(11/13) Celebrations at Thrush Green Read Online Free PDF Page A

pot of honey from her basket, and put it by the magazines and Dotty's manuscript.
    Dotty picked it up in her scrawny hands. She certainly could do with a little added flesh on those old bones, thought Winnie. Mentally, she had plenty of nourishment about her.
    'How kind! So sweet and pure! A true natural comfort,' cried Dotty.
    She put it down by the mottled exercise book, and patted the latter with proprietory affection again.
    'I wonder if my little work will occasion as much pleasure one day,' she mused.
    'I'm sure of it,' said Winnie. 'I shall leave you to carry on with your work.'
    She saw herself out, and as she passed the kitchen window she saw that Dotty had taken up her pen again, and was immersed in her memories.

    News of the existence of some letters written by Nathaniel Patten soon spread among the inhabitants of Thrush Green and Lulling.
    Charles had told his wife Dimity about them, as a matter of course, and she, as a good clergyman's wife, had been as discreet as ever about the news.
    Harold and Isobel knew, and were eagerly looking forward to meeting Robert Wilberforce and studying the letters he was about to bring to them.
    But now, it seemed, everyone knew about this exciting find. How did the news get around so quickly, wondered Winnie as she retraced her steps?
    It was like seed dispersal, she told herself, ancient memories of botany lessons stirred again by that glimpse of Dotty's exercise book so like her own Elementary Science notebook of years ago. Seeds were dispersed by wind, as in the case of thistledown, or by birds eating berries, or even by water. Winnie had some faint recollection of coconuts floating in Pacific seas and germinating on island shores.
    Yes, it must be wind dispersal in this case. The news seemed to be airborne. It was unlikely that Harold had discussed the matter with Betty Bell, yet she knew. No doubt Albert Piggott knew as well, thought Winnie, catching sight of him wielding a besom broom by the church porch. Obviously he had already called at the Two Pheasants, for the door of the inn stood open hospitably, and his movements were unusually brisk.
    She crossed the grass to her own house and found Jenny brushing down the stairs with considerably more vigour than Albert Piggott's efforts across the way.
    She stopped when she saw Winnie. 'Rector's been in and says can he count on you to do the crib with Miss Bembridge and his wife as usual this Christmas? And have we got any jumble for the scouts, and don't forget they're collecting for the Deanery Christmas Bazaar's produce stall.'
    'Good heavens,' cried Winnie. 'What a lot to remember!'
    Jenny put down her brush. 'And talking of remembering, we're too late to post surface mail to Australia. Christmas things will have to be air mail now to your cousins.'
    'It happens every year,' sighed Winnie.
    'Mind you,' said Jenny kindly, 'you're still all right for America, and Europe's not so bad.'
    'That's a change,' remarked Winnie tartly. 'Europe these days can be most awkward.'
    She made her way to the kitchen to make coffee.
    Over their steaming cups ten minutes later, Jenny spoke again. 'And there's more news. They've found some letters that Nathaniel Whatsit wrote years ago. Should be a thrill for Mr Shoosmith.'
    Definitely wind dispersal thought Winnie, draining her cup.

    Charles Henstock wrote to the address of Dulcie Mulloy which Harold had obtained from the obliging Welsh postmistress, but the days passed, and he had no reply.
    Secretly, he rather hoped that the young lady would not be able to come. Harold's enthusiasm swept one along, he mused. It would really be more circumspect just to entertain Robert Wilberforce, for Dulcie Mulloy was an unknown quantity and might not fit in with Harold and their new acquaintance. Harold seemed to think that she was a successful business woman, and Charles felt apprehensive. Would she be bossy? Would she be completely dismissive of Nathaniel's memory, as her deplorable father had been?