Mockery Gap by T. F. Powys Page A

door was as firmly bolted as ever, he walked along beside the wall to find another entrance.
    The side wall of Mockery Manor had been warmed all the afternoon by the summer sun; but it was neither the warmth of the wall nor the delightful feeling of summer happiness that clings to old country-houses that caused Mr. Pattimore to stop in the path, but simply the mention from inside a window of his own name.
    ‘Caddy do say’—and the voice appeared to be none other than Simon’s own—‘that Mr. Pattimore bain’t no good at bedtime.’
    Mr. Pattimore didn’t wish to listen, and yet he waited. A moment had come to him, one of those moments when even a good man doesn’t know what he ought to do; for he couldn’t help noticing, because he had eyes, that Mr. Cheney, with his wife, a wizened, unlovely creature, just behind him, was crossing the fields and going in the direction of the Mockery cliff with pickaxe and spade.
    Mr. Pattimore hadn’t named them; if he had, perhaps they would have been less likely to listen to Mr. James Tarr. But he hadnamed Simon, and so he couldn’t help thinking it right and proper, considering how long he had rung the bell, to wait a little where he was.
    Mr. Pattimore touched the wall; he found that it was warm.
    For some odd reason that we cannot explain Mr. Pattimore wished that the wall was an iceberg.
    ‘’Tain’t we maidens that do want what Mr. Caddy do talk of; ’tis poor Mrs. Pattimore.’
    The voice and the laugh were Dinah’s. ‘ Rebecca be the one to know what wold Caddy do tell they ducks about,’ and Dinah laughed loudly.
    Mr. Pattimore leant against the wall, but, try as he would to imagine it cold, he couldn’t help feeling fully conscious that the wall was warm. He looked down at the pebbles in the path. They had been brought from the sea, and he supposed that they were warm too.
    Mr. Pattimore looked towards the sea; the sun was hot upon it, and the waters afar off glittered and shone.
    In the Mockery bay a boat was sailing amid the shining happiness of the waves; the boat shone too, as painted a thing as ever a poet wrote of in prose or song.
    At a little distance from the sea a lonely figure was bending over the earth—Mrs. Topple. From the village a cry came, as unreal to a human ear as any summer cry could be—‘The Nellie-bird, the Nellie-bird!’
    ‘I must not stay a moment longer,’ thought Mr. Pattimore; ‘but perhaps it’s only that Rebecca has come to tell Simon and her friends about the picture of the Dean.’
    And so she had.
    ‘’Tain’t from Simon’—Rebecca’s voice grew serious—‘that do practice ’is funny games wi’ we maids, that I’ve learned so much, nor ’tain’t from Mr. Caddy’s talking to ’is ducks; but ’tis the picture of Dean Ashbourne that do tell of things.’
    Mr. Pattimore made a slight sound in his throat. He listened intently.
    ‘Sure ’e don’t come out of picture frame to cuddle ’ee,’ exclaimed Mary, ‘when ’ee be doing fire-grate?’
    ‘No, ’e don’t never come out,’ replied Rebecca; ‘but all same I do look up at ’e and ask questions.’
    ‘And what do they gaiters tell of?’ asked Simon, sniggering.
    ‘More than ever they ducks of Mr. Caddy do listen to,’ replied Rebecca, amid general laughter.
    ‘His legs be plimmed out with wickedness ,’ remarked Dinah, who had stared hard at the portrait during the last work-party at the vicarage.
    ‘They bain’t made for trousers,’ said Rebecca mysteriously. ‘’E did tell I about they gaiters, and ’e do like to talk too of a maiden’s clothes, for they clergy do know.’
    Sounds now came through the window, and reached the sun-heated wall against which Mr. Pattimore leaned, which showed that Simon, however saintly his name, could cause amusement.
    The queer sound in Mr. Pattimore’s throat burst; he coughed….
    A moment later all that he had heard faded and went. Mockery Manor became a warmed summer silence. A girl, demure and