(9/13)The School at Thrush Green by Miss Read Read Free Book Online Page A

That's right! Wooing, Perce.'
    Percy looked scandalised. 'I'm not acting soppy for any girl and that's flat. If they turns down flowers and chocolates and all the rest, then I don't reckon they're worth bothering about. If they don't like me, they can leave me!'
    'That's just what they are doing,' pointed out Albert. 'I take it you're still hanging around that Cooke piece as is no better'n she should be.'
    Percy's face turned from scarlet to puce.
    'You mind your own business!' he bellowed, slamming down his mug and making for the door.
    'There was no call for that,' said Mr Jones reproachfully, when the glasses had stopped quivering from the slammed door.
    'I likes to stir things up a bit, now and again,' said Albert smugly. 'I'll have a half to top up.'

    The mild spell of weather which had brought out the first spring flowers and those people, like Albert, recovering from their winter ills, now changed to a bitter session of hard frosts and a wicked east wind.
    The good folk of Thrush Green pointed out to each other that after all, it was still February, a long way to go before counting the winter over, and February and March were often the worst months of the winter.
    It was cold comfort, and Jane Cartwright took extra care of the old people in her charge. The health of old Tom Hardy, in particular, caused her some concern.
    She mentioned her worries to Charles Henstock one afternoon when he paid a visit to his old friends at the home.
    'It isn't anything I can pin down,' she said. 'His chest is no worse. He eats very little, but then he always did. He goes for a walk every day with Polly, but something's worrying him. See if you can get it out of him. He'll tell you more than he will me.'
    The rector promised to do his best, and made his way to Tom's little house, bending against the vicious wind which whipped his chubby cheeks.
    He found the old man sitting by a cheerful fire, fondling the head of his much-loved dog.
    To Charles's eye old Tom seemed much as usual as he greeted his visitor warmly.
    'Come you in, sir, out of this wind. I took Poll out this morning, just across the green, but I reckon that's going to be enough for today.'
    'Very wise, Tom. And how are you keeping?'
    'Pretty fair, pretty fair. I never cease to be thankful as I'm here, and not down at the old cottage. Jane Cartwright looks after us all a treat.'
    Polly came to the rector and put her head trustingly upon his knee. The rector stroked her gently. She was an old friend, and had stayed at Lulling vicarage when her master had a spell in hospital.
    Charles wondered whether to mention Jane's concern, and decided that it could do no harm.
    'She's a marvellous woman. I think she worries rather too much about you all. She certainly said just now that she hoped that everything was right for you.'
    Tom did not reply.
    'She said you seemed pretty healthy, which was good news, but she had the feeling that something was troubling you. Is it anything I can help with?'
    Tom sighed. 'It's Polly. I frets about her.'
    'But let's get the vet then.'
    'It's not that. It's nought as the vet can do. She's got the same trouble as I have, sir. We be too old.'
    'We're all getting old,' replied Charles, 'and have to face going some time. But what's wrong otherwise with Polly?'
    He looked at the dog's bright eyes, and felt her tail tap against his legs as she responded to her name.
    'It's what happens to her when she goes,' said Tom earnestly. 'All the dogs I've had has been buried by me in my garden. There's two graves now down at my old place by the river.'
    'So what's the difficulty?'
    'There's no place here to bury poor old Poll when her time comes. It grieves me.'
    The old man's eyes were full of tears, much to Charles's distress.
    'Then you can stop grieving straightaway,' he said robustly, leaning across Polly to pat his old friend's knee. 'If it makes you happier, let Polly be buried in the vicarage garden at Lulling. There are several pets buried there and Polly