fine of ’eself,’ he said to the spade that he carried, walking to his home instead of to Mr. Gulliver’s; ‘but he bain’t nothing so careful as Pring.’
After many days of waiting for her answer, Miss Pink decided that Mr. Gulliver had dropped the letter in the field and that therabbits had eaten it. And she began to think that she couldn’t love rabbits as well as she used to. Sometimes, when she thought no one was listening, and she saw the rabbits in Mr. Gulliver’s field, she would say to them unhappily, ‘You shouldn’t have eaten my letter up—you naughty rabbits!’
But was it the rabbits? Miss Pink thought as she grew older that it might have been the horned beast from the sea. Perhaps he had pounced out upon poor Pring and torn the letter from him and then gone down to the sea again.
‘The sea is very dangerous,’ Miss Pink said to her brother, when she decided that the beast might have done it.
‘No, it’s very beautiful,’ said Mr. Pink….
Mr. Pring held up his spade and pointed to the skies; he wished to show his wife that the skies and the weather were one and the same.
‘They wide skies,’ said Mr. Pring, ‘be against I; for whenever I be minded to climb to top of cliff and to pull loose stones out of road, for fear Mr. Hunt, who be worse than all they damned surveyors, mid come by, ’e do come.’
‘Who do come?’ asked Mrs. Pring.
‘Rain,’ replied her husband dolefully. ‘’E do come; and even when I do take an’ crack stones in lane, wi’ me back turned, she do blow upon me from behind.’
Mr. Pring began to move slowly; he had decided that, whatever the weather did, it was his duty to try to remove from the cliff road the stones that Mr. Hunt complained about. No one ever left his home, though for only a few hours and upon the smallest and most necessary occasion, with graver foreboding than did Mr. Pring. He always supposed that when he went off to the roads, Mrs. Pottle—and Mrs. Pring always said that she could do it—would change herself into a nasty dog, and bite his lame cow or else torment the little pigs.
Mr. Pring, as well as Mary Gulliver, felt the nakedness of the outside world, where one might walk in solitude for a mile and see no one.
The more ordinary and simple-minded a person is, the less able is he to enjoy solitude; and any word from man or woman, be that word ever so plain, is far more acceptable to such a one than the choicest gusts of wind from heaven.
Mr. Pring never approached anything that wasn’t a tree or a hill, but that had a more human look, without the greatest inquisitiveness .
He appeared now to be more than usually hopeful of meeting some one to talk to, because since the arrival of those fine visitors upon the cliff Mockery Gap had plenty to say for itself.
Pring was full of news, that bubbled as he walked and sometimes broke out of him in a groan of suppressed interest and sometimes in a chuckle.
As soon as he had entered the lane that led to the cliff, something had attracted his notice that wasn’t the mere dullness of empty nature, but rather belonged, and excitedly belonged, to the human.
To any one who knows a scene very well, the presence of something stationary, where nothing of the kind is likely to stand, at once arouses an interest and calls for further investigation .
The object that Mr. Pring saw looked black in the white cliff road, and was set half-way up the hill, looking in Mr. Pring’s eyes like one of the monsters that Mr. Gulliver talked so much about.
Mr. Pring hadn’t walked far before he decided that the monster in question was nothing more terrible than Mr. Hunt’s motor car, that had evidently broken down going up the steep place in the hill. Mr. Pring quickened his pace, for before him was no dead nature, or even a surprising monster, but a mere human accident, and so a kindly amusement for Mr. Pring.
When Mr. Pring reached the car, he perceived that there were two gentlemen in the road
After many days of waiting for her answer, Miss Pink decided that Mr. Gulliver had dropped the letter in the field and that therabbits had eaten it. And she began to think that she couldn’t love rabbits as well as she used to. Sometimes, when she thought no one was listening, and she saw the rabbits in Mr. Gulliver’s field, she would say to them unhappily, ‘You shouldn’t have eaten my letter up—you naughty rabbits!’
But was it the rabbits? Miss Pink thought as she grew older that it might have been the horned beast from the sea. Perhaps he had pounced out upon poor Pring and torn the letter from him and then gone down to the sea again.
‘The sea is very dangerous,’ Miss Pink said to her brother, when she decided that the beast might have done it.
‘No, it’s very beautiful,’ said Mr. Pink….
Mr. Pring held up his spade and pointed to the skies; he wished to show his wife that the skies and the weather were one and the same.
‘They wide skies,’ said Mr. Pring, ‘be against I; for whenever I be minded to climb to top of cliff and to pull loose stones out of road, for fear Mr. Hunt, who be worse than all they damned surveyors, mid come by, ’e do come.’
‘Who do come?’ asked Mrs. Pring.
‘Rain,’ replied her husband dolefully. ‘’E do come; and even when I do take an’ crack stones in lane, wi’ me back turned, she do blow upon me from behind.’
Mr. Pring began to move slowly; he had decided that, whatever the weather did, it was his duty to try to remove from the cliff road the stones that Mr. Hunt complained about. No one ever left his home, though for only a few hours and upon the smallest and most necessary occasion, with graver foreboding than did Mr. Pring. He always supposed that when he went off to the roads, Mrs. Pottle—and Mrs. Pring always said that she could do it—would change herself into a nasty dog, and bite his lame cow or else torment the little pigs.
Mr. Pring, as well as Mary Gulliver, felt the nakedness of the outside world, where one might walk in solitude for a mile and see no one.
The more ordinary and simple-minded a person is, the less able is he to enjoy solitude; and any word from man or woman, be that word ever so plain, is far more acceptable to such a one than the choicest gusts of wind from heaven.
Mr. Pring never approached anything that wasn’t a tree or a hill, but that had a more human look, without the greatest inquisitiveness .
He appeared now to be more than usually hopeful of meeting some one to talk to, because since the arrival of those fine visitors upon the cliff Mockery Gap had plenty to say for itself.
Pring was full of news, that bubbled as he walked and sometimes broke out of him in a groan of suppressed interest and sometimes in a chuckle.
As soon as he had entered the lane that led to the cliff, something had attracted his notice that wasn’t the mere dullness of empty nature, but rather belonged, and excitedly belonged, to the human.
To any one who knows a scene very well, the presence of something stationary, where nothing of the kind is likely to stand, at once arouses an interest and calls for further investigation .
The object that Mr. Pring saw looked black in the white cliff road, and was set half-way up the hill, looking in Mr. Pring’s eyes like one of the monsters that Mr. Gulliver talked so much about.
Mr. Pring hadn’t walked far before he decided that the monster in question was nothing more terrible than Mr. Hunt’s motor car, that had evidently broken down going up the steep place in the hill. Mr. Pring quickened his pace, for before him was no dead nature, or even a surprising monster, but a mere human accident, and so a kindly amusement for Mr. Pring.
When Mr. Pring reached the car, he perceived that there were two gentlemen in the road
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