Read Online A Month in the Country by J.L. Carr - Free Book Online

the railway station. ‘Let’s call and see Emily Clough; she’s dying of consumption,’ Kathy said. ‘We can give her the cornflowers Edgar’s picked for Mam.’
    Her brother had learnt that both pleas and resistance were vain, sohe only looked hopeful that the spectacle of Emily dying would be worth this confiscation. We sauntered on below orchard branches spreading over a hedge until we came to a brick cottage, its front to the dusty road, the other sides looking on to fruit trees and three or four horse-boxes.
    The door was wide open and a staircase immediately before it. ‘We’ve come to bring Emily a bunch of flowers Edgar’s picked for her, Mrs Clough,’ Kathy called, and a voice from deeper inside the house bade us go up. ‘We fancied somebody would call on their way back from chapel. On your way out you can have a jam tart.’
    â€˜I’ve brought your star-card, Emily,’ Kathy said. ‘Mr Dowthwaite stamped it “S” for Sick. S’s count the same as stars.’ She ran her fingers along the square. ‘You only need six more stars for a prize,’ she said. ‘Or S’s,’ Edgar added encouragingly.
    â€˜I’ve been thinking what book I’d like,’ Emily said. ‘I liked
The Forgotten Garden
. Maybe you’ll take word to Mr Dowthwaite to look out for one by the same author when he goes to York to buy the prizes. What are you having?’
    â€˜
The Coral Island
and Edgar’s having
Children of the New Forest
.’
    â€˜Isn’t it a bit beyond him?’ I asked.
    â€˜He’ll grow to like it later,’ she replied. ‘I’ve heard it’s a good story with two girls in it. This is Mr Birkin, Emily. He’s the man living in the church.’
    â€˜I’ve heard about you,’ the dying girl said. ‘I’m longing to see what you’re doing and, when I’m better, I hope you’ll still be here, Mr Birkin.’
    An apple tree grew outside her window, its boughs almost pushing into the room. The sun came through the leaves with a soft burnished light. No birds sang in the heat. Summer’s heaviness oppressed me. Brother and sister stared at the pale girl: in adults such curiosity would have been indecent. ‘Who was there today?’ she asked. ‘Tell me who was there.’
    She listened to the names. Even as late as early spring, she must have gallivanted across ditches and through hedges with some of them. ‘What hymns did you have?’ she demanded. ‘I like “You in your small corner and I in mine”,’ she said. ‘It’s my favourite but it’s not suitable for summer. It’s a cosy sort of one; it makes me think of winter and darknights and going to bed with a hot water bottle. I like your straw hat, Kathy. Let me try it on.’
    The crimson streamers flamed against her pale face. She turned to a mirror and her eyes shone. ‘I think it suits me,’ she said. ‘I like hats. Wearing a hat’s part of the fun of Sunday-school.’
    â€˜When you come next, our Kathy’ll let you wear it,’ Edgar said daringly: no doubt it was an oblique revenge.
    Emily did not answer him. Oddly enough, she turned to me and our eyes met. Then we trooped downstairs and had our jam tarts. When we were back on the road and Edgar was picking cornflowers again, Kathy said, ‘She knows she’s dying, doesn’t she? You’re coming back for your tea, aren’t you? Mam said you could.’
    By this time, I’d got down to my last bob and still Keach showed no sign of forking out a first instalment. It hadn’t slipped his mind because he wasn’t that sort of man; he was going to make me
ask
for it and this irritated me. But, when I walked up to the village grocer’s and found I hadn’t a penny to buy a
Daily Mail
, there wasn’t much left but to knuckle under.
    His vicarage turned out