"He'm to sea, but the whole world do knaw you be come, I'll lay; an' he'll
knaw tu. Sure's death some long-tongued female will babble it to en 'fore
he's off the quay. Then what?"
"'Tedn' your fault anyways," declared Uncle Thomas. "Joan's wisht an' sad
to see home agin, as was right an' proper; an' in her present way she've
got to be humored. So I've brot her, an' what blame comes o't my shoulders
is more'n broad enough to carry. I wish, for my paart, as Michael was home,
so's I might faace en when Joan says what her've comed to say. I be gwaine
to Penzance now, 'pon a matter o' business, an' I'll come back here in an
hour or so an' drink a dish o' tea along with you 'fore we staarts."
He drove away immediately, and for a while Joan was left with Mrs.
Tregenza. The latter's curiosity presently soothed her fears, and almost
the first thing she began to talk about was that "will and testament" which
she had long since urged upon her stepdaughter. But the girl, moving about
in the well-known orchard, had no attention for anything but the sights,
sounds and scents around her. Silently and not unhappily she basked in old
sensations renewed; and they filled her heart. Meanwhile Thomasin kept up a
buzz of conversation concerning Joan's money and Joan's future.
"Touchin' that bit o' writin'! Do 'e see to it, soas; 'tis awnly wisdom.
Theer's allus a fear wi' the fust, specially in the case o' a pin-tail
built lass like you be.
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