“Evening!” came Postman Harry’s gruff voice. “Just a lile letter fro’ Canada. ’Twill be fro’ David, as I said to myseln soon as ever I saw the writing and the mark. I’ll step in, after my round’s finished, and hear what news he gi’es ye.”
This easy handling of the mail’s privacy, was one of Garth’s usual customs, and Hirst assented. “Ay, step in, Harry. News and a cup o’ summat warm—ye’ll need it, with all the snow ye’ve got to trudge through.”
“All i’ the year’s work! I’ll be glad to hear news o’ David, I own. Terrible pitiful thing, as I says to Daniel just now while sorting my mail—terrible daft thing to think of a steady, straight set-up Garth man choosing to waste his time i’ them furrin parts. Garth’s good enough for me, though plague take her weather. Well, I must be trudging.”
Cilla was standing at the table, a puzzled frown on her face. She scarcely heard Harry’s chatter. The wished-for letter had come; it happened to be from David; and her only feeling was one of indifference. It had been different not many months since in the early weeks of her shame and loneliness, after bidding Reuben keep faith with Peggy o’ Mathewson’s. She had welcomed the first letter from Canada, had read and reread it, had taken courage from the strength underlying David’s crude sentences and simple penmanship. She had needed him then. And now?
“Art in a day-dream, lass,” roared Hirst, tearing the letter open as he came in again. “Here’s news from an old friend o’ yours. Sit down by the hearth, Cilla, and let’s see what’s doing out i’ Canada.”
Hirst read the scrawled pages with some difficulty, laid them down on the settle, and glanced across at Cilla.
“There’s news with a vengeance. David’s coming home i’ the spring.”
“So soon?” asked Cilla, with sudden disquiet. “It seems a far journey for so short a stay.”
“So he thinks, too. He’s never what you would call bitter, isn’t lad David, but he comes near to ’t this time. His aunt Joanna, it seems, has found a man to her liking, and is going to be wed before long. She wants David about her till the wedding-day—trust Joanna for that—but not a minute later. The only thing David finds pleasant in the business is his longing to be home in Garth again.”
Cilla’s interest was roused, as it always was by injustice. “But, father, she might have thought of that before sending in such haste for David. It was not as if she asked him to step across to the next parish. He left his work here, to—”