That night Joan's uncle told the girl of his afternoon's work, and she
expressed some sorrow that he should have thus exerted himself on her
behalf.
"Faither's dirt beside the likes of you," she said. "'Twas wastin' good
time to talk to en, an' I wouldn't go back to Newlyn, you mind, if he was
to ax me 'pon his knees. I'm a poor fool of a gal, but I knaws enough to
laugh at the ignorance o' faither an' that fiddle-faaced crowd to the Luke
Gospel Chapel."
"Doan't 'e be bitter, Joan. Us all makes mistakes an' bad's the best o'
human creatures. Your faither will chaange, sure as I'm a livin' man, some
day. God ban't gwaine to let en gaw down to's graave wi' sich a 'mazin'
number o' wrong opinions. Else think o' the wakin' t'other side! Iss, it
caan't be. Why, as 'tis, if he went dead sudden, he'd gaw marchin' into
heaven as bold as brass, an' bang up to the right hand o' the thrawne!
Theer's a situation for a body! An' the awk'ardness o' havin' to step
forrard an' tell en! No, no, the man'll be humbled sure 'fore his journey's
end. Theer's Everlasting eyes 'pon en, think as you may."
"I never think at all about him," declared Joan, "an' I ban't gwaine to. He
won't chaange, an' I never wants en to. I've got you to love me, an' to
love; an' I'm--I'm waitin' for wan as be gawld to faither's dross."
She sighed as she spoke.
"Waitin' for en still?"
"Ay, for Mister Jan.
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