"
This happened last Thursday week. Early this morning I crossed the
road as usual with my thermometer, and found a strip of pink calico
hanging from the brambles by the mouth of Scarlet's Well. I had seen
the pattern before on a gown worn by one of the villager's wives, and
knew the rag was a votive offering, hung there because her child, who
has been ailing all the winter, is now strong enough to go out into
the sunshine. As I bent the bramble carefully aside, before stooping
over the water, Lizzie Polkinghorne came up the lane and halted behind
me.
"Have 'ee heard the news?" she asked.
"No." I turned round, thermometer in hand.
"Why, Thomasine Slade's goin' to marry the schoolmaster! Their banns
'll be called first time nest Sunday."
We looked at each other, and she broke into a shout of laughter.
Lizzie's laugh is irresistible.
II.--SILHOUETTES.
The small rotund gentleman who had danced and spun all the way to
Gantick village from the extreme south of France, and had danced and
smiled and blown his flageolet all day in Gantick Street without
conciliating its population in the least, was disgusted.
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