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Updated: July 28, 2025
He'll get money and marry you, won't he, when his aunt, Mrs. Coomstock, dies?" "No; I thought so tu, an' hoped it wance; but Clem says what she've got won't come his way. She's like as not to marry, tu there 'm a lot of auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee among 'em." Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes, interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting.
Theer 's the Hickses, an' Chowns, an' Coomstocks all a-stickin' up theer tails an' a-purrin' an' a-rubbin' theerselves against the door-posts of the plaace like cats what smells feesh. I won't have none of it. I'll dwell along wi' she an' play a husband's part, an' comfort the decline of her like a man, I warn 'e." "Why, Mrs. Coomstock 's not so auld as all that, Billy," said Phoebe.
Anyway, you 'm tokened to Chris and will be one of the family some day perhaps when Mother Coomstock dies, so I'll leave my secret with you. But not a soul else not mother even. So you must swear you'll never tell to man or woman or cheel what I've done and wheer I be gone." "I'll swear if you like." "By the livin' God." "By any God you believe is alive." "Say it, then."
"Leave that to me. I'll clear his brains double-quick; aye, an' make un jump for somethin'!" "Then I suppose it's got to be. I'm yourn, Billy, an' theer needn't be any long waitin' neither. To think of another weddin' an' another husband! Just a drop or I shall cry. It's such a supporting thing to a lone female." Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not stop to inquire.
An' when my banns of marriage be hollered out next Sunday marnin', then us'll knaw who 'm gwaine to marry Mother Coomstock an' who ban't. I can work out my awn salvation wi' fear an' tremblin' so well as any other man; an' you'll see what that God-forsaken auld piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what's done an' caan't do nought but just swallow his gall an' chew 'pon it." The Rev.
Coomstock's parlour walls hung Biblical German prints in frames of sickly yellow wood; along the window-ledge geraniums and begonias flourished, though gardeners had wondered to see their luxuriance, for the windows were seldom opened. "'It never rains but it pours," said Widow Coomstock. She giggled again and looked at Billy.
You 'm two-and-thirty year auld next February, an' it do look as though they silly bees ban't gwaine to put money enough in the bank to spell a weddin' for us this thirty year to come. Theer's awnly your aunt, Widow Coomstock, as you can look to for a penny, and that tu doubtful to count on." "Don't name her, Chris.
He rumpled his hair and snorted and frowned at the empty glasses. "Have a drop?" suggested Mrs. Coomstock; but Billy, of opinion that his love had already enjoyed refreshment sufficient for the time, refused and answered her former remark. "A fine figure? yes, Mary Coomstock, though not so fine for a man as you for a woman. Still, a warm-blooded chap an' younger than my years."
Gaffer indeed was sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one of those seats set in the open air for the pleasure and convenience of wayfarers about the village. So Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon Mrs. Coomstock sat, plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his arm round the wide central circumference of her person. She suffered this courageous attempt without objection.
Ess fay, he'll depart wi' his fiery nature an' horrible ideas 'pon manuring of land; an' a gude riddance for Monks Barton, I say." "'Mazing 't is," declared Mr. Coomstock, "that he should look so black all times, seeing the gude fortune as turns up for un when most he wants it." "So 't is," admitted Billy.
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