pale blue beauty was certainly an eye-catcher. He looked it over, from a distance, as he waited for someone to come to the rectory door.
Charles greeted him and took him into his study.
'Dimity's gone to take some magazines to Dotty Harmer,' he told his friend. 'Do sit down.'
'I won't keep you long,' replied Harold. He was thinking how dark and cold this room always seemed. Today, with the warm May sunshine flooding the world with golden light, it seemed incredible that this bleak study remained untouched by its ambience.
'I came for the sweep's address,' said Harold. 'Betty Bell tells me that we should have had the chimneys done a month ago. She can't remember the new chap's name, and neither can I, of course.'
'Surely, you have Potter from Lulling?'
'He died last year, I'm told.'
The rector looked shocked.
'I'm truly grieved to hear that. He was not one of my parishioners, of course, but I should like to have called on him during his last illness.'
'He didn't really have one, according to Betty,' answered Harold. 'Dropped down on someone's hearth with the flue brush still in his hand, so she says. "A lovely way to go," was her comment, "but made a terrible mess of the carpet." I'm sorry to have brought bad news.'
'Not at all. Not at all,' replied the rector, pulling himself together. 'But about this new man. I'm sure we are as nonplussed as you are, as we always had poor Potter. Have you any clues?'
'Betty tells me that he lives at the other side of Lulling Woods. He clears cesspits and farm drains, does a bit of poaching, has had three wives and rears ferrets.'
'John Boston, without a doubt,' said the rector immediately. 'Rather a rough diamond, but a very useful member of the community, when he's not in prison. I have a soft spot for John, I must admit. I'm sure he'll do your chimneys beautifully.'
He reached for a piece of paper, and wrote down the address.
'It might be best to call on him, Harold. I doubt if he can read very well.'
He handed over the slip of paper.
'Many thanks, Charles. I'll do that. Now, tell me, whose is that dazzling little car outside Ella's?'
'It must belong to Isobel Fletcher,' responded the rector. 'I know she was expected today, but I imagined she would arrive later than this. A charming woman. Have you met her?'
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'Then you must,' said the rector firmly, accompanying his visitor into the sunshine of Thrush Green. 'She's here for a week, I know, and may settle here permanently if she finds a suitable house.'
He looked about him with some surprise.
'Why, it's quite warm out here! I think I shall leave my paperwork and do a little gardening instead.'
'A very sound idea,' agreed his friend.
Albert Piggott, partially restored to health, was doing a little light gardening himself in the churchyard, Harold noticed, as he returned to his own home.
These days, the churchyard was very much easier to maintain than it had been when Harold first came to Thrush Green some years earlier.
It had been his idea to clear the whole area, to put the gravestones round the low wall which surrounded the plot, and to level the ground so that a motor mower could be used.
There had been some opposition to this scheme, but there was considerable pride in the improved tidiness of Albert's domain, and certainly the little church of St Andrew's was more attractive now in its very spacious setting.
Albert Piggott was the last person to admit that his labours had been rendered considerably lighter by the new layout. From the first, he had refused to touch the motor mower, and the Cooke boy, who had been acting as locum during Albert's illness, had taken on the mowing from the start, and proved remarkably reliable.
Albert's job consisted of a certain amount of hoeing and weeding, the upkeep of the gravel path round the church, and the pruning of the shrubs.
On this particular afternoon he was plucking groundsel from the gravel. It was about the easiest job he could find outside
Charles greeted him and took him into his study.
'Dimity's gone to take some magazines to Dotty Harmer,' he told his friend. 'Do sit down.'
'I won't keep you long,' replied Harold. He was thinking how dark and cold this room always seemed. Today, with the warm May sunshine flooding the world with golden light, it seemed incredible that this bleak study remained untouched by its ambience.
'I came for the sweep's address,' said Harold. 'Betty Bell tells me that we should have had the chimneys done a month ago. She can't remember the new chap's name, and neither can I, of course.'
'Surely, you have Potter from Lulling?'
'He died last year, I'm told.'
The rector looked shocked.
'I'm truly grieved to hear that. He was not one of my parishioners, of course, but I should like to have called on him during his last illness.'
'He didn't really have one, according to Betty,' answered Harold. 'Dropped down on someone's hearth with the flue brush still in his hand, so she says. "A lovely way to go," was her comment, "but made a terrible mess of the carpet." I'm sorry to have brought bad news.'
'Not at all. Not at all,' replied the rector, pulling himself together. 'But about this new man. I'm sure we are as nonplussed as you are, as we always had poor Potter. Have you any clues?'
'Betty tells me that he lives at the other side of Lulling Woods. He clears cesspits and farm drains, does a bit of poaching, has had three wives and rears ferrets.'
'John Boston, without a doubt,' said the rector immediately. 'Rather a rough diamond, but a very useful member of the community, when he's not in prison. I have a soft spot for John, I must admit. I'm sure he'll do your chimneys beautifully.'
He reached for a piece of paper, and wrote down the address.
'It might be best to call on him, Harold. I doubt if he can read very well.'
He handed over the slip of paper.
'Many thanks, Charles. I'll do that. Now, tell me, whose is that dazzling little car outside Ella's?'
'It must belong to Isobel Fletcher,' responded the rector. 'I know she was expected today, but I imagined she would arrive later than this. A charming woman. Have you met her?'
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'Then you must,' said the rector firmly, accompanying his visitor into the sunshine of Thrush Green. 'She's here for a week, I know, and may settle here permanently if she finds a suitable house.'
He looked about him with some surprise.
'Why, it's quite warm out here! I think I shall leave my paperwork and do a little gardening instead.'
'A very sound idea,' agreed his friend.
Albert Piggott, partially restored to health, was doing a little light gardening himself in the churchyard, Harold noticed, as he returned to his own home.
These days, the churchyard was very much easier to maintain than it had been when Harold first came to Thrush Green some years earlier.
It had been his idea to clear the whole area, to put the gravestones round the low wall which surrounded the plot, and to level the ground so that a motor mower could be used.
There had been some opposition to this scheme, but there was considerable pride in the improved tidiness of Albert's domain, and certainly the little church of St Andrew's was more attractive now in its very spacious setting.
Albert Piggott was the last person to admit that his labours had been rendered considerably lighter by the new layout. From the first, he had refused to touch the motor mower, and the Cooke boy, who had been acting as locum during Albert's illness, had taken on the mowing from the start, and proved remarkably reliable.
Albert's job consisted of a certain amount of hoeing and weeding, the upkeep of the gravel path round the church, and the pruning of the shrubs.
On this particular afternoon he was plucking groundsel from the gravel. It was about the easiest job he could find outside
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