them for all we can tell. Nobody can say they don't."
"I think mother would a lot sooner that Peter kept the junket bowl at
Red House, with all the best china," declared Auna.
"And so I say," replied William. "I believe in very plain graves myself. I
like the granite stone. That's enough—just that and the snow-drops to come
up every spring. I wouldn't do no more. There's nought so proper as the
green spine grass on the dead."
They came to table presently, ate well and drank William's health. Jacob
grew cheerful during the meal and spoke with hope about his family.
"It's a seemly thing for a man in my position to hand over his worldly
goods in his lifetime. Then the new generation comes to understand the
meaning and obligations of power and rises to it after the manner born.
Very likely, if all had been different and my wife had been spared, we
should still have withdrawn ourselves and let the young come into their
own."
"I've ate far too much for a man my age," he said. "I'm 'filled as the
moon at the full,' Auna, and if ill overgets me, the fault is yours. You'd cram
your father's oldest friend like a Michaelmas goose."
Hope arose out of that anniversary for the girl. It proved but a respite
between storms; yet she could look back to William's birthday and
remember an interlude of peace.
CHAPTER VIII
JEREMY
Slowly but certainly Barlow Huxam discovered that his wife was
slipping from her old self, and for a time he set it down to age, but then he
discovered other reasons for the change in her outlook upon life. Stern she
had always been and definite in her pronouncements. She was not wont to
criticise and wasted no time in lamenting the evil around her; yet a certain
quality of contentment had marked Judith in the past, and now her husband
perceived that this failed her. She became very taciturn, and Barlow
wrongly decided that this silence arose from the fact that Mrs. Huxam had
so little to talk about. The shop had been her solitary subject outside
religion, and now, not only was the shop less and less upon her tongue, but
the master subject of life seemed sunk too deeply within her to offer
material for casual speech.
He was a man without resources and his resolute endeavour, to fill life
with his villa residence, had failed him. He worked hard, because work
alone made existence tolerable. He laboured in his garden, cut the front
patch into stars and moons and planted rose trees and other shrubs. He
toiled likewise behind, where the vegetables grew, and raised crops for the
house. He read books upon the subject and proceeded intelligently. The
work kept his body strong, and the open air made him feel ten years
younger; but these energies still left a void, for Mrs. Huxam did not share
them. In the old days they had been one in every enterprise. They employed
two servants now, and Judith having trained the maidens into her way and
introduced them both into the ranks of the Chosen Few, found time hang
heavily upon her, the more so that her thoughts became darkened with
personal melancholy.
For some time neither would confide in the other, or confess that their
present days lacked justification; but Judith had perceived the unrest and
discontent in her husband long before he began to suspect her; and she
waited, therefore, until his emotions broke out in words. They had passed
through nearly a year of the new existence and tested its every phase, when
Barlow's wife heard much that she expected to hear, together with much
that surprised her.
It was a winter afternoon and she had been reading the Book of Exodus
until a passage familiar enough gave her pleasant pause. The fact that One
had said the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath, had
always given her quiet regret; but where authorities differed, her bent of
mind inclined Judith to the Old Testament rather than the New. It chimed
better with her own genius and uncompromising principles. The earlier
dispensation never failed to find her in harmony; and when she read again
the Commandment and its drastic and detailed direction, she felt it was
enough. Consideration of the texts led to gloom, however. If the Lord found
one day in seven sufficient for His rest, how came it about that she and her
husband, while still in possession of energy and health, were resting seven
days a week?
Upon this question returned Barlow from the post-office and, unaware
of the matter in her mind, displayed some irritation. Not until he lighted the
gas did she observe that his face was puckered and his eyes perturbed.
"Things are coming to a climax," he said, "and after tea I should like to
have a tell, Judy. I'm not at all content with a good deal that's happening."
Mrs. Huxam rang for tea to be brought. Her dark eyes brightened.
"We'll have it and get it out of the way," she said. "And one thing I
never shall like here in the planning. The parlour is a desert island for all
you know what's doing in the kitchen."
They ate their meal, which was of a solid character and the last serious
food for the day, since they had given up taking supper and found
themselves better without it. Then the tea things were cleared, and hardly
had the door shut when Mr. Huxam began.
"It's just fifty-three years ago, Judith, since I, as a lad, took the first
telegram that ever came to Brent out to Beggar's Bush to the master of the
Otter Hounds, I was eleven years old at the time."
"And sixty-four now," she said.
"Very well then. And now don't get upset or nothing like that; but I'm
going to say this: that taking one thing with another, I feel terrible doubtful
if our life in this residence is all it might be, or even all it should be."
"I half thought your views had settled down. When did this come over
you?" she asked.
"Then we've had it," she declared. "We've had a year of it."
"Exactly so; and I'm like a giant refreshed with wine. And I should say
you, in your quieter way, was up for anything also. For my part, even if all
was suent and just so with the shop—which it is not—I'd be exceeding
pleased to go back thereto, and feel myself in the heart of life and at the
helm of my own ship again."
"When you say things are not 'just so,' would you mean Jane, or
Jeremy?"
"Jane's all right, as far as it's humanly possible with her growing family.
Another coming in April I hear. But she does pretty well, though the stocks
are far too low and, of course, she doesn't understand buying; but with
regard to Jeremy, it's idle to pretend, and for that matter I won't pretend.
He's letting it down—not out of malice, of course, but simply for the reason
he lacks the needful qualities. Nobody ever had a better shop manner and a
kinder heart, and nobody was ever more wishful to please his customers;
but smiles and cheerful remarks about the weather don't take the place of
the things people come into a shop to buy; and when a person hears that
Jeremy's out of this, or out of that, or don't keep a thing in stock, it won't
open the till for him to say the corn is coming on nice, or ask a woman how
her baby is. When people want to buy needles, it ain't no manner of use
telling them you've got a fine assortment of pins. Jeremy's all right, in a
manner of speaking, so long as he's got a better to boss him. The spirit is
willing, but the brain isn't built for all the work that must go on out of sight
if a business is to pay. In a word he ought to be in somebody else's shop, not
his own."
"He has let it down, and I tell you, when I run over the accounts and
lend Jane a hand with the books, my heart bleeds. To see what we made so
fine and four-square and the foremost affair in Brent going back, and to
know Hasking, at the corner, and that little old maid with the Berlin wools
and gim-cracks—Miss Moss I mean—to know such as them are lapping up
custom and can find what Jeremy can't—it's a punishing thing. Very soon I
shall keep out of the shop, or else my temper will suffer and I may say what
I should be sorry to say."
"I know how you feel about it. My fingers itch every time I pass the
window and I want to fly to the shelves when a customer comes in; but well
I know that if I did, I'd find little but empty cardboards."
"And no law nor order," murmured Barlow. "Not a thing in its place and
many a melancholy five minutes wasted in hunting for what ain't there to
find. Last autumn a lot of holiday people were about and I've seen strangers
come into the shop full of hope for some everyday thing—socks for their
children or sunbonnets or elastic or what not; and then Jane and Jeremy
would go pecking about, like a pair of birds in a strange field, and hope
would fade off the faces of the visitors, and they'd just creep out. And very
possibly, ten minutes after they were gone, what they wanted would be
found."
"I know you find it so," he answered, "but what I feel is that the
situation may not be past praying for; and that brings me to the tremendous
idea that's taking shape in my mind. It came over me like a flame of fire last
time I was with the Chosen Few. I thought of what used to be, and my
manhood rebelled, and a voice seemed to say, 'It's not too late—it's not too
late.'"
He looked at his wife and she nodded and wiped her spectacles but said
nothing. Still he fenced with the subject, though she knew to what he was
coming.
"How is it you sleep so bad nowadays?" he asked. "I'll tell you, since
you don't know. For this reason, because the residence faces different from
the old home, and there's a lot more light and air in our present chamber,
and the noise of the wild birds singing of a morning strikes in upon you. In
our old bedroom we were much more favourably situated, and custom is
everything, Judy, and I very much doubt if you can sleep in one room for
forty years and more and ever take kindly to another. And I'll be bold to say
that if you was back in our old room you'd know sleep again and wake fresh
as the dew on the fleece. All of which only points one way."
"Jeremy was saying not so long ago that he felt to be in a good deal of
need of change," murmured Mrs. Huxam. "Not grumbling, or anything like
that; but down-daunted and weary. He's getting to look too old for his years
in my opinion. Patient and sensible and no temper, but a bit under the
weather."
"Where to?"
"To the residence! Let 'em come here for a few months, and he can do
the garden and Jane can look after her family; and you and me will go back
to town. I feel, for my own part, that it would do me a power of good,
because messing with rose-bushes and French runner beans—after all it's
not man's work for a man like me. But I'm not putting myself forward. I'm
thinking a lot more about you, and I well know time's hanging terrible
heavy on your hands, else you wouldn't do such a lot of reading and look so
wisht over it."
"You voice a good bit that's in my own mind. You can think too much. I
think too much; and thought often takes you into places where the spirit had
best not to be. We'll make it a matter of prayer if you're in earnest."
"Far from it," he assured her. "It can come true in rather less than no
time if you think it ought."
"I'm sure you will," he answered with confidence, "and if you and Him
don't see eye to eye, it will be the first time."
He was much elated, for he felt that all must now happen as he desired;
and then further fortune fell out to assist the project, for his son came over
after closing time, and arrived at a moment perfectly chosen by chance to
affirm the situation for Mr. Huxam.
The ineffectual Jeremy trailed his attractive person before his parents,
announced that he had come to see his mother and declared that he was
very tired; whereupon Barlow judged it politic to leave them for a time,
feeling in no doubt as to the nature of his son's mood.
"Father tells me you don't seem quite yourself, and I was a good deal
put about to hear it," he said.
She nodded.
"Who is quite themselves as you call it?" she asked. "While we're in the
flesh, we can't be quite ourselves, Jeremy. Ourselves belong somewhere
else far beyond this Vale."
"I know—I know it better and better, as I grow older, mother. I'm in
sight of forty now, remember, and if I haven't found out this life is a Vale
and no more, it's a pity. Why don't you go down to Uncle Lawrence for a bit
and get some sea air?"
"So I have then, but maybe there's a molehill of work still left in me. I'm
not easy about it and your father's not easy about it either."
"As for me," he answered, "work's beginning to tell. Jane, catching the
light in my hair a few days ago, broke it to me that there's a little bald spot
showing to the naked eye on my crown. The beginning of the end I
suppose. I'm a very weary man indeed."
"Are you?"
"Yes, mother. My nature properly calls out for rest. I don't solve the
problems of life so easy as I did."
"Have you heard what that man, Jacob Bullstone, has done? He made
over Bullstone Farm to John Henry on his twenty-first birthday; and he's
going to give Red House and the business to Peter presently."
"Yes—not his work but the Lord's. 'The wealth of the sinner is laid up
for the just' in Bible words."
"I had very near given up hoping for Auna; but that was wrong. Of all
the souls I've helped to bring in this world, Auna's the only doubtful one,
and I'm going to fight again in that quarter."
"She cleaves to her father, and he's dragging her up to that den on the
moors. A very wrong thing, mother."
"Very wrong, and little hope for Auna till we get her away. The time
may come. She's much in my mind."
"I went to Plymouth last week to buy a few odds and ends—not for
myself—and I looked in and had a dish of tea with Uncle Lawrence. He's
getting a lot older, I find, and a lot less peart than he was. Margery's death
hit him very hard."
"No it didn't. He's too steadfast to be hit by the death of a saved soul.
He's up home seventy, and his heart is weak, because he lived a very hard
life in early manhood following the sea."
"Seventy's nothing for a Pulleyblank. I wonder what he's done with his
money, now that poor Margery's gone home."
"I took occasion to tell him that all Margery's children was well
provided for—not so mine."
"I don't like this," said Mrs. Huxam. "To be doubtful about your
children's welfare is next thing to being godless, Jeremy. You're talking in a
very loose sort of way, and to speak, or think, of your uncle's money is
indecent."
"What is it then?"
"I'll tell you, of course, mother. I'm not a man to run away from trouble.
It came over me, strangely enough, in the churchyard, where I went on
Sunday afternoon with my sons past Margery's grave. And I properly hate
that stone Bullstone has stuck there. It oughtn't to be allowed. And he's set
wild plants upon it—just moor weeds. Father's greatly vexed, as well he
may be."
Mrs. Huxam had set words from the Wisdom of Solomon on the tomb
of her dead son and Jeremy brought them to her mind. She looked back