Other sounds there were none. The old people slept
within their cottages after the extra baked meats of Sunday's dinner; many
of the young paired and walked where pathways ran over meadows and through
yellowing wheat; while others, more gregarious and unattached, had tramped
away to Penzance to join the parade by the sea and meet their friends from
the shops.
Anon nailed boots stamped up the little pathway to Drift farmhouse, and Tom
Tregenza appeared. To-day he entered fearlessly, for he came upon an errand
from his father. He kissed Joan and shook hands with Uncle Thomas. Then he
said:
"'Tis a letter as I've brought for Joan--a furriner."
The girl's heart beat hard, and the blood rushing from her cheeks left them
white. But the letter only came from Joe Noy, and it is certain that Mr.
Tregenza would have forwarded no other. Excitement died, and was painfully
renewed, in a fresh direction, when Joan realized from whom the missive
came and thought about its writer. He had long been a stranger to her mind,
and now he seemed suddenly to re-enter it--like a stranger.
"I can stay for a bit of tea so long as I be back by chapel-time,"
explained Tom.
"An' so you shall, my son. Run 'e out o' doors an' amoose yourself where
you mind to; awnly don't ope the lil linhay in the Brook Croft, 'cause auld
bull's fastened up theer an' his temper's gettin' more'n more out o' hand.
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