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Updated: September 9, 2025
"Well, now," said Ellis, "I want to have a picture of Corwen." "Yes, to-morrow, in the field, and me standing by her. I will put on my new gaiters." "The young lady has gone to ask your master's consent." "The master!" said Shoni, locking the barn door; "pooh! 'sno need to ask him. You kom to-morrow and make a picksher on Corwen and me. Wherr you stop?" "At Brynderyn." "With the Vicare du?
I be no faither o' thine, nor never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off than b'lieve it so. It's this this blood-money the price o' a damned sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw I knaw an' the picksher the ship of a true man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse.
Here he stood and spoke again, now conscious that there were people round about him. "She'm dead dead an' buried my Joan killed by the devil as drawed her theer in that picksher. As large as life; an' yet she'm under ground wi' a brawken heart. An' me, new-comed off the sea, hears of it fust thing." "It's 'Joe's Ship' he means," whispered somebody, and Noy heard him.
"Twt, twt," said Shoni, interrupting, "you wass no need to ask Essec Powell. The gentleman is kom to-morrow to make a picksher on Corwen and me." Valmai could not resist a smile at Shoni's English, which broke the ice between her and Gwynne Ellis; and as Shoni disappeared round the corner of the barn, she gave him her hand, frankly saying: "Good-bye, Mr. Ellis; I must go in to tea."
Ban't a pleasing thing, 'specially at such a time when all the airth s gwaine daft wi' joy for the gracious gudeness o' God to the Queen o' England. In plain speech, 't is a damn dismal come-along-of-it, an' I've cried by night, auld though I am, to think o' the man's babes grawin' up wi' this round theer necks. An' wan to be born while he 'm put away! Theer 's a black picksher for 'e!
It is going to be much larger though, and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it." "Twill be a gert big picksher then?" "So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What could I paint there?" "I dunnaw."
He'm a fisherman an' caan't abear many things as happens in the world. An' not artists. Genlemen have arsked him to let 'em take my picksher, 'cause they've painted a good few maidens to Newlyn; an' some of 'em wanted to paint faither as well; but he up an' sez 'No! short. Paintin's vanity 'cordin' to faither, same as they flags an' cannels an' moosic to Newlyn church is vanity.
"Well, faither, he'm contrary to sich things, as I tawld 'e, Mister Jan. Faither said Joe'd better by a deal keep his money in his purse; but he let me have the picksher, an' 'tis nailed up in a lil frame, what Joe made, at home in the parlor." She stopped a moment and sighed, then spoke again. "Faither's a wonnerful God-fearin' man, sure 'nough." "Is he a God-loving man too, Joan?" "I dunnaw.
His suspicious nature took fright and Tarrant's dark, bright eyes seemed to read his secret and search his soul. "Yes, a portrait of Joan Tregenza was painted here last spring, but not by a Newlyn man. How does that interest you?" "Awnly sideways. 'Tedn' nothin' to me. I knaws the parties an' wanted to see the picksher if theer weern't no objection."
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