wind could lift the whole lot off. And another thing ..." He now stamped one toot on the shale and shook his head slowly as he said, "It'll never hold. I mean you've got to have a foundation;
that's the main thing. "
She put her fingers to her lips now and turned her head away, saying,
"Our Jimmy said that, but I thought that if I got a lot of mud and stuck the bricks in it, it would be all right."
He was shaking his head again. Then, still staring at the rock, he said, "The only way it would hold as I
can see is to roughen it, use a pick on it, so the mortar'll get a purchase. "
"Would that do it?" There was eagerness in her voice now.
"It might; and if you roughed your mortar with bits of chips and pebbles and used sandy mud.... There's a patch of it at yon side of the bum; I'll show you. It means pledging across every time but it'll be worth it in the long run.... Have you a pick?" he now asked.
"A pick? Oh yes. And it's a good pick, it was me da's." She hurried into the cave and came out with the pick to see him taking his coat off and laying it neatly to one side. When he took the pick from her hand, she said, "But you're not going to ... ?" and he replied on a laugh,
"Well, do you think I'm goin' to stand and watch you doin' it?"
He was holding her gaze again. And now she could not return the look in his eyes and her head drooped and she turned away, saying, "It's kind of you."
He said nothing to this but asked, "How big do you want it?" then watched her walking seven steps from the entrance of the cave. Her pacing brought her feet almost to the point of his, and when, still looking at the ground, she said, "About here," he did not answer or move. She lifted her head up. His face seemed to be hanging above hers; his lips were apart, his eyes unblinking, and he said softly, "I think you're a wonderful lass, Cissie."
The heat that swept over her body brought beads of perspiration on to her upper lip and her forehead. It brought her heart pumping so strongly under her bodice that she saw the rapid rise and fall of the buttons, and the heat brought with it a sweetness that she could taste in her mouth and smell with her nostrils. It brought with it a joy that made her want to run as she had sometimes done when alone on the fells, when the air had cut sharp against her throat and the sky was blue and endless and everythinp clean looking.
And then the sweat, the color, and the sweetness seeped swiftly away to leave her cold as she r membered the woman in the mill who had given them the tea and bread, and whose ugly face had softened as she looked at him and whose voice had sounded musical when she had said his name.
And she remembered also that he was Matthew Tumbull, the wheelwright, who worked to support his paralyzed father, his mother, his grandmother, and his aunt. He was Matthew Turnbull who was lucky in a way to be favored by Rose Watson, the daughter of the miller, who was a very warm man, so why was he saying to her "You're a wonderful lass"
Perhaps because he was of a kindly nature. But the look in his eyes was not that which just came from a kindly nature; she had seen that kind of look before. Now and again her da had looked at her ma like that, sometimes after a baim was born.
She turned slowly from him, knowing his eyes were tight on her, and she made her way to where the children were dragging the stone-laden sledge, and she had reached them before she heard the first metallic sound of the pick striking the stone.
That night she had the dream of the white house again but it was so enveloped in light that she couldn't make out any part of it.
The wheelwright's shop stood at the end of the village of Benham.
There were about thirty houses all told in the village and James Tumbull's house was the largest, except for the inn at the other end of the street. The shop itself had the appearance of a stable, having two large double doors that opened outwards into the street. There was a window at each
that's the main thing. "
She put her fingers to her lips now and turned her head away, saying,
"Our Jimmy said that, but I thought that if I got a lot of mud and stuck the bricks in it, it would be all right."
He was shaking his head again. Then, still staring at the rock, he said, "The only way it would hold as I
can see is to roughen it, use a pick on it, so the mortar'll get a purchase. "
"Would that do it?" There was eagerness in her voice now.
"It might; and if you roughed your mortar with bits of chips and pebbles and used sandy mud.... There's a patch of it at yon side of the bum; I'll show you. It means pledging across every time but it'll be worth it in the long run.... Have you a pick?" he now asked.
"A pick? Oh yes. And it's a good pick, it was me da's." She hurried into the cave and came out with the pick to see him taking his coat off and laying it neatly to one side. When he took the pick from her hand, she said, "But you're not going to ... ?" and he replied on a laugh,
"Well, do you think I'm goin' to stand and watch you doin' it?"
He was holding her gaze again. And now she could not return the look in his eyes and her head drooped and she turned away, saying, "It's kind of you."
He said nothing to this but asked, "How big do you want it?" then watched her walking seven steps from the entrance of the cave. Her pacing brought her feet almost to the point of his, and when, still looking at the ground, she said, "About here," he did not answer or move. She lifted her head up. His face seemed to be hanging above hers; his lips were apart, his eyes unblinking, and he said softly, "I think you're a wonderful lass, Cissie."
The heat that swept over her body brought beads of perspiration on to her upper lip and her forehead. It brought her heart pumping so strongly under her bodice that she saw the rapid rise and fall of the buttons, and the heat brought with it a sweetness that she could taste in her mouth and smell with her nostrils. It brought with it a joy that made her want to run as she had sometimes done when alone on the fells, when the air had cut sharp against her throat and the sky was blue and endless and everythinp clean looking.
And then the sweat, the color, and the sweetness seeped swiftly away to leave her cold as she r membered the woman in the mill who had given them the tea and bread, and whose ugly face had softened as she looked at him and whose voice had sounded musical when she had said his name.
And she remembered also that he was Matthew Tumbull, the wheelwright, who worked to support his paralyzed father, his mother, his grandmother, and his aunt. He was Matthew Turnbull who was lucky in a way to be favored by Rose Watson, the daughter of the miller, who was a very warm man, so why was he saying to her "You're a wonderful lass"
Perhaps because he was of a kindly nature. But the look in his eyes was not that which just came from a kindly nature; she had seen that kind of look before. Now and again her da had looked at her ma like that, sometimes after a baim was born.
She turned slowly from him, knowing his eyes were tight on her, and she made her way to where the children were dragging the stone-laden sledge, and she had reached them before she heard the first metallic sound of the pick striking the stone.
That night she had the dream of the white house again but it was so enveloped in light that she couldn't make out any part of it.
The wheelwright's shop stood at the end of the village of Benham.
There were about thirty houses all told in the village and James Tumbull's house was the largest, except for the inn at the other end of the street. The shop itself had the appearance of a stable, having two large double doors that opened outwards into the street. There was a window at each
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