Mrs. Kendall received me with the information that her husband was
quite well again, and out-and-about; that in fact he had started,
immediately after luncheon, to pay a round of visits on the outskirts
of the parish. On the nature of his late indisposition she showed
herself reticent, not to say "short" in her answers; nor, though the
hour was four o'clock, did she invite me to stay and drink tea with
her.
On my way back, and just within the entrance-gate of the vicarage
drive, I happened on old Trewoon, who works at odd jobs under the
gardener, and was just now busy with a besom, sweeping up the first
fall of autumn leaves. Old Trewoon, I should tell you, is a
Wesleyan, and a Radical of the sardonic sort; and, as a jobbing man,
holds himself free to criticise his employers.
"Good afternoon!" said I. "This is excellent news that I hear about
the Vicar. I was afraid, when I first heard of his illness, that it
might be something serious--at his age--"
"Serious?" Old Trewoon rested his hands on the besom-handle and eyed
me, with a twist of his features. "Missus didn' tell you the natur'
of the complaint, I reckon?"
"As a matter of fact she did not.
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