"'The Lard is King, be the people never so impatient; He sitteth between
the cherubims, be the airth never so unquiet'!"
Then he sat again and long remained motionless with his face buried in his
hands.
Meantime the old horse dragged Uncle Chirgwin and his niece away along the
level road to Mousehole. Joan was wrapped in a tarpaulin and they proceeded
silently a while under cold rains, which swept up from a leaden south over
the sea. The wind blew strong, tore green leaves from the hedges, and
chimed with the thoughts of the man and his niece.
"How did you come to speak so big an' braave, Uncle Thomas? I couldn' say
no more to en, for the lights rose up in my throat an' choked me; but you
swelled out somethin' grand to see, an' spawk as no man ever yet spawk to
faither afore."
"'Twas put in me to say; I doan't knaw how ever I done it, but my tongue
weern't my awn for the time. Pull that thing tighter about 'e. This rain
would go through a barn door."
At the steep hill rising from Mousehole to Paul, Uncle Chirgwin got out and
walked, while the horse, with his shoulders to the collar, plodded forward.
Then, down the road came the laboring man, Billy Jago, mentioned aforetime
as one who had worked for Mr. Chirgwin in the past. He touched his hat to
his old master and greeted him with respect and regard. For a moment the
farmer also stopped. No false sentiment tied Billy's tongue and he spoke of
matters personal to those before him, having first mournfully described his
own state of health.
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