Winter in Thrush Green by Miss Read Page A

be on committees. I really don't know how I'd manage without them.'

    'Is the idea acceptable, then?'
    'Indeed it is. General feeling seems to be in favour of a really worthwhile memorial. I suggested a seat on the green, but most people seem to think that a statue is the thing.'
    'Pretty expensive, I imagine. And it might turn out to be hideous.'
    'We might get someone in the neighbourhood to do it,' said the rector vaguely. 'Miss Bembridge is very artistic."
    'Good God!' said Harold, startled into strong language. 'D'you mean she'd do it?'
    'She hasn't been approached, of course,' replied Mr Henstock. 'But I believe it has been suggested.'
    A heavy silence fell upon the room. The rector was trying to remember just what it was that he meant to ask his new friend to do for him. Harold Shoosmith, glumly surveying the crack which he had just widened so successfully in a large lump of coal, was blind to the delights of the hissing gaseous flames which fluttered like yellow crocuses in the crevices. A memorial to his beloved Nathaniel Patten was one thing–a ghastly monstrosity created by the intimidating Ella was another. He shuddered to think where his first innocent suggestions might lead.
    A particularly vicious spattering of rain against the window-pane roused the rector from his chair.
    'I must be getting back,' he said, sighing. 'There was just one thing tha~t I wanted to ask you–but I seem to have forgotten it.' He looked about the snug room, so different
from his own bleak drawing-room which no amount of firing seemed to make habitable.

    'Anything to do with committee work?' asked Harold Shoosmith resignedly. He was already a member of the Cricket Club, Football Club, British Legion, Parochial Church Council and the local branch of the R.S.P.C.A., after a residence of less than two months.
    The rector's wrinkled brow became smooth again.
    'How clever of you!' he cried. 'Yes, it was. The Thrush Green Entertainments Committee asked me to invite you to join them. We make most of the arrangements for our local activities. This business of the memorial will probably be dealt with by the T.G.E.C
    Harold Shoosmith thought quickly. He felt as though the shade of Nathaniel Patten hovered anxiously at his elbow, pleading for justice and for mercy. If he accepted the committee's invitation, at least he would hold a watching brief for his long-dead friend and could do his best to see that his memorial would be a worthy one.
    'I'd be very glad to join the committee,' said Harold honestly, as he opened the front door, and let out the rector into the inhospitable night.
    'Very good of you indeed,' said the rector warmly. 'You will be more than welcome. The Entertainments Committee needs new blood. It docs indeed!'
    Beaming his farewells, the rector splashed bravely, in his wet shoes, towards the gate.

8. Sam Curdle is Observed
    R AIN continued to sweep the Cotswolds throughout November and the wooded hills were shrouded in undulating grey veils. The fields of stubble, which had lain, bleached and glinting, under the kind October sun, were being slowly and patiently ploughed by panting tractors which traversed their length and turned over rib after rib of earth glistening like wet chocolate.

    Young Doctor Lovell found his hands full. Coughs, colds, wheezy chests, ear-ache, rheumatic pains, stomachic chills and general depression kept his car splashing along the flooded lanes of Thrush Green and Lulling. In this, his first practice, he was a happy man. Thrush Green had brought him not only work, but also a wife, to love. The thought of their child, so soon to be born, gave him deep satisfaction. It was no wonder that Doctor Lovell whistled as blithely as a winter robin as he went about among his ailing patients. Some viewed his cheerfulness sourly.
    'Proper heartless young fellow,' they grumbled, revelling in their own miseries.
    But most of them were glad to greet a little brightness among the November gloom.

    His senior