old indigo planter, who likes to have his own way in everything. Now then, old lady, out with it. I like to hear what the fools tattle about me; and besides, I want Tom here to know what sort of a character I have in Furzebrough.”
“I—I’d really rather not say, sir. I don’t want to hear these things, but people will talk to David and cook and Jenny, and it all comes to me.”
“Well, I want to hear. Out with it.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t ask me, sir.”
“Can’t help it, Mrs. Fidler. Come.”
“Bromley the baker told cook, sir, that if you were going to grind your own flour, you might bake your own bread, for not a loaf would he make of it.”
“Glad of it. Then we should eat bread made of pure wheat-meal without any potatoes and ground bones in it. Good for us, eh, Tom?”
“Better, uncle,” said the boy, smiling.
“Well, what next?”
“Doctor told David out in the lane that he was sure you had a bee in your bonnet.”
“To be sure: so I have; besides hundreds and thousands in the hives. Go on.”
“And Jane heard down the village that they’re not going to call it Pinson’s mill any more.”
“Why should they? Pinson’s dead and gone these four years. It’s Richard Brandon’s mill now.”
“Yes, sir, but they’ve christened it Brandon’s Folly.”
“Ha, ha! So it is. But what is folly to some is wisdom to others. What next? Does old Mother Warboys say I am going to hold wizards’ sabbaths up in the top storey, and ride round on the sails o’ windy nights?”
“Not exactly that, sir,” said Mrs. Fidler, looking sadly troubled and perplexed; “but she said she was sure you would be doing something uncanny up there, and she hoped that no evil would descend upon the village in consequence, for she fully expected that we should be smitten for your sins.”
“Did she tell you this?”
“No, sir; she said it to Mr. Maxted.”
“Told the vicar?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what did he say?”
“She says he insulted her, sir, and that she’ll never go into his church any more. She’s been telling every one so—that he called her a silly, prejudiced old woman.”
“Is that all?”
“It’s all I can remember, sir.”
“And enough too. Look here, Tom, you had, I think, better call David, and tell him to put the pony in and drive you back to the station. I’m sure you would rather go back to your uncle James, and be happy with your cousin Sam.”
Tom smiled.
“You can’t want to stay here.”
“Are you going up to the mill now, uncle?” said Tom, with a quaint look.
“Oh yes, directly, if you are going to risk it. Ready?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Then come on.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
