Chirgwin's farmhouse door. Joan herself designed to
walk, the distance by road from Newlyn being but trifling. It chanced that
the girl met Billy Jago, he who in early spring had cut down an elm tree
while John Barron watched. Him Joan knew, for he had worked on her uncle's
farm for many years. Mr. Jago, who could be relied upon to do simple
offices, undertook the task readily enough and presently arrived with a
wheelbarrow. He whined, as ever, about his physical sufferings, but drank a
cup of tea with evident enjoyment, then fetched Joan's box from her room
and set off with it to meet the public vehicle. Her goods were to be left
at Drift, and Joan herself started at an early hour, wishing to be at the
farm before her property. She walked in the garden for the last time,
marked the magic progress of spring, then took an unemotional leave of her
stepmother.
"There 'edn' no call to leave no message as I can see," said Joan, while
she stood at the door. "He ban't my faither, he sez, so I'll take it for
truth. But I'll ask you to kiss Tom for me. Us was allus good brother an'
sister, whether or no; an' I loves en dearly."
"Iss, I knaw. He'll grizzle an' fret proper when he finds you'm gone.
Good-by to 'e. May the Lard forgive 'e, an' send your man 'long smart; an'
for heaven's sake doan't lose them notes."
"They be safe stawed next to my skin. Uncle Chirgwin'll look to them; an'
you needn't be axin' God A'mighty to forgive me, 'cause I abbun done
nothin' to want it.
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