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    Gold and Incense A West Country Story
    Gold and Incense A West Country Story
    Gold and Incense A West Country Story
    Ebook58 pages38 minutes

    Gold and Incense A West Country Story

    By Mark Guy Pearse

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Gold and Incense A West Country Story

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      Book preview

      Gold and Incense A West Country Story - Mark Guy Pearse

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Gold and Incense, by Mark Guy Pearse

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Gold and Incense

      A West Country Story

      Author: Mark Guy Pearse

      Release Date: January 18, 2013 [eBook #41870]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOLD AND INCENSE***

      E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Paul Clark,

      and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

      (http://www.pgdp.net)

      from page images generously made available by

      Internet Archive

      (http://archive.org)

      GOLD AND INCENSE

      FORTY-SEVENTH

      THOUSAND

      LONDON

      HORACE MARSHALL & SON

      Butler & Tanner,

      The Selwood Printing Works,

      Frome, and London.

      Dedication

      TO SIDNEY HILL ESQ.

      OF LANGFORD HOUSE

      SOMERSET

      It may add to the interest of my story if I state that it is perfectly true.

      Chapter I

      To think it is Jennifer Petch of whom I am going to tell—little Jennifer. How she would laugh if she only knew of it, that shrill, silvery laugh of hers. It was her great gift. Jennifer was a philosopher in the matter of laughing; and philosophy is mostly a matter of knowing how to laugh and when.

      And the village itself would wonder almost as much as Jennifer herself, for very few of them could see anything to write about in her. Village people do not see much in what they see always, and Jennifer had lived among them all her days. There was a time when some of the younger folks thought they owed her a little bit of a grudge. For Sam Petch was the tallest, and straightest, and handsomest of the village lads; and the maidens who strolled down the lane on a summer's evening would go home with fluttering hearts and delicious dreams if Sam had chanced to come that way, as somehow he generally did; and if he had loitered laughing with them in the lane, as he never minded doing.

      There was Phyllis, light of hair and blue of eye, light of step and light of heart, and light of hand, as her butter showed—not one of the lads had any chance with her so long as Sam was free.

      There was Chloe, she of the loose sun-bonnet, with gipsy face and gipsy eyes, who handled the rake so daintily, and drew the sweet hay together with such grace that nobody wondered if Sam Petch found it a great deal easier to turn his head that way than to turn it back again.

      And on the Sunday night when the service was over, at the door of the little chapel, which was the village trysting place, there were half a dozen of the comeliest of the maidens, who found an excuse to

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