(3/13) News from Thrush Green Read Free Page A

porridge, and far too thick to knot properly. Fortunately, he wore his clerical collar more often than not, and could safely leave the monstrosities in the drawer without hurting Ella's feelings.
    'Lovely, dear,' said Dimity automatically, putting the egg-custard into the oven carefully.
    'I'll see you out,' said the rector, following Ella along the cold dark passage to the front door.
    Outside, Thrush Green sparkled in the bright April sunshine. It was like emerging from a dark cave in the cliffs on to a sunlit beach, thought Ella. She was thankful that she did not have to live in the rectory. Could anything ever make that north-facing pile of Victorian architecture comfortable?
    She looked towards Tullivers, and the rector's gaze followed hers. The shabby little house basked in the sunshine like some small, battered, stray cat grateful for warmth.
    There was no sign of the stranger, and the red car had gone.
    'Oh,' cried the rector, genuinely disappointed, 'I'd hoped to catch sight of her, I must admit.'
    'You will,' prophesied Ella, setting off purposefully for her own cottage. 'Mark my words, Charles Henstock, you will!'

2 Who is She?
    TWO or three weeks later the red car reappeared. This time the young woman had a companion, as sharp eyes on Thrush Green were quick to observe.
    A small boy, of about six years of age, clambered out of the car and jumped excitedly up and down on the pavement. He was a well-built child, flaxen-haired and fair-skinned, and seemed delighted with his first glimpse of Thrush Green. He pointed to Tullivers, obviously asking questions. He pointed to the fine statue of Nathaniel Patten, erected a year or two earlier by Thrush Green residents to honour one of their famous men, and he was clearly impressed by the church and the village school across the green.
    The woman looked up and down the road, as though waiting for somebody. Her answers to the child appeared perfunctory.
    After a few minutes, she led the way to the front door, followed by the boy. Just as it closed behind them, the local builder's battered van screeched to a halt behind the red car, and out tumbled Joe Bush.
    'Late as usual!' was the general comment of the hidden onlookers of Thrush Green as they watched him scurry up the path.

    By standing on tip-toe, little Miss Fogerty could just see what was going on across the green. The Gothic window was uncomfortably high, installed by its Victorian builders for just that purpose - to make sure that children could not look out easily and so be distracted from their pot-hooks and hangers by the giddy world outside.
    The sand-tray was also rather awkwardly placed beneath the window. Miss Fogerty made up her mind to shift it at playtime. This week the sand-tray carried a tiny replica of Thrush Green with plasticine houses, duly labelled with their owners' names, the church, the school, and even a passable representation of Nathaniel Patten's statue. Some of the infants had proudly brought contributions to the scene. Toy lorries, cars, and even an Army tank, had found a place on the roads across the green, and though grossly over-sized for their surroundings they made an imposing addition to the sand-tray. It was unfortunate that the fine avenue of chestnut trees which flanked the north side of the green, had also been constructed of plasticine. The heat from the hot-water pipe nearby had caused them to bow to the ground with flaccid exhaustion. Loving fingers restored them to the upright position a dozen times a day, but Miss Fogerty decided that twigs set in a plasticine base must replace the present avenue without delay.
    Miss Fogerty shifted a Virol jar full of paint brushes further along the window-sill, the better to follow the stranger's activities. The little boy aroused her keenest interest. He looked just the right age for her class, and very likely he could read already. What a blessing! And could probably manage his own buttons and shoe-laces too which was more than half her