(9/13)The School at Thrush Green

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

Book: (9/13)The School at Thrush Green by Miss Read Read Free Book Online
Authors: Miss Read
Tags: England, Country Life, Country Life - England, Pastoral Fiction, Primary School Teachers
was well content when she stayed with us.'
    Tom's face lit up. 'That's right good of you, sir. It'd be a weight off my mind.'
    'And if you go ahead of her, Tom,' said the rector smiling, 'she can come to the vicarage anyway and be among friends. So now stop fretting.'
    Tom drew in his breath gustily.
    'I wish I could do something to repay you,' he said.
    'You can, Tom. What about a cup of tea?'
    He watched the old man go with a spring in his step to fill the kettle. He was humming to himself as he went about setting a tray.
    If only all his parishioners' troubles could be settled so simply, thought Charles!

    As Agnes Fogerty had guessed, Harold Shoosmith was proving most helpful on the subject of Dorothy's driving tuition and the buying of a small car.
    The two ladies had been invited next door for a drink to discuss matters and Harold was waxing enthusiastic., It was strange, thought Agnes, how animated most men became when discussing machinery. Her dear father, she recalled, could read a book without any sort of reaction to its contents. It was the same with a play or a concert. He was quite unmoved by these products of the arts, but his joy in his old tricycle, upon which he rode when delivering the shoes he repaired, was immense.
    Later, he had taken to driving a three-wheeled Morgan and the same fanatical light had gleamed in his eyes. To Agnes any form of locomotion was simply the means of getting from one place to another and she looked upon this male fever as just one more incomprehensible facet of man's nature.
    'I've thought a good deal about driving lessons,' Harold was saying. 'I shouldn't get Reg Bull if I were you. I'd offer myself, but I don't know that friends make the best instructors. Worse still are spouses, of course, but you are spared those.'
    'I certainly shouldn't have allowed you to teach me,' said Isobel. 'As it is, you gasp whenever I let in the clutch.'
    'Do I? I never realised that!'
    'Well, you do. And very trying it is,' said his wife briskly. 'But go on. Tell Dorothy your bright idea.'
    'It occurred to us both, that perhaps Ben Curdle would be willing to give you lessons. He's a marvellous driver, very steady and calm. I'm sure he'd be first-class. If he's willing, of course, to let you learn on his Ford. It's a good gearbox. You could do worse than buy a little Ford when the time comes.'
    'Ben Curdle would be just the man,' agreed Miss Watson. 'But would he do it? He doesn't seem to have much spare time.'
    'If you like, I will have a word with him and let you know the result. One thing I do know - he would be glad to earn some money in his spare time.'
    'That would be very kind of you. I have the greatest respect for Ben, so like his dear grandmother. If he will take me on, I shall be delighted.'
    'And, of course,' added Harold, 'I can take you out occasionally for a run in my car, just to get the hang of things.'
    'How lovely! I should appreciate that. And I hope you will advise me when it comes to buying a car.'
    Harold's eyes sparkled at the prospect. 'What was the car you drove earlier?' he enquired.
    Dorothy frowned with concentration. 'Now, what was it? I know it was a red one, with rather pretty upholstery, but I can't think what make it was.'
    Harold looked flabbergasted.
    'I'm sure the name will come back to you when you are not thinking about it,' said Isobel soothingly. 'Like throwing out the newspaper and knowing immediately what ten down was in the crossword. Harold, Agnes's glass is empty.'
    Recalled to his duties as host, Harold crossed to the side-table, but he still appeared numb with shock at the abysmal ignorance of the female mind.

5. Personal Problems
    'I'VE just had a letter,' said Miss Watson at breakfast one morning, 'from Better and Better.'
    'From who?'
    'From whom,' corrected Dorothy automatically. 'From Better and Better, dear. The estate agents. My sharp note to them seems to have done some good. They've sent particulars of two bungalows and a ground-floor flat.

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