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Updated: May 1, 2025
I prepared an Essy on Animals to read before the Social Science meetins. It is a subjeck I may troothfully say I have successfully wrastled with. I tackled it when only nineteen years old. At that tender age I writ a Essy for a lit'ry Institoot entitled, "Is Cats to be trusted?"
There was a little strained droop at the corners of her tender mouth, as if they had been tied with string. Her dark eyes still kept their young largeness and their light, but they looked as if they had been drawn tight with string at their corners too. All these signs the Vicar noted as he stared. And he hated Essy.
You know perfectly well what a beastly shame it is." That roused him. "You seem to think no more of Essy's sin than Essy does." "How do you know what Essy thinks? How do I know? It isn't any business of ours what Essy thinks. It's what we do. I'd rather do what Essy's done, any day, than do mean or cruel things. Wouldn't you?" The Vicar raised his eyebrows and his shoulders.
Saw I ought t' marry yo'. But I'm nat goain' to." "'Ave yo' coom t' tall mae thot? 'S ef I didn' knaw it. 'Ave I avver aassked yo' t' marry mae?" "Haw, Essy." "Yo' can aassk mae; yo'll bae saafe enoof. Fer I wawn't 'ave yo'. Woonce I med 'a' been maad enoof. I med 'a' said yes t' yo'. But I'd saay naw to-day." At that he smiled.
Of the merits of that Essy it doesn't becum me to speak, but I may be excoos'd for mentionin that the Institoot parsed a resolution that "whether we look upon the length of this Essy, or the manner in which it is written, we feel that we will not express any opinion of it, and we hope it will be read in other towns."
The Vicar looked at her steadily, remorselessly, as she came. Essy's lowered eyelids had kept the stain of her tears. Her thick brown hair was loose and rumpled under her white cap. But she had put on a clean, starched apron. It stood out stiffly, billowing, from her waist. Essy had not always been so careless about her hair or so fastidious as to her aprons.
All alone in the room overhead she had evidently been doing something that had pleased her. The ghost of a smile still haunted her bleak face. She carried on her arm tenderly a pile of little garments. These she began to spread out on the table before Essy, having first removed the tea-things. "There!" she said. "'Tis the lil cleathes fer t' baaby.
"Eh he'll fill it fer you, right enoof. You'll have all the yoong laads and laasses in the Daale toomblin' in to hear Jimmy." "We want them. We want everybody. You Wesleyans and all." Another pause. Rowcliffe was interested. Alice was really displaying considerable intelligence. Almost she persuaded him that her errand was genuine. "Do you think Essy Gale could get him to come?"
Gale to look in at the Vicarage on her way home, for Essy wasn't very well. But Mrs. Gale had shied off from the subject of Essy. She had done it with the laughter of deep wisdom and a shake of her head. You couldn't teach Mrs. Gale anything about illness, nor about Essy. "I knaw Assy," she had said. "There's nowt amiss with her. Doan't you woorry."
It was as if she had accused him of pretending to be sorry. He looked at her sharply. His romantic youth died in that look. Silence fell between them. But she was used to that. She even welcomed it. Steven's silences brought him nearer to her than his speech. Essy came in with the tea-tray. He lingered uneasily after the meal, glancing now and then at the clock. She was used to that, too.
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