“It’s a new age, miss, and they know it.”
Already Elizabeth had had two callers. The first was the farmer from down the road, who twisted his hat awkwardly.
“Colonel Thomas, he stopped at my place,” he explained. “You might think he’d found a million dollars. I want to know when your trees are coming.”
Elizabeth rose, frightening the farmer, who thought she was going to be resentful.
“I’m going to call my brother,” said she. “He’s the boss of the orchard.”
While the men talked, Elizabeth sat on the doorstep, her hands clasped round her knees. She smiled into the twilight, remembering with amusement a narrow escape. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say, when she had heard Herbert’s adventures, “Darling, weren’t you afraid?” and she had caught herself in time, realizing that neither “afraid” nor “darling” were words to say any more to Herbert.
When the farmer had gone, Elizabeth thought of a blossoming orchard.
Then a gaunt figure crossed the yard. Elizabeth had not seen Jinny, but she believed that this was Jinny before her.
“We’ve heard tell that you spoke for us,” said a harsh, tired voice. “You said to every one assembled at the place of meetin’ this afternoon that not bein’ trusted makes folks wicked. You said you was goin’ to trust us. Now you have let your light shine, miss, don’t forsake us. There’s not many left of us, what with our airless houses an’ the tisic, but what there is is not so bad as you might expect. What I ask, miss, is that you will stand by us.”