One day Peter went into the village to buy stimulants, and found, when he reached the house of the creaking sign-board, that he was penniless; a serious discovery, because the landlord was an austere man who allowed no "slate." Some people are born thirsty, others have thirstiness thrust upon them, and a third class, to which Peter belonged, acquire thirstiness by toilsome and tedious endeavour. It was a long walk, and the moor, like the bones in the valley, was very dry; there was not a foot of shade, and the wind was parching. Peter had long ago discovered it was easy to acquire thirst by the simple expedient of proceeding as directly as possible to the place where it could be quenched. He would borrow three-halfpence from his sister, or extract it from her box if she was absent, and then make for the village by the nearest route, winning the necessary dryness as he went. On this occasion he had forgotten about money, chiefly because he had not been compelled to borrow or steal from Mary recently, as Chegwidden had unconsciously supplied him with the means for enjoyment.
Peter leaned against the wall, and cursed all living creatures and things inanimate. He flattered himself with the belief that he was a man who never wasted time. He had walked from the hut-circles with a definite object, which was twofold: the acquiring of thirst and the quenching of the same. The first part had been attained to perfection, but unfortunately it was the inferior part, it was the laborious side, and the reward was not to come because he had been absent-minded before the event, instead of, as was usually the case, afterwards. He wondered if there was in the immediate neighbourhood any charitable soul who would lend him twopence, not to be repaid.
It was a feast-day in the village. Chapel tea and an Ebenezer love-feast were in full swing, for Pezzack and his bride had arrived that day to take up their abode in a cottage which had been freshly whitewashed to symbolise the spotless nature of its new occupants' souls. Children, dressed in their best, had earlier paraded the street with a yellow banner, shrill hymn-screaming, and a box to collect the offerings of the faithful.
It had been announced that Pezzack would preside over the tea, and that his bride would pour it out. Eli would recite grace, and all the children would say amen. Later there would be prayer and preaching, when Pendoggat was expected to give further proof of his rough eloquence and of his devotion to the particular form of religion which he favoured and to the pastor who was its faithful and local representative. Then a blessing would be given, and the girls and young men would pair off in the dark and embrace in lonely places.
Peter saw signs of the love-feast, and tokens of the refreshments, and the sight increased his thirst. Had beer been on supply within the chapel, instead of rather weak tea, he would probably have experienced a sudden ardour for religion, and have hurried there with incoherent entreaties to be placed on the penitential bench and received into the Wesleyan fold. As the festivities were of an entirely temperate nature, so far as things fluid were concerned, he decided to go and visit school-master. It was not in the least likely that the old man would lend him twopence, but Peter had enough wit to argue that it is often the most unlikely things which happen.
Master was sitting at his window, writing a letter to his son in Canada. He welcomed Peter gladly, and at once asked him to spell "turnips." It was a strange question, considering their positions, but Master explained he was getting so old and forgetful, and never could get the simple words right. The long and difficult words he could spell readily enough, but when it came to anything easy he felt so mazed he couldn't seem to think of anything.
"I be telling my Jackie how amazing fine the turnips be this fall," he explained.
Peter was glad to oblige Master. To help him with such an obscure word would be worth twopence. Slowly and stertorously he spelt it thus: "Turnnups."
"B'est sure that's right?" said Master, rather suspiciously.
Peter had no doubt whatever. He could spell harder words than that, and with the same accuracy.