Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre by Miss Read

times as kids,' said Josh. There was a sentimental whine in his tone, and Fred was not deceived. Best get rid of him he supposed, stirring the glue pot, before he started crying over old times. At this rate he'd never get the roof done, let alone the doorway.
    'I've got mighty little myself,' said Fred, dismissing the old memories bit, 'but you can have two quid.'
    He rummaged in a back pocket and handed over two crumpled pound notes.
    'You're a good sort, Fred. I won't forget.'
    'You'd better not! It's a loan, not a Christmas present. You see you pay me back after your beating.'
    'I'll do that, Fred. That I will. That's a promise.'
    He held out a dirty hand. Reluctantly Fred shook it.
    'Now I've been and dropped that matchstick, blast it!' he said.
    'Best not let Maud hear you a-swearing,' laughed Josh and made his way into the night.

    When Fred Pringle finally emerged from his haven, leaving two calendars to dry on the bench, his wife was waiting for him in the living room.
    'And what did that waster want?'
    'Old Josh? Oh, he just dropped in, you know. Christmas, and all that.'
    Fred's airy tone did not deceive Maud.
    'I asked what he
wanted
,' persisted the lady. 'Did you give him money?'
    Fred had a sudden coughing attack.
    'You'd best have your cocoa now,' said Mrs Pringle, 'we'll talk then.'
    She departed into the kitchen and soon returned with two steaming mugs on a tray, and the usual pair of digestive biscuits which constituted their bed-time snack.
    'Now, let's have the truth, Fred Pringle,' she said flatly. 'How much, and why?'
    'Two quid, and because he's my brother,' replied Fred, who thought he might as well get the whole business over and done with.
    'You're a bigger fool than I thought,' was his wife's
comment, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into Fred's mug. 'You'll never see that again!'
    'He knows it's only a loan. He's got money due from beating after Christmas.'
    'If I was a betting woman,' said Mrs Pringle, 'which I am glad to say I'm not, I would bet my last penny that Josh Pringle will never pay you back. You're a fool, Fred, and weak with it. You should have sent him packing.'
    'At Christmas time?'
    'Particularly at Christmas time,' said Mrs Pringle, 'that's when he needs it most. If I know that good-for-nothing brother of yours he's already in "The Beetle and Wedge" drinking his way through your cash.'
    'I was thinking of his poor kids.'
    'His
poor kids,'
replied Maud, who had seen more than enough of them that day, 'are Josh's affair, not yours. Let him provide for his own.'
    And with that she banged the two empty mugs on the tray, and swept out into the kitchen.

    She was right of course.
    Josh Pringle had gone to the pub in Fairacre's High Street, and there quaffed three pints of beer before closing time. He was not drunk when he emerged from the pub, but the path was slippery. He crashed to the ground outside Mr Willet's gate, letting out a great bellow.
    Bob Willet, busy shutting up his hen house, heard the cry and went to investigate and, seeing who it was, assumed that Josh was drunk.
    'Here, give us your hand,' he said, 'and remember to take more water with it.'
    Josh staggered to his feet, gave a yelp of pain, and flung his arms round Mr Willet for support.

    'It's me ankle,' gasped Josh, 'bin and done it in.'
    He was certainly in pain and, although he smelt of beer, Mr Willet was pretty sure he was not completely intoxicated.
    'You'd best come in a minute, and let Alice have a look.'
    Leaning heavily on the shorter man, Josh hobbled up the path.
    Alice Willet, who was getting ready for bed and had already taken down her bun and transformed it into a wispy grey plait, was not pleased to see their guest.
    'Josh has done somethin' to his ankle,' explained Bob, depositing the patient in an armchair with a sigh of relief.
    'Better let me see,' said Alice resignedly.
    The state of Josh's socks gave her far more of a shock than his injuries. The former were tattered and decidedly noisome. His