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"Oh! cruel!" the comfortable old woman snapped in pain, as she applied her hand to the inconsolable fat foot, and nursed it. "What's roused ye, you tiger girl? I shan't be able to get about, I shan't, and then who's to cook for ye all? For you're as ignorant as a raw kitchen wench, and knows nothing." "Come, Dody, you're careless," the farmer spoke chidingly through Mrs. Sumfit's lamentations.
"Now I come to think of it, Rhoda my Dody, I don't think ever I've loved anybody else. Never loved e'er a young woman in my life. As a young man." "Tell me, uncle; are you not very rich?" "No, I ain't; not 'very'; not at all." "You must not tell untruths, uncle." "I don't," said Anthony; only, too doggedly to instil conviction. "I have always felt, uncle, that you love money too much.
Dody, d'ye think? he'll be wantin' till come back for company, belike? Well, he's one o' th' Lord's own, ef he is a bit cranky." An odd tenderness came into the man's jaded old face. Whatever trust in God had got into his narrow heart among its bigotry, gross likings and dislikings, had come there through the agency of this David Gaunt.
There was nothing irresolute or shabby in Gaunt's voice, however, as he greeted the old man, clear, thin, nervous. Scofield looked at him wistfully. "Dunnot drive David off, Dody," he whispered; "I think he's summat on his mind. What d'ye think's his last whimsey? Told me he's goin' off in the mornin', Lord knows where, nor for how long.
"Now I come to think of it, Rhoda my Dody, I don't think ever I've loved anybody else. Never loved e'er a young woman in my life. As a young man." "Tell me, uncle; are you not very rich?" "No, I ain't; not 'very'; not at all." "You must not tell untruths, uncle." "I don't," said Anthony; only, too doggedly to instil conviction. "I have always felt, uncle, that you love money too much.
Husband and child might be dearer, but she would never be "Dody" to any one again. She shut the loss up in her own heart. She never named him afterwards. It was a cold winter's evening, that, after the funeral.
Robert, perhaps you'll be so good as let me help you, sir? It's good tea; and my Dody," she added, cajolingly, "my home girl 'll tell us what she saw. I'm pinched and starved to hear." "By-and-by, mother," interposed the farmer; "tomorrow." He spoke gently, but frowned. Both Rhoda and Robert perceived that they were peculiarly implicated in the business which was to be discussed without Mrs.
"Oh! cruel!" the comfortable old woman snapped in pain, as she applied her hand to the inconsolable fat foot, and nursed it. "What's roused ye, you tiger girl? I shan't be able to get about, I shan't, and then who's to cook for ye all? For you're as ignorant as a raw kitchen wench, and knows nothing." "Come, Dody, you're careless," the farmer spoke chidingly through Mrs. Sumfit's lamentations.
Robert, perhaps you'll be so good as let me help you, sir? It's good tea; and my Dody," she added, cajolingly, "my home girl 'll tell us what she saw. I'm pinched and starved to hear." "By-and-by, mother," interposed the farmer; "tomorrow." He spoke gently, but frowned. Both Rhoda and Robert perceived that they were peculiarly implicated in the business which was to be discussed without Mrs.
Thar's no blood on my hands." He fumbled at his pocket. "My pipe? Was it broke when I fell? Dody 'd like to keep it, mayhap. She allays lit it for me." The moment's flash died down. He muttered once or twice, after that, "Dode," and "Lord Jesus," and then his eyes shut. That was all. They had buried her dead out of her sight. They had no time for mourning or funeral-making now.
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