Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
Author of "Old Delabole," "Brunel's Tower," etc.
1918
The people were coming to church and one had thought it Sunday, but fortwo circumstances. The ring of bells at St. Mary's did not peal, and thewomen were dressed in black as the men.
Through the winding lanes of Bridetown a throng converged, drawn to thegrey tower by a tolling bell; and while the sun shone and a riot of manyflowers made hedgerows and cottage gardens gay; while the spirit of thehour was inspired by June and a sun at the zenith unclouded, the folk ofthe hamlet drew their faces to sadness and mothers chid the children,who could not pretend, but echoed the noontide hour in their hearts.
All were not attired for a funeral. A small crowd of women, with one ortwo men among them, stood together where a sycamore threw a patch ofshade on a triangular space of grass near the church. There were fiftyof these people—ancient women, others in their prime, and many youngmaidens. Some communion linked them and the few men who stood with them.All wore a black band upon their left arms. Drab or grey was theirattire, but sun-bonnets nodded bright as butterflies among them, and eventheir dull raiment was more cheerful than the gathering company in blackwho now began to mass their numbers and crane their heads along thehighway.
Bridetown lies near the sea in a valley under a range of grassy downs.It is the centre of a network of little lanes with cottages dotted uponthem, or set back behind small gardens. The dwellings stood underthatch, or weathered tile, and their faces at this season were radiantwith roses and honeysuckles, jasmine and clematis. Pinks, lilies,columbines made the garden patches gay, and, as though so many flowerswere not enough, the windows, too, shone with geraniums and the scarlettassels of great