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Updated: June 9, 2025
Lilac pushed her hand through the palings and managed to pick some sweet-peas which were trailing themselves helplessly about for want of support, then she went on to the next gate. Poor Mrs Wishing was very lonely now that her only neighbour was gone; very few people passed over that way or came up so far from Danecross.
She sank down on the settle and wrung her hands helplessly, but started up again the next minute with a sudden energy which seemed to petrify her husband. "Put on your boots," she said, pointing to them; and as Mr Darvell meekly obeyed she went on speaking quietly and rapidly. "Wake up Jack Gunn and send him down to Danecross.
"Father, he's lived there all his life," said Frank; "and granther, he used to live there too. Father can do a better day's work nor any man in Danecross," he added with conscious pride. "Ah!" said the rector, "it's a fine thing to be a good workman, and to have earned a good name, isn't it?" Frank hung his head. "But it isn't done by tramping about the country with bad companions.
"Ask any of 'em at Danecross, sir," pleaded poor Frank in despair; "anyone ull tell ye I belong to honest folk." "That's no proof you're not a thief," put in the persistent Andrew; "there's many a rotten apple hangs on a sound tree." The rector looked up impatiently.
Immediately below was the grey church of Danecross, the rectory, the school-house, and a group of cottages all nestling sociably together; farther on, Orchards Farm peeped out from amongst the trees, which were still white with blossom, and above all this came the cold serious outline of the chalk hills, broken here and there by the beech woods.
As he sat at work he could see the fire and the clock without getting up, which was very convenient, and he was proud of his work-shed, though in the winter it was both chilly and dark. Joshua lived quite alone. He had come to Danecross twenty years ago from the north, bringing with him a wife, a collection of old books, and a clarionet.
Mrs Pinhorn, who had been standing near during this conversation, now struck sharply in: "They do say there was a brownie at the farm in those days, but when it got into other hands he was angered and quitted." "That's a curious superstition, ma'am," said the grocer politely. "There's folks in Danecross who give credit to it still," continued Mrs Pinhorn.
Mrs Darvell's black eyes fixed themselves keenly on the vicar's face. "You've heard summat, sir?" she said, laying one damp red hand on his coat-sleeve. "Is the lad livin'? Just tell me that. Is he livin'?" "Look there," said the vicar. He turned and pointed down the road, where, at the top of the hill leading up from Danecross, two figures were just visible. They came nearer and nearer.
"What do you want, my lad?" he said in a kind voice. Directly Frank heard him speak he knew he could not be the schoolmaster, but the parson of the village. Parson at Danecross used to speak in the same sort of way. He felt ashamed to beg, and looked back at Barney for support, who immediately came slouching up with his white mice, and began to speak in his usual professional whine.
But the night waned, and no tidings came of Frank. Jack Gunn came back from Danecross having learned nothing, and the poor mother's fears increased. The boy must be wandering in those weary woods, afraid to come home or perhaps lost.
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