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Updated: May 18, 2025
"I know I'm not worthy of Greg's friendship," she said eagerly. "And all the time I've thought of you, Rachael, as having the first right, as being far, far above me in everything! But I'm telling you everything, you see " Magsie interrupted herself to explain. "Go on!" Rachael urged, clearing her throat. "Well, it's not much.
To shorten my story, my lad, I have arranged for the squire and your excellent progenitor to meet at Bulsted: we may end by bringing them over a bottle of old Greg's best. "See the boy's father," I kept on insisting. The point is, that this confounded book must be off your shoulders, my lad. A dirty dog may wash in a duck-pond.
I dipped my handkerchief in the pool just beside me and laid it, all dripping, on Greg's forehead. I didn't know whether it was a proper First Aid thing to do, but he seemed to like it and was still again, holding my hand. Presently he said: "Mother, why isn't there a drink?" "This is awful, Chris," Jerry said. Then I thought of the rain-pools.
Only a moment did Mr. Edwards need for the reading of Greg's note. Then the cadet lieutenant frowned at Dick. "Mr. Prescott, what do you mean by perpetrating a poor-spirited joke under the guise of making an official communication?" In an instant Dick saw clearly that be had made a military mistake. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said meekly. "This may all be a joke to you, Mr.
Rachael asked stupidly. "Oh, every day! At tea, you know, or sometimes especially before you came back, at dinner. And, Rachael, nobody will ever know what it's done for me! Greg's managed all my business, and whenever I was utterly discouraged and tired he had the kindest way of saying: 'Never mind, Magsie, I'm tired and discouraged, too!" Magsie's face glowed happily at the memory of it.
Suddenly something began to make sense to Greg; he realized something about his father that he had never known before. Roger Hunter had been a miner, yes. But he had been something else too, something far more important than just a miner. Roger Hunter had been a fighter, fighting to the end for something he believed in.... Tawney interrupted Greg's thought. "Quite an operation," he said.
James Wilson, well known as the fellow-worker of Cobden and Bright in the agitation against the Corn Laws, and as Finance Minister in India, where he sank under the cares of his office in 1860. Mr. Wilson had been Greg's intimate friend from the days of the League down to the time of his death. When by and by Mr. Greg retired from his post as Controller , he wrote:
Greg's temperament, moreover, was too sanguine in practical affairs, as Cobden's was; and we might almost gather from his writings that he had not that faculty of sustained attention to details which is the pith and marrow of success in such a business as his. At last the crash came in 1850.
Her husband's shame was hers, and it was somehow plain that Horble had been at fault before. She never thought to doubt Greg's word, though his callousness revolted her. "What is it you want to say?" she said at last in an altered voice. "To ask you to forgive me." "For what? for taking advantage of Joe's one failing?" "No; for leaving you the way I did."
Never were a pair more delighted than Parson Greg and his wife when two days later they took possession of their new home. Half a dozen women had been at work the day before, and everything was in perfect order. To Mrs. Greg's relief she found that the old servant had already gone, the Squire having himself informed her that Mrs. Greg would bring her own maid with her. Mr.
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