He've got a heart in his breast, an' I'll bide 'long wi' him till Mister
Jan do come back."
"Wheer's he to now?"
"To Lunnon. He've gone to make his house vitty for me."
"Well, best to get Uncle Chirgwin to write to en, onless you'd like me to
do it for 'e."
"No. He'll do what's right--a proper, braave man."
"An 'mazin' rich seemin'ly. For the Lard's love, if you'm gwaine up Drift,
take care o' all that blessed money. Doan't say no word 'bout it till you'm
in the farm, for theer's them--the tinners out o' work an' sich--as 'ud
knock 'e on the head for half of it. To think as Michael burned a hunderd
pound! Just a flicker o' purpley fire an' a hunderd pound gone! 'Tis 'nough
to make a body rave."
The girl flushed, and something of her father's stern look seemed reflected
in her face.
"He stawl my money. No, I judge his word be truth: he'm no faither o' mine
if the blood in the veins do count for anything."
Joan went to bed abruptly on this remark, and lay awake thinking and
wondering through a long night--thinking what she should say to Uncle
Chirgwin, wondering when "Mister Jan" was coming back to her, and picturing
his excitement at her intelligence. In the morning she packed her box, ate
her breakfast, and then went into the village to find somebody who would
carry her scanty luggage as far as Penzance. From there, an omnibus ran
through Drift, past Mr.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238