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Updated: June 26, 2025
"The apples are ripe and ready to fall, Oh! heigh-ho! and ready to fall; There came an old woman and gathered them all, Oh! heigh-ho! and gathered them all." .... They brought Pasiance very simply no hideous funeral trappings, thank God the farm hands carried her, and there was no one there but John Ford, the Hopgoods, myself, and that young doctor. They read the service over her grave.
The floor had no carpet, and there was not one single dark object except the violin, hanging from a nail over the bed. A little, round clock ticked solemnly. "Why won't you give me that stuff, Mums?" Pasiance said in a faint, sharp voice. "I want to sleep." "Have you much pain?" I asked. "Of course I have; it's everywhere." She turned her face towards me.
Every tree, bramble, and fern in the lanes was dripping water; and every bird singing from the bottom of his heart. I thought of Pasiance all the time. Her absence that day was still a mystery; one never ceased asking oneself what she had done. There are people who never grow up they have no right to do things. Actions have consequences and children have no business with consequences.
In the evening, as I was starting for the coastguard station to ask for help to search the cliff, Pasiance appeared, walking as if she could hardly drag one leg after the other. Her cheeks were crimson; she was biting her lips to keep tears of sheer fatigue out of her eyes. She passed me in the doorway without a word. The anxiety he had gone through seemed to forbid the old man from speaking.
And not one of th' old stock to take it when 'e's garn.... Ah! it werr cruel; my old woman's never been hersel' since. Tell 'ee what 'tis don't du t' think to much." I went out of my way to pass the churchyard. There were flowers, quite fresh, chrysanthemums, and asters; above them the white stone, already stained: "PASIANCE "'The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away."
I went to the kitchen, where Hopgood was sitting at the table, eating bread and cheese. He got up on seeing me, and very kindly brought me some cold bacon and a pint of ale. "I thart I shude be seeing yu, zurr," he said between his bites; "Therr's no thart to 'atin' 'bout the 'ouse to-day. The old wumman's puzzivantin' over Miss Pasiance.
This evening Dan came; during supper he handed Pasiance a roll of music; he had got it in Torquay. The shopman, he said, had told him that it was a "corker." It was Bach's "Chaconne." You should have seen her eyes shine, her fingers actually tremble while she turned over the pages.
Seems odd to think of her worshipping at the shrine of Bach as odd as to think of a wild colt running of its free will into the shafts; but that's just it with her you can never tell. "Heavenly!" she kept saying. John Ford put down his knife and fork. "Heathenish stuff!" he muttered, and suddenly thundered out, "Pasiance!"
Well, that's a pity; yu'll be falin' low-like." Pasiance tossed her head, snatched up the cat, and ran indoors. I remained staring at Mrs. Hopgood. "Dear-dear," she clucked, "poor lamb. So to spake it's " and she blurted out suddenly, "chuckin' full of wra-ath, he is. Well, there!" My courage failed that evening.
'Tis a pra-aper old fam'ly: all the women is Margery, Pasiance, or Mary; all the men's Richards an' Johns an' Rogers; old as they apple-trees." Rick Voisey was a rackety, hunting fellow, and "dipped" the old farm up to its thatched roof.
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