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But through the tree-trunks in that direction there came two other boys in search of the ball Ned Turk, who to-day was the station-master at Roothing station, and Bobbie Wickes; and at the sight of her they stood stock-still as George Postgate had done, and, like him, dropped their heads and flushed and lifted lewd faces. A horror came on her.
But she must not be angry with George Postgate, for indeed the incident had been to him only a means of gaining that popularity with the fellows that his poor stupid soul so longed for and had so often been refused, and he could not know that the fright would make her feel so ill.
And when Fate threw Miss Fowler's nephew, an unlovely orphan of eleven, on Miss Fowler's hands, Mary Postgate stood to her share of the business of education as practised in private and public schools. She checked printed clothes-lists, and unitemised bills of extras; wrote to Head and House masters, matrons, nurses and doctors, and grieved or rejoiced over half-term reports.
Hobbs, who kept the general stores, would take her in and let her rest till it was dark, and then see her home. She turned round and walked out of the wood, and because she could not, in her heavy-footed state, trample through the undergrowth, she had to follow the path that led her to within a yard or two of George Postgate.
'I never expected anything else, said Miss Fowler; 'but I'm sorry it happened before he had done anything. The room was whirling round Mary Postgate, but she found herself quite steady in the midst of it. 'Yes, she said. 'It's a great pity he didn't die in action after he had killed somebody. 'He was killed instantly. That's one comfort, Miss Fowler went on.
She leaned forward and listened, smiling. There could be no mistake. She closed her eyes and drank it in. Once it ceased abruptly. 'Go on, she murmured, half aloud. 'That isn't the end. Then the end came very distinctly in a lull between two rain-gusts. Mary Postgate drew her breath short between her teeth and shivered from head to foot.
Hennis, Miss Postgate. Nurse looked at the mother, who had dropped face down on the floor. 'She's only in a fit. Turn her over. Mary heaved Mrs. Gerritt right side up, and hurried off for the doctor. When she told her tale, he asked her to sit down in the surgery till he got her something. 'But I don't need it, I assure you, said she.
Before she reached the house Dr. Hennis, who was also a special constable, overtook her in his car. 'Oh, Miss Postgate, he said, 'I wanted to tell you that that accident at the "Royal Oak" was due to Gerritt's stable tumbling down. It's been dangerous for a long time. It ought to have been condemned. 'I thought I heard an explosion too, said Mary.
One she could hear, from the breaking down of brushwood, was quite close to her. Her best plan was to hide. So she stood quite still under the low branches of an elder-tree, while George Postgate doubled by. Poor George!
Mary Postgate Of Miss Mary Postgate, Lady McCausland wrote that she was 'thoroughly conscientious, tidy, companionable, and ladylike. I am very sorry to part with her, and shall always be interested in her welfare. Miss Fowler engaged her on this recommendation, and to her surprise, for she had had experience of companions, found that it was true.
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