Midsummer's Eve Read Online Free PDF

Mother Ginny a year before came back. The Jennings’ baby caught the whooping cough and it spread like wildfire. Tom Cooper, doing a bit of thatching, fell off a ladder and broke his leg.
    Something was wrong in the neighbourhood and the general idea was growing that we did not have to look far to discover the source of these misfortunes.
    In the inns where the men sat over their pints of ale, among the women at their cottage doors or in their kitchens, the main topic of conversation was Mother Ginny.
    Digory did not help matters. When Jenny Bordon—suffering from her new crop of warts—called after him “Witch’s Varmint,” he just stuck out his tongue and put his forefingers to his head in a gesture of which I knew he was very fond and declared he would put a spell on her.
    “You can’t,” she called back. “You’re only the Varmint.”
    “My Granny can,” was his retort.
    Yes, agreed the people, so she could; and so she had. She had put an evil curse on them all.
    I was aware of mounting tension. I spoke to Jacco about it but he was too full of his own affairs to give much thought to what I was saying. On the other hand I was beginning to experience a certain alarm because of all I overheard. One of the men said: “Something’s got to be done.”
    I tried to discuss it with Miss Caster but she was uncommunicative, though even she must have been aware of the rising animosity against Mother Ginny. She did not believe in spells. She was far too educated for that, and she certainly thought the Wars of the Roses were more important than bad weather and the mishaps which had befallen the neighbourhood.
    “They are getting so angry about it, Miss Caster,” I insisted. “They talk of nothing else.”
    “These people have nothing better to think about. We have. Let us get back to the Temple gardens where the red and white roses were growing.”
    “I wish my father were here. He would talk to them. I do wonder what is happening at Eversleigh. I wish they had taken me with them. I can’t understand why they wouldn’t.”
    “Your parents know what is best,” was Miss Caster’s comment.
    The weeks passed and there was no news from my parents. Grandfather was taking a long time to die. He must be very ill or they would come home.
    June had arrived. The rain stopped and summer burst upon us. At first it was warmly welcomed but as we woke up each morning to a brilliant sun which showed itself all day, and the temperature soared into the eighties, there were more complaints from the farmers.
    My father used to say: “Farmers are never content. Give them sun and they want rain, and when the rain comes they complain of the floods. You can’t please a farmer weatherwise.” So it was only natural that now they complained.
    I enjoyed the heat. I liked to lie in the garden in a shady spot listening to the grasshoppers and the bees. That seemed to me utter contentment. Moreover Miss Caster was a little lethargic and never wanted to prolong lessons—a habit she had in cooler weather. I think Jacco rejoiced in the same state of affairs at the vicarage where Mr. Belling, the curate, attended to his scholastic education.
    We rode together—galloping along the beach. We went out onto the moors where we would tether our horses and lie in the long grass looking down on the tin mine which was a source of income to so many people thereabouts. Our community consisted mostly of miners or fishermen and those farmers on the Cador estate.
    So one long summer day passed into another and the sun seemed to shine more brightly every day.
    People grew irritable.
    “Get out of my kitchen, Miss Annora,” said Mrs. Penlock. “You be forever under my feet, that you do.” And I was never given a cake or a scone fresh from the oven as I’d been accustomed to. It was too hot for baking in any case.
    I hated to be banished from the kitchen because there was more talk than ever at this time about Mother Ginny.
    We were approaching