United States or Eritrea ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He went back to the pamphlet on which he was engaged with renewed ardour and laboured diligently far into the night. "I was in Great Beeding this morning," said Dick, as he sat at luncheon with his father, "and the blinds were up in Aunt Margaret's house." "They have returned from their holiday then," his father observed with a tremor in his voice. He looked afraid. Then he looked annoyed.
"No, I shouldn't go as far as that. Oh no! What has he done now?" "He has paid out of his own pocket the fines of all the people in Great Beeding who have just been convicted for not having their babies vaccinated." Dick Hazlewood stared in surprise at his companion's indignant face. "But of course he'd do that, Mr. Chubble," he answered cheerfully.
People would have laughed at the philosopher of Little Beeding. I have heard their laughter all this month. Now, however, once the truth is known no one will be able to say " Henry Thresk looked up from his plate aghast. "Do you mean to say, Mr. Hazlewood, that after Mrs. Ballantyne has told her story you mean to make that story public?" Mr. Hazlewood stared in amazement at Henry Thresk.
"But here best of all," he answered. "Not to run away that's our policy. We'll make our home in our own south country. I arranged to take you over the house between half-past five and six this evening." They walked across to Little Beeding and were made welcome by Mr. Hazlewood. He came out to meet them in the garden and nervousness made him kittenish and arch. "How are you, Stella?" he inquired.
He could not but remember how so very few weeks ago he had been urgent that Richard should spend his summer at Little Beeding and lend a hand in the noble work of defending Stella Ballantyne against ignorance and unreason. But the twinge only lasted a moment. He had made a mistake, as all men occasionally do yes, even sagacious and thoughtful people like himself.
Speaking of pamphlets, my boy," he began, and walked over to a desk which was littered with papers. "We have not the time, sir," Dick interrupted from the bay of the window. A woman had come out from the cottage. She unlatched a little gate in her garden which opened on to the meadow. She crossed it. Yet another gate gave her entrance to the garden of Little Beeding.
I want to put my questions myself in my own way and I thought that you might get him down to Little Beeding." "But I have no excuse," cried Hazlewood, and Mrs. Pettifer at last understood the plan which was in her husband's mind, which had been growing to completion since the night when he had dined at Little Beeding. "Yes, you have an excuse," she cried, and Pettifer explained what it was.
We are to keep the danger in the family. Very wise, sir, upon my word." "Richard, you pervert my meaning," said Mr. Hazlewood. "The neighbourhood has not been kind to Mrs. Ballantyne. She has been made to suffer. The Vicar's wife, for instance a most uncharitable person. And my sister, your Aunt Margaret, too, in Great Beeding she is what you would call " "Hot stuff," murmured Dick.
A mile beyond, a mile of yellow lanes between high hedges, they came to the village of Little Beeding, one big house and a few thatched cottages clustered amongst roses and great trees on the bank of a small river. Thither old Mr.
He now lived in the big house to which the village owed its name and indeed its existence. He lived and spread consternation amongst the gentry for miles round. "Lord, how I wish poor Arthur hadn't died!" old John Chubble used to cry. He had hunted the West Sussex hounds for thirty years and the very name of Little Beeding turned his red face purple. "There was a man. But this fellow!
Word Of The Day