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Updated: June 10, 2025
He's dreadfully particular, but then all old bachelors are!" Maryllia smiled, and bidding them good-morning cantered off. She was curiously touched at the notion of old Josey Letherbarrow missing her, and 'Baby Hippolyta' crying for her. "Not one of my society friends would miss me!" she said to herself- "And certainly I know nobody who would cry for me!" She checked her thoughts "Except Cicely.
Leach's orders, as deaf as a post unless you 'ollers at him, but a good-meanin' man for all that and I sez, 'Spruce, you and me 'ull go an' fetch old Josey Letherbarrow, and see if bein' the oldest 'n'abitant, as they sez in books, he can't get a wurrd with Miss Vancourt, and so 'ere we be, Miss, for the trees be chalked" and he turned abruptly to Spruce and bellowed "Baint the trees chalked for comin' down to-morrow marnin'? Speak fair!"
"Nonsense!" snapped out Cicely, sharply, almost angrily "Why should you take the sins of everyone in the parish on. your shoulders? Broad as they are, you can draw the line somewhere surely! You might as well blame poor old Josey Letherbarrow. He was the one who persuaded Maryllia to save the Five Sisters, and if you were to tell him that all the trouble had come through him, he'd die!
"D'ye mind the Squire's daughter, Josey?" asked one of the village women sauntering a little nearer to him. "Mind her?" And Josey Letherbarrow halted abruptly. "Do I mind my own childer?
Josey Letherbarrow, what reads, an' 'as larnin', calls it the Sarky Fagus, an' my Kitty, she's studied at the school, an' SHE sez 'it's Sar-KO- fagus, mother, which it may be or it mayn't, for the schools don't know more than the public-'ouses in my opinion, leastways it's a great long white coffin what's supposed to 'ave the body of a saint inside it, an' Mr.
And so profound were her cogitations on this point that she actually forgot to give her husband the sound rating she had prepared for him concerning the part he had taken in bringing Josey Letherbarrow up to the Manor.
Rest and the outlying neighbourhood so far as its presiding ruler John Walden was concerned, while within the village his reticence and reserve were so strongly marked that even the most privileged person in the place, Josey Letherbarrow, awed at his calm, cold, almost stern aspect, hesitated to speak to him except on the most ordinary matters, for fear of incurring his displeasure.
The village lasses looked at each other's hats with keener interest, the lads fidgeted with their ties and collars more strenuously, and secreted their caps more surreptitiously behind their legs, and the most placid-looking personage in the whole congregation was Josey Letherbarrow, who, in a very clean smock, with a small red rose in his buttonhole, and his silvery hair parted on either side and just touching his shoulders, sat restfully in his own special corner not far from the pulpit, leaning on his stick and listening with rapt attention to the fall and flow of the organ music as it swept round him in soft and ever decreasing eddies of sound.
It was old Josey Letherbarrow as done it." And he related the incidents of the past evening in a style peculiar to himself, laying considerable weight on his own remarkable intelligence and foresight in having secured the 'oldest 'n'abitant' of the village to act as representative and ambassador for the majority. Walden listened with keen interest.
She had fulfilled her promise of paying a visit to Josey Letherbarrow, and had sat with the old man in his cottage, talking to him for the better part of two hours. Rumour asserted that she had even put the kettle on the fire for him, and had made his tea.
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