And they
came home along the winter roads, the peace and happiness of prayer upon
their faces, holding their skirts out of the mud, unashamed of their
common boots. They made no acquaintances, seeming to find in each other
all necessary companionship. Their heads bent a little forward, they
trudged home, talking of what they were in the habit of talking, that
another tree had been blown down, that Jack was now earning good
money--ten shillings a week. Esther hoped it would last. Or else Esther
told her mistress that she had heard that one of Mr. Arthur's horses had
won a race. He lived in the North of England, where he had a small
training stable, and his mother never heard of him except through the
sporting papers. "He hasn't been here for four years," Mrs. Barfield said;
"he hates the place; he wouldn't care if I were to burn it down
to-morrow.... However, I do the best I can, hoping that one day he'll
marry and come and live here."
Mr. Arthur--that was how Mrs. Barfield and Esther spoke of him--did not
draw any income from the estate. The rents only sufficed to pay the
charges and the widow's jointure. All the land was let; the house he had
tried to let, but it had been found impossible to find a tenant, unless
Mr. Arthur would expend some considerable sum in putting the house and
grounds into a state of proper repair.
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