Gradually, too, as she and her little girl passed
many peaceful days in the quiet cottage, the sad woman’s
face grew less sorrowful. She spoke of herself
more cheerfully and dwelt less upon the subject of
her grief. She had at first been so miserable
that she could hardly talk at all without referring
to her unhappy situation though, after her first interview
with Mrs. Ambrose, no one had ever heard her mention
any details connected with her trouble. But now
she never approached the subject at all. Her
face lost none of its pathetic beauty, it is true,
but it seemed to express sorrow past rather than present.
Meanwhile little Nellie grew daily more lovely, and
absorbed more and more of her mother’s attention.
CHAPTER IV.
Events of such stirring interest as the establishment
of Mrs. Goddard in Billingsfield rarely come alone;
for it seems to be in the nature of great changes
to bring other changes with them, even when there is
no apparent connection whatever between them.
It took nearly two years for Billingsfield to recover
from its astonishment at Mrs. Goddard’s arrival,
and before the excitement had completely worn off the
village was again taken off its feet by unexpected
news of stupendous import, even as of old Pompeii
was overthrown by a second earthquake before it had
wholly recovered from the devastation caused by the
first. The shock was indeed a severe one.
The Juxon estate was reported to be out of Chancery,
and a new squire was coming to take up his residence
at the Hall.
It is not known exactly how the thing first became
known, but there was soon no doubt whatever that it
was true. Thomas Reid, the sexton, who remembered
that the old squire died forty years ago come Michaelmas,
and had been buried in a “wonderful heavy”
coffin, Thomas Reid the stern censor of the vicar’s
sermons, a melancholic and sober man, so far lost
his head over the news as to ask Mr. Ambrose’s
leave to ring the bells, Mr. Abraham Boosey having
promised beer for the ringers. Even to the vicar’s
enlightened mind it seemed fitting that there should
be some festivity over so great an event and the bells
were accordingly rung during one whole afternoon.
Thomas Reid’s ringers never got beyond the first
“bob” of a peal, for with the exception
of the sexton himself and old William Speller the
wheelwright, who pulled the treble bell, they were
chiefly dull youths who with infinite difficulty had
been taught what changes they knew by rote and had
very little idea of ringing by scientific rule.
Moreover Mr. Boosey was liberal in the matter of beer
that day and the effect of each successive can that
was taken up the stairs of the old tower was immediately
apparent to every one within hearing, that is to say
as far as five miles around.
Copyrights
A Tale of a Lonely Parish from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
