"No, no--a sight too much--too much by half. I'll let 'e have the lot for a
fi'-pun' note. An' I'd like it to be a new wan, if 'tis the same to you."
Joan agreed to this, and ten minutes afterward Uncle Chirgwin was opening
his cash-box and handing Thomasin the snowy, crackling fragment she
desired.
"'Tis the fust bit o' money ever I kept unbeknawnst to Michael," she said,
"an', 'pon me life, Chirgwin, I be a'most 'feared on't."
"You'll soon get awver that," declared Uncle Thomas. "I'll send the trap
home with 'e, an' you can look out the frippery; an' you might send a nice
split bake back-along with it, if you've got the likes of sich a thing
gwaine beggin' to be ate."
Presently Mrs. Tregenza drove away and Joan went to her room to think.
Magic effects had risen from the spectacle of the well-remembered face,
from the sound of the sharp, high voice. A new sensation grew out of them
for Joan. Home rose like a vision, with the sighing of the sea, the crying
of the gulls, the musical rattle of blocks in the bay, the clink, clink of
picks in the quarry, the occasional thunder of a blast. Many odors were
with her: the smell of tar and twine and stores, the scent of drying fish.
She saw the low cliffs all gemmed at this season with moon-flowers--the
great white convolvulus which twinkled there. A red and purple fuchsia in
the garden, had blossomed also. She could see the bees climbing into its
drooping bells.
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