Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: October 7, 2025
"She have so," agreed Mrs Wishing mildly; "and I wonder, that I do, to see her carrying that heavy basket on foot she as used to come in her spring cart." Mrs Pinhorn pressed her lips together before answering, then she said with meaning: "They're short of hands just now at Orchards Farm, and maybe short of horses too." "You don't say so!" said Mrs Wishing, drawing nearer.
Some of these were on foot and others in all kinds of vehicles, from a wagon to a donkey cart. Mr Buckle presently dashed by them in a smart gig, and called out, "How's yourself, Peter?" as he passed; and farther on they overtook Mrs Pinhorn actively striding along in her well-known checked shawl.
"An' him such a good husband!" said Mrs Wishing. "An' the baby an' all as we was just talking on," said Mrs Pinhorn; "well, it's a fatherless child now, anyway." "The family ought to allow the widder a pension," said Mr Dimbleby, "seeing as James White died in their service, so to speak." "They couldn't do no less," agreed the cobbler.
He pointed to the hole made by Captain Galsworthy's elbow, and there, sure enough, was the white end of a folded paper showing. "Dear me," says Mr. Vetch, getting up from his seat. "I knew nothing of it." He goes to the broken panel, brings out the paper, and as he looked at it turned so ghastly pale that Mr. Pinhorn clutched a decanter of brandy and began to pour some of it into a glass.
During the last part of her speech Mrs Greenways had been poking and squeezing her parcel of sugar into its appointed corner of her basket; as she finished she settled it on her arm, clutched at her gown with the other hand, and prepared to start. "And now, as I'm in a hurry, I'll say good night, Mrs Pinhorn and Mrs Wishing, and good night to you, Mr Dimbleby."
She had recently left her place in consequence of a disagreement with her mistress, and she was lodging with some people in the neighbourhood whom Mrs. Gould knew. In the manner here indicated I obtained the Narratives of the housekeeper, of the doctor, of Jane Gould, and of Hester Pinhorn, exactly as they are presented in these pages.
A few weeks after I regained possession of my little property Sir Richard Cludde died of gout and other diseases, said Mr. Pinhorn; Mistress Vetch said of rage. His estate had been much impoverished, and his widow was now left almost penniless. She was my father's sister, and, my own lot being happy, I could not endure to think of her in penury and distress.
He sat back in his seat again, while the expression of his whole figure seemed to say, "Thank God, my conscience is clear, whatever happens to you." Jack was so taken down by all this that, for a moment, his head swam. Mr. Pinhorn added: "Prospered, but how? That is the question. Took the money of a friend and spent it. Many could tell you. Wine! Women! Infidelity! House built on the sands!" Mr.
"Yon's an afflicted woman," said one, "for all she carries herself so high under it." "She's the only widder among all the Whites hereabouts," remarked Mrs Pinhorn. "We needn't call her `Mrs White on the hill' no longer, poor soul." "It's a mercy she's got the child," said another neighbour, "if the Lord spares it to her." "The christening's to be on Sunday," added a third.
When I had reminded him that the great principle on which we were supposed to work was just to create the demand we required, he considered a moment and then returned: "I see you want to write him up." "Call it that if you like." "And what's your inducement?" "Bless my soul my admiration!" Mr. Pinhorn pursed up his mouth. "Is there much to be done with him?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking