For when Mrs. Thorpe said—
“Have another mince-pie—do,” she really voiced, quite without it, the brave and kind thoughts of those who had been strong enough to take life gladly, and urged Andy to follow their example.
And when Mr. Thorpe said—
“We shall pull our damsons to-morrow. We waited until they’d had a touch of frost on them to take the tartness off. Have you pulled yours yet?” he really spoke of all those things, deep hidden, which make a man ready to do his day’s work here and trust in God for the reward.
And as they sat round the fire, their tongues speaking of the unchanging springtime and harvest, and their souls of the unchanging day’s work and faith in the end, they belonged—those three—to no time or place. They were so absolutely unconsciously above and beyond all that, and any man who has ever thought from the far misty dawn of history until now, might have slipped into the fourth empty chair, and talked with them and understood.
At last Mrs. Thorpe began to speak of Elizabeth’s wedding, and wondered what the bridesmaids would wear, and brought out a silver cream-jug which she and Mr. Thorpe were presenting to the young couple.
“I hear the Squire is going to the Little House,” said Mr. Thorpe, for so the Dower Lodge was called in the village. “But he fails a bit, week by week, though he isn’t an old man. He’ll be glad to see his son settled in and managing everything.”
“That’s why they are hurrying the marriage on so. Only five days from now,” added Mrs. Thorpe. “I have heard people say, ‘Short a-doing—long a-rueing!’ but it can’t be so in this case, I think. They do seem to have everything the heart can want.”
“Nice-looking girl,” said Mr. Thorpe, taking the masculine view. “Very.”
“The Stamfords have gold plate, if they like to use it, and no young man ever made a worse husband for having sown his wild oats first,” said Mrs. Thorpe, following with the feminine outlook. “Shall you assist at the ceremony, Mr. Deane?”