I heard the voice of Joe outside, and the next moment he came into the church. After speaking to me, he turned to Mrs. Coombes.
“You be comin’ home with me, mother. This will never do. Father’s as wet as a mop. I ha’ brought something for your supper, and Aggy’s a-cookin’ of it; and we’re going to be comfortable over the fire, and have a chapter or two of the New Testament to keep down the noise of the sea. There! Come along.”
The old woman drew her cloak over her head, put her knitting carefully in her pocket, and stood aside for me to lead the way.
“No, no,” I said; “I’m the shepherd and you’re the sheep, so I’ll drive you before me—at least, you and Coombes. Joe here will be offended if I take on me to say I am his shepherd.”
“Nay, nay, don’t say that, sir. You’ve been a good shepherd to me when I was a very sulky sheep. But if you’ll please to go, sir, I’ll lock the door behind; for you know in them parts the shepherd goes first and the sheep follow the shepherd. And I’ll follow like a good sheep,” he added, laughing.
“You’re right, Joe,” I said, and took the lead without more ado.
I was struck by his saying them parts, which seemed to indicate a habit of pondering on the places as well as circumstances of the gospel-story. The sexton joined us at the door, and we all walked to his cottage, Joe taking care of his mother-in-law and I taking what care I could of Coombes by carrying his tools for him. But as we went I feared I had done ill in that, for the wind blew so fiercely that I thought the thin feeble little man would have got on better if he had been more heavily weighted against it. But I made him take a hold of my arm, and so we got in. The old man took his tools from me and set them down in the mill, for the roof of which I felt some anxiety as we passed through, so full of wind was the whole space. But when we opened the inner door the welcome of a glowing fire burst up the stair as if that had been a well of warmth and light below. I went down with them. Coombes departed to change his clothes, and the rest of us stood round the fire, where Agnes was busy cooking something like white puddings for their supper.
“Did you hear, sir,” said Joe, “that the coastguard is off to the Goose-pot? There’s a vessel ashore there, they say. I met them on the road with the rocket-cart.”
“How far off is that, Joe?”
“Some five or six miles, I suppose, along the coast nor’ards.”