"
Ere long Mr. Holworth was on his way to the gulley. What had been
only a glade reaching from rock to stream, hidden in copsewood, was
now an open space trodden by cattle, with the actual straw-yard more
in the rear, but with a goat tethered on it and poultry running
about. It was a sunny afternoon, and in a wooden chair placed so as
to catch the warmth, with feet on a stool, sat, knitting, a figure
that Mr. Holworth at first thought was that of an aged man; but as he
emerged from the wood, and the big dog sprang up and barked, there
was a looking up, an instant silencing of the dog, a rising with
manifest effort, a doffing of the broad-brimmed hat, and the
clergyman beheld what seemed to him his old Churchwarden's face, only
in the deadly pallor of long-continued illness, and with the most
intense, unspeakable look of happiness and welcome afterwards
irradiating it, a look that in after years always came before Mr.
Holworth with the "Nunc dimittis."
Dropping the knitting, and holding by the chair, he stood trembling
and quivering with gladness, while, summoned by the dog's bark,
Patience, pail in hand, appeared on one side, and Ben, tall and
slight, with his flail, on the other.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316