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Updated: June 9, 2025
"'Tis only on Sundays, when 'John' rings slow, 'tis misty," answered a sharp-voiced woman, with a laugh. For half of Farlingford was already at the quay, and three or four boats were bumping and splashing against the steps. The tide was racing out, and the wind, whizzing slantwise across it, pushed it against the wooden piles of the quay, making them throb and tremble.
But the ocean, as it is called at Farlingford, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of such Titans to throw up on the rattling shingle winter after winter. And, after all, they were seafaring men, and therefore brothers. Farlingford turned out to a man, each seeking to be first across the river every time "John Darby" called them, as if he had never called them before.
"No," said Miriam, with averted eyes, in that other voice, which made him turn and look at her, catching his breath. "Oh!" he said, with a sudden laugh of comprehension. "You have heard what, I suppose, is common talk in Farlingford. You know what has brought these people here this Monsieur de Gemosac, and the other what is his name? Dormer Colville. You have heard of my magnificent possibilities.
He was anxious to do his best for the boy who had been brought up as his own son. He could think of nothing better than to secure him from want for the rest of his days. There were many qualities in Loo Barebone which he did not understand, for they were quite foreign to the qualities held to be virtues in Farlingford; such as perseverance and method, a careful economy, and a rigid common sense.
None of which things are conducive to gaiety when one is young. She glanced at him with one quick turn of the head and made no answer. But she played the air over again the girls sing it to this day over their household work at Farlingford to other words with her foot on the soft pedal. The Marquis hummed it between his teeth at the other end of the room.
Then, looking straight in front of him, with that strange air of a whipped dog which humble men wear when the hand of Heaven is upon them, he staggered up the beach toward the river and Farlingford. "Where are ye goin'?" some one asked. "Over to mine," was the reply. "A'm going to my old woman, shipmets." And he staggered away in the darkness.
So the bride and bridegroom went away in a shower of good wishes and rice to the life of organized idleness, for which the gentleman's education and talents eminently befitted him, and Miriam returned to Farlingford with Septimus.
"There is nothing," she said, turning to her book again, "for a man to do in Farlingford." "And for a woman ?" inquired Barebone, without looking at her. "There is always something everywhere." And Septimus Marvin's reflective "Yes yes," as he paused in his walk and looked seaward, came in appropriately as a grave confirmation of Miriam's jesting statement.
A gale of wind was blowing from the north-east; not in itself a wild gale, but at short intervals a fresh burst of wind brought with it a thicker fall of snow, and during these squalls the force of the storm was terrific. A man, who had waited on the far shore of the river for a quiet interval, had at last made his way to the Farlingford side. He moored his boat and stumbled heavily up the steps.
None of which things are conducive to gaiety when one is young. She glanced at him with one quick turn of the head and made no answer. But she played the air over again the girls sing it to this day over their household work at Farlingford to other words with her foot on the soft pedal. The Marquis hummed it between his teeth at the other end of the room.
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