Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre Read Online Free PDF

what for!'
    Maud struggled out of the pond, and stumped furiously past the boys. Her face was scarlet and one shoe squelched as she made for home.
    'You wait, Ted Pickett!' she stormed. 'I'll tell on you!'

    Mr Willet paused and looked at my kitchen clock.
    'Here I sits natterin' on, and I expect I'm keepin' you from somethin'. Ironin' and that, say?'
    'Fat from it,' I assured him. 'Go on. Did she tell?'
    'That she did, the little besom,' said Mr Willet. 'She went straight home, and she knew damn well she'd get into trouble over that mucky frock, so she said Ted Pickett had pushed her in.'
    'No!'
    'Yes! The little liar! Why, Ted and me hadn't stirred from that bank. It was much too hot to muck about.'
    'What happened?'
    'Our Maud told the tale all right, tears and all, and Mrs Baker came storming up to the Picketts' place, breathin' fire and brimstone, so poor old Ted was sent upstairs to wait for his Dad to come home and use his belt.'
    'Ted wasn't believed?'
    'No. And I didn't know until the next day when Ted showed me his behind - begging your pardon, miss.'
    I assured him that I was not shocked.
    'And even if I had stuck up for Ted that afternoon, I don't suppose them Picketts would have believed me. After all, boys hangs together at times like that. No, poor old Ted fairly copped it, and all through our Mrs Pringle. Ted's dad was a hefty bloke, and when he used the strap you knew it all right.'
    Mr Willet sighed heavily at things remembered, and got to his feet.
    'Poor old Ted,' he repeated. 'We stayed friends right up to the outbreak of war, though my old ma never really approved. We joined up the same day in Caxley, but Ted never got back from Dunkirk.'
    'That's a sad ending.'
    'Sad for both of us,' admitted Bob Willet. 'I always touches his name when I pass the war memorial by the church gate. I miss him still, poor old Ted.'
    I accompanied him out of the front door, and thanked him again for the marrows and his story.
    'Well, I only told you because I don't want you to worry about Maud Pringle's little ways. She was born a tartar, and she's stayed that way. All Fairacre knows it, so you keep a stout heart.'
    I promised that I would, and went back into my house much comforted.

    To my secret relief, Mrs Pringle kept the stoves going throughout this unreasonably chilly spell. She even bent so far as to address me now and again, and her leg was not dragged quite so heavily as the days passed. I was not so
sanguine as to imagine that all was forgiven, but at least our relationship was civil, if not exactly cordial.
    A week or two after our clash over the stoves, Mrs Pringle spoke of Fairacre Women's Institute, and urged me to join.
    'It sounds a good idea,' I told her, 'it means that I shall get to know more people.'
    'Well, that's a mixed blessing,' was her gloomy reply. 'There's some in this village as should be drummed out, to my way of thinking. Like them Coggses.'
    I had heard about Arthur Coggs already, evidently the village ne'er-do-well, and a strong supporter of 'The Beetle and Wedge'. His young and fast-growing family, not to mention his down-trodden wife, went in fear of him. Later I was to have his son Joseph as a pupil.
    'But apart from them undesirables,' continued Mrs Pringle, 'there's a lot of good folk you'd like. Mrs Partridge is President. She looks after us a fair treat.'
    I could imagine that she would, brave, fair-minded and tactful woman that she was. A vicar's wife must get plenty of day-to-day training in diplomacy.
    Consequently, I took myself along to the next meeting and was welcomed with surprising warmth.
    We all sang 'Jerusalem' with varied success, listened to interminable arrangements about various activities to which no one apparently wanted to go, and voted on paper for our choice of Christmas treat, Caxley pantomime, tea-party with magician in the village hall, or coach trip to London for Christmas shopping. I plumped for the last, and had visions of going straight to Harrods Food Hall