barely a half mile, but one moved in that time from desperate poverty to quiet plenty. Even ten paces from the foetid little shack made all the difference; for the air outside was biting clear and biting cold. There had been a frost in the night but the sun was quickly thawing it. Spiders’ webs spangled the melting dew. Seagulls screamed in the high remote sky, partly in control of themselves, partly at the behest of the wind. Surf tumbled and muttered in the distance. A day to be alive, with food in your belly and youth in your limbs. ‘Glory be to the Lord Jesus!’ said Sam, and went on his way.
He knew of course that Choake did not concern himself much with the poor, but this was a neighbourly problem and such dire distress merited some special attention. Fernmore was little more than a farmhouse but it was: dignified by its own grounds, its own drive, its group of wind-blown and elderly pine trees. Sam went to the back door. It was opened by a tall maidservant with the boldest, most candid eyes he had ever seen.
Not at all abashed - for what had shyness to do with proclaiming the kingdom of God? Sam smiled his slow sad smile at her and told her what he wished her to tell the doctor. That two people, two of the Verneys, were dead in their cottage hard by, and that help was much needed for the youngest, who ran a hectic fever and coughed repeatedly and had blotches about the cheeks and mouth. Would surgeon have a mind to see them?
The girl looked him over carefully from head to foot, as if assessing everything about him, then told him to wait while she asked. Sam pulled his muffler more tightly round his throat and tapped his foot against a stone to keep warm and thought of the sadness of mortal life but of the power of immortal grace until she came back.
`Surgeon says you’ve to carry this back, and he’ll come seethe Verneys later in the morning. See? So off with you now.’
Sam took a bottle of viscous, green liquid. She had the whitest skin and the blackest hair, with tinges of red-copper in it as if it had been dyed.
`To swallow?’ he said. `Be this for the lad to swallow or—’.
To rub in, lug. Chest an’ back: Chest an’ back. What else? An’ surgeon says t’ave the two shillings ready when ‘e call.’
He thanked the girl and turned away. He expected the door so slam but it did not, and he knew she was standing watching him. All down the short stone path, slippery with half-melted frost, he was wrestling with the impulse which by the time he had made the eight or nine paces to the gate had grown too strong for him. He knew that it would be wrong to resist this impulse; but he knew that in yielding to it he risked misunderstanding in speaking so to a woman of his own age.
He stopped and turned back. She had her hands on her elbows and was staring at him. He moistened his lips and said : `Sister,, how is your soul? Are ee a stranger to divine things?’
She did not move,` just looked at him with eyes slightly wider. She was such a handsome girl, without being exactly pretty, and she was only a few inches shorter than he was.
`What d’you mean, lug?’
`Forgive me,’ he said. `But I got a deep concern for your salvation. Has the Searcher of hearts never moved in ee?’
She bit her lip. `My dear life and body! I never seen the likes of you before. There’s many, tried other ways but never this ! Come from Redruth fair, av ee?’
`I’m from Reath Cottage,’ he said stolidly. `Over to Mellin. We been there nigh on two year, brother and me. But now he..
`Oh, so there’s another like you ! Shoot me if I seen the equal.
Why?
‘Sister, we have meetings thrice-weekly at Reath Cottage where we d’read the gospel and open our hearts t’-each other. Ye’d be welcomed by all. We’d pray together. If so be as you’re a stranger so happiness, an unawakened soul, wi’out God and wi’out hope in the world, we would go down on our knees together and seek our Redeemer.’
`I’ll be
He knew of course that Choake did not concern himself much with the poor, but this was a neighbourly problem and such dire distress merited some special attention. Fernmore was little more than a farmhouse but it was: dignified by its own grounds, its own drive, its group of wind-blown and elderly pine trees. Sam went to the back door. It was opened by a tall maidservant with the boldest, most candid eyes he had ever seen.
Not at all abashed - for what had shyness to do with proclaiming the kingdom of God? Sam smiled his slow sad smile at her and told her what he wished her to tell the doctor. That two people, two of the Verneys, were dead in their cottage hard by, and that help was much needed for the youngest, who ran a hectic fever and coughed repeatedly and had blotches about the cheeks and mouth. Would surgeon have a mind to see them?
The girl looked him over carefully from head to foot, as if assessing everything about him, then told him to wait while she asked. Sam pulled his muffler more tightly round his throat and tapped his foot against a stone to keep warm and thought of the sadness of mortal life but of the power of immortal grace until she came back.
`Surgeon says you’ve to carry this back, and he’ll come seethe Verneys later in the morning. See? So off with you now.’
Sam took a bottle of viscous, green liquid. She had the whitest skin and the blackest hair, with tinges of red-copper in it as if it had been dyed.
`To swallow?’ he said. `Be this for the lad to swallow or—’.
To rub in, lug. Chest an’ back: Chest an’ back. What else? An’ surgeon says t’ave the two shillings ready when ‘e call.’
He thanked the girl and turned away. He expected the door so slam but it did not, and he knew she was standing watching him. All down the short stone path, slippery with half-melted frost, he was wrestling with the impulse which by the time he had made the eight or nine paces to the gate had grown too strong for him. He knew that it would be wrong to resist this impulse; but he knew that in yielding to it he risked misunderstanding in speaking so to a woman of his own age.
He stopped and turned back. She had her hands on her elbows and was staring at him. He moistened his lips and said : `Sister,, how is your soul? Are ee a stranger to divine things?’
She did not move,` just looked at him with eyes slightly wider. She was such a handsome girl, without being exactly pretty, and she was only a few inches shorter than he was.
`What d’you mean, lug?’
`Forgive me,’ he said. `But I got a deep concern for your salvation. Has the Searcher of hearts never moved in ee?’
She bit her lip. `My dear life and body! I never seen the likes of you before. There’s many, tried other ways but never this ! Come from Redruth fair, av ee?’
`I’m from Reath Cottage,’ he said stolidly. `Over to Mellin. We been there nigh on two year, brother and me. But now he..
`Oh, so there’s another like you ! Shoot me if I seen the equal.
Why?
‘Sister, we have meetings thrice-weekly at Reath Cottage where we d’read the gospel and open our hearts t’-each other. Ye’d be welcomed by all. We’d pray together. If so be as you’re a stranger so happiness, an unawakened soul, wi’out God and wi’out hope in the world, we would go down on our knees together and seek our Redeemer.’
`I’ll be
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