Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  So much had happened that he was too excited to think of sleep.

  He had accomplished the two tasks he had set himself that morning as he had rested on Thrush Green's dewy grass. He had found Molly and he had confounded his cousin Sam, the thought of whose mean treachery still made Ben's hot head throb with fury.

  But more than that had happened to Ben, the full significance of which he barely realized yet. He looked back to that solemn meeting with his grandmother earlier that evening and marveled again.

  She had returned from her visit to Dr. Bailey with renewed vigor. Ben had not seen her eyes so bright or her bearing so resolute for many a long month. She had closed the door of the caravan, had motioned him to sit and had taken her own majestic stance upon the red plush stool by the fire. Then she had begun to talk to him as she had never done before.

  Out it had all poured. She spoke of his dear father, in words that moved him unaccountably; she spoke of her love for Ben himself, which had touched him so much that he had forgotten all embarrassment; and then she spoke of her own health and disabilities and her need for his help.

  She did what Ben had never thought possible. She put into words all that that telling glance had said when they had confronted each other immediately after the fight. She spoke to him, not as one in authority, but as a partner who asked for help and knew that it could be given. Ben was accepted as joint master of the Curdle business and he vowed that he would see it thrive.

  The old lady had turned to practical matters. She had shown him her rough and ready ways of calculating expenses, and had given her reasons for following certain routes year after year. She had warned him against certain districts, against unwelcoming councils and against doubtful members of the Curdle tribe itself.

  Ben had listened fascinated. Much he already knew, but much he learned that night. His happiest moment had been when the old lady praised his Molly and told him that she would welcome her to the family.

  But his most triumphant moment had come later, when Mrs. Curdle had put a chair beside her own at the card table, and they had sat side by side with the weekly wages arranged before them. The Curdle tribe, awaiting their rewards, had goggled at the sight.

  Mrs. Curdle had presented Ben to them with much the same air as the monarch presents his prince to the people of Wales.

  "Ben," she said proudly, her hawklike gaze raking the assembled company, "is my partner now. Any orders he gives are to be obeyed, as mine are."

  There was a murmur of assent, for this had been long expected, and young Ben was popular.

  "Won't be long," continued Mrs. Curdle, "before I'm dead and gone. Ben'll carry on for me."

  Ben had gazed modestly at the green baize of the table while his grandmother spoke and had waited for her next remark.

  It had come with her habitual tartness.

  "Stop gawking and pay out!" she had snapped, nudging him sharply. And Ben, partner and heir, had meekly obeyed.

  Now, in the stillness of his own caravan, he tried to realize his overwhelming good fortune, but it was too great to understand.

  Dizzy with happiness, he flung his clothes into a corner, took a last look at Molly's photograph, turned out the light, and fell almost immediately into deep sleep.

  Only one light glimmered now upon Thrush Green.

  Old Mrs. Curdle had set her candle on the chair by the bed and its small flame flickered in the draft from the half-door.

  The old lady leaned upon the sturdy lower half and gazed meditatively at the sleeping world about her.

  The skewbald ponies were tethered nearby and she could hear them cropping steadily at the grass. Far away an owl hooted from Lulling Woods, and nearer in a garden, a lovesick cat began its banshee wailing.

  The air was still and deliciously warm. Summer had begun with that sunny May day and Mrs. Curdle thought of those happy busy months which lay ahead.

  Within a few hours her little home would be rumbling along the lanes again between the flowery verges and the quickening hedges.

  Her mind roamed ahead visualizing the villages she knew so well, rosy-red brick ones, some with whitewashed walls and gray or golden thatch, and some, like dear Thrush Green, built of enduring Cotswold stone.

  Ah, a traveling life was the best one, thought old Mrs. Curdle happily. With Ben beside her, and her fears put to rest by her old friend Dr. Bailey, she felt she could face the leisurely jolting miles of summer journeyings. All would be well.

  She took a last long look at Thrush Green. The old familiar houses slept peacefully awaiting the dawn. The last light, in the doctor's sitting room, had gone out and she alone was still awake.

  High above her St. Andrew's clock chimed midnight, and then the slow notes telling the passing of another day floated upon the night air.

  "Twelve," counted Mrs. Curdle, straightening up. "Time I was abed."

  She closed the top of the door slowly.

  "I've never been to Thrush Green yet without feelin' the better for it."

  She climbed heavily into bed sighing happily.

  "Ah, well! I've had a good day," said Mrs. Curdle, and blew out the light.