"Certainly. There's no comfort in comparing the laugh of fools with
the crackling of thorns under a pot, if you happen to be inside the
pot and in process of cooking."
He took off his hat, brushed it on the sleeve of his coat, and resumed
in a tone altogether lighter--
"Yes, I hate to be laughed at; and I'll tell you a tale on this point
that may amuse you at my expense.
"I am London-bred, as you know, and still a Cockney in the grain,
though when I came down here to teach school I was just nineteen and
now I'm over forty. It was during the summer holidays that I first set
foot in this neighbourhood--a week before school re-opened. I came
early, to look for lodgings and find out a little about the people and
settle down a bit before beginning work.
"The vicar--the late vicar, I mean--commended me to old Retallack, who
used to farm Rosemellin, up the valley, a widower and childless. His
sister, Miss Jane Ann, kept house for him, and these were the only two
souls on the premises till I came and was boarded by them for thirteen
shillings a week.
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