In The
Meantime Good Mrs. Flowerdew Had Not Been Idle, And We Formed
The Idea That Her Neighbours Must Have Been Her Debtors For
Unnumbered Little Kindnesses, So Eager Did They Now Appear To
Do Her A Good Turn.
Out of one cottage a woman was seen
coming burdened with a big roll of bedding; from others
children
Issued bearing cane chairs, basin and ewer, and so
on, and when we next looked into our room we found it swept
and scrubbed, mats on the floor, and quite comfortably
furnished.
After our meal in the small parlour, which had been given up
to us, the family having migrated into the kitchen, we sat for
an hour by the open window looking out on the dim forest and
saw the moon rise - a great golden globe above the trees - and
listened to the reeling of the nightjars. So many were the
birds, reeling on all sides, at various distances, that the
evening air seemed full of their sounds, far and near, like
many low, tremulous, sustained notes blown on reeds, rising
and falling, overlapping and mingling. And presently from
the bushes close by, just beyond the weedy, forlorn little
"orchard," sounded the rich, full, throbbing prelude to the
nightingale's song, and that powerful melody that in its
purity and brilliance invariably strikes us with surprise
seemed to shine out, as it were, against the background of
that diffused, mysterious purring of the nightjars, even as
the golden disc of the moon shone against and above the
darkening skies and dusky woods.
And as we sat there, gazing and listening, a human voice
came out of the night - a call prolonged and modulated like
the coo-ee of the Australian bush, far off and faint; but
the children in the kitchen heard it at the same time, for
they too had been listening, and instantly went mad with
excitement.
"Father!" they all screamed together. "Father's coming!" and
out they rushed and away they fled down the darkening road,
exerting their full voices in shrill answering cries.
We were anxious to see this unfortunate man, who was yet happy
in a loving family. He had gone early in the morning in his
donkey-cart to the little market town, fourteen miles away, to
get the few necessaries they could afford to buy. Doubtless
they would be very few. We had not long to wait, as the white
donkey that drew the cart had put on a tremendous spurt at the
end, notwithstanding that the four youngsters had climbed in
to add to his burden. But what was our surprise to behold in
the charioteer a tall, gaunt, grey-faced old man with long
white hair and beard! He must have been seventy, that old man
with a young wife and four happy bright-eyed little children!
We could understand it better when he finally settled down in
his corner in the kitchen and began to relate the events of
the day, addressing his poor little wife, now busy darning
or patching an old garment, while the children, clustered
at his knee, listened as to a fairy tale.
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