fast." With such differences of opinion as occasionally arose between the vicar and his churchwardens he was immediately familiar.The history of the fever among the hop pickers at Dunstan village he had been able to relate in detail from the moment of its outbreak.It was he who had first dramatically revealed the truth of the action Miss Vanderpoel had taken in the matter, which revelation had aroused such enthusiasm as had filled The Clock Inn to overflowing and given an impetus to the sale of beer.Tread, it was said, had even made a speech which he had ended with vague but excellent intentions by proposing the joint healths of her ladyship's sister and the "President of America." Mr.Tewson was always glad to see Miss Vanderpoel cross his threshold.This was not alone because she represented the custom of the Court, which since her arrival had meant large regular orders and large bills promptly paid, but that she brought with her an exotic atmosphere of interest and excitement.
He had mentioned to friends that somehow a talk with her made him feel "set up for the day." Betty was not at all sure that he did not prepare and hoard up choice remarks or bits of information as openings to conversation.
This morning he had thrilling news for her and began with it at once.
"Dr.Fenwick at Stornham is very low, miss," he said.
"He's very low, you'll be sorry to hear.The worry about the fever upset him terrible and his bronchitis took him bad.
He's an old man, you know."
Miss Vanderpoel was very sorry to hear it.It was quite in the natural order of things that she should ask other questions about Dunstan village and the Mount, and she asked several.
The fever was dying out and pale convalescents were sometimes seen in the village or strolling about the park.His lordship was taking care of the people and doing his best for them until they should be strong enough to return to their homes.
"But he's very strict about making it plain that it's you, miss, they have to thank for what he does.""That is not quite just," said Miss Vanderpoel."He and Mr.Penzance fought on the field.I only supplied some of the ammunition.""The county doesn't think of him as it did even a year ago, miss," said Tewson rather smugly."He was very ill thought of then among the gentry.It's wonderful the change that's come about.If he should fall ill there'll be a deal of sympathy.""I hope there is no question of his falling ill," said Miss Vanderpoel.
Mr.Tewson lowered his voice confidentially.This was really his most valuable item of news.
"Well, miss," he admitted, "I have heard that he's been looking very bad for a good bit, and it was told me quite private, because the doctors and the vicar don't want the people to be upset by hearing it--that for a week he's not been well enough to make his rounds.""Oh!" The exclamation was a faint one, but it was an exclamation."I hope that means nothing really serious,"Miss Vanderpoel added."Everyone will hope so.""Yes, miss," said Mr.Tewson, deftly twisting the string round the package he was tying up for her."A sad reward it would be if he lost his life after doing all he has done.Asad reward! But there'd be a good deal of sympathy."The small package contained trifles of sewing and knitting materials she was going to take to Mrs.Welden, and she held out her hand for it.She knew she did not smile quite naturally as she said her good-morning to Tewson.She went out into the pale amber sunshine and stood a few moments, glad to find herself bathed in it again.She suddenly needed air and light."A sad reward!" Sometimes people were not rewarded.Brave men were shot dead on the battlefield when they were doing brave things; brave physicians and nurses died of the plagues they faithfully wrestled with.Here were dread and pain confronting her--Betty Vanderpoel--and while almost everyone else seemed to have faced them, she was wholly unused to their appalling clutch.What a life hers had been--that in looking back over it she should realise that she had never been touched by anything like this before! There came back to her the look of almost awed wonder in G.Selden's honest eyes when he said: "What it must be to be you--just YOU!" He had been thinking only of the millions and of the freedom from all everyday anxieties the millions gave.She smiled faintly as the thought crossed her brain.The millions!
The rolling up of them year by year, because millions were breeders! The newspaper stories of them--the wonder at and belief in their power! It was all going on just as before, and yet here stood a Vanderpoel in an English village street, of no more worth as far as power to aid herself went than Joe Buttle's girl with the thick waist and round red cheeks.Jenny Buttle would have believed that her ladyship's rich American sister could do anything she chose, open any door, command any presence, sweep aside any obstacle with a wave of her hand.
But of the two, Jenny Buttle's path would have laid straighter before her.If she had had "a young man" who had fallen ill she would have been free if his mother had cherished no objection to their "walking out"--to spend all her spare hours in his cottage, making gruel and poultices, crying until her nose and eyes were red, and pouring forth her hopes and fears to any neighbour who came in or out or hung over the dividing garden hedge.If the patient died, the deeper her mourning and the louder her sobs at his funeral the more respectable and deserving of sympathy and admiration would Jenny Buttle have been counted.Her ladyship's rich American sister had no "young man"; she had not at any time been asked to "walk out." Even in the dark days of the fever, each of which had carried thought and action of hers to the scene of trouble, there had reigned unbroken silence, except for the vicar's notes of warm and appreciative gratitude.
"You are very obstinate, Fergus," Mr.Penzance had said.
And Mount Dunstan had shaken his head fiercely and answered: