Windyridge Part 36

"Farmer Goodenough is there. He will tell you all about it."

I held my peace until we entered the field and stood by my late landlord's side. Explanation was unnecessary, for the field was still littered with splintered wood and broken gla.s.s, though much of it had been cleared away.

"So you're about again, miss! Well, I'm downright glad to see you."

Then, indicating the _debris_ with an inclination of the head: "I've sorted out all 'at seemed to be worth ought. All t' gla.s.s picturs 'at weren't reight smashed I've put into a box an' ta'en into t' 'ouse.

But there isn't much left. Them 'at saw it say 'at t' stewdio cut up t' paddock like a hairyplane, an' it must ha' collapsed in t' same way."

"It knew it was doomed," remarked the Cynic, "supplanted--and it promptly put an end to itself."

"Well, never mind, miss," put in Reuben, "there's nought to fret about.

'Off wi' the old love an' on with the new!' I'd nearly put that down to t' Owd Book, but I should ha' been mista'en. However, ye've made a good swop, an' I don't know which on ye's got t' best o' t' bargain."

"I have, Reuben," said the Cynic heartily.

I wasn't going to contradict him, of course, though I know he is "mista'en."

"I was just thinkin', miss, if it's all t' same to you," continued the farmer, "'at it 'ud be a charity to let Martha an' her little la.s.s have your cottage. You see----"

"But you forget they are only for widows, Mr. Goodenough," I interrupted.

He glanced quickly at Philip. "They haven't told you then, miss?

Well, it's out now. Martha is a widow. Barjona got clear by t' skin of his teeth, but Roger an' t' dog were killed on t' spot; an' though it sounds a 'ard sayin', it's no loss to Martha an' Lucy. Are we to let 'em have t' cottage, think ye?"

I agreed, of course; but the tragic death of Roger had saddened me, and as usual Reuben noticed my clouded expression.

"Now don't you take on, miss. You'll 'ave to leave these things to them above. After all, as t' Owd Book says, 'It's an ill wind 'at blows n.o.body iny good,' an' t' storm has blown you two into one another's arms an' Martha into t' cottage, in a manner o' speakin'; so we must look on t' cheerful side. However, I must be stirring."

He raised his cap and left us, and I turned to the Cynic.

"Philip," I said, and I know the tears filled my eyes, "the sight of the cottage brings back to me sweet memories of dear old Mother Hubbard. How delighted she would have been to welcome us! How pleased she would have been if she had known!"

"She did know, Grace," he replied. "I called to see her when you were away, and the good soul spoke to me about you in such loving terms that I could not help making her my confidante; and do you know, she asked if she might kiss me before I left. She hoped to live to see the consummation, but if that were denied her she bade me tell you how earnestly she had prayed for our happiness, and how fervently she had longed to see us united."

Now I have reached the very last line in my book. How could I end it better than with Mother Hubbard's blessing?

THE END