Orphan Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

taken aback. Mrs. Dingle wa s not pleased.
    “No one told me—I didn’t know — ” she stammered. “ You see, in the orphanage we always got up at six, so I thought, as I was down first, I’d help you. You see, I thought you had overslept.”
    The woman wheeled round on her.
    “And if I had, Miss Nosey, ’tes none of your business,” she snapped. “The missus, she tells me Mr. Julian is bringing down some orphan, and I’m to wait on her same as if she was any other little maid. But you mind your business other mornings and stay in bed till you’re called. Running to the missus I with tales of a dirty kitchen and such-like!”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t,” said Jennet hastily, quite overcome by Mrs. Dingle’s wrath, and appreciating without rancor her indignation at having to wait on an orphan. “It was j ust that I’d nothing to do, and—and it’s natural to me to—to clean up, you see,” she added shyly.
    Mrs. Dingle relented enough to say that since Jennet was here she’d better make her a cup of tea, for breakfast was not until eight-thirty. She made the tea and gave Jennet her cup, remarking:
    “Get that inside you. You look a proper little mommet and no mistake.”
    Jennet didn’t know what a mommet was, but she was used to strangers thinking she looked hungry.
    “How old are you?” asked Mrs. Dingle, and when she was told, opened her little eyes. “My dear soul! I took you for fourteen ! They institutions! Stunted your growth, I suppose.”
    “ Oh, I don’t think so,” said Jennet, startled. “ We had some quite big girls. I’ve always been small.”
    It was lighter now, and Jennet went to the window and looked out with curious eyes at her first glimpse of Dartmoor. What she saw was not reassuring. A vast expanse of brown, rough country stretched as far as the eye could see under a grey, threatening sky.
    “Is that Dartmoor?” she asked.
    “Aye—that’s t’moor,” Mrs. Dingle replied carelessly.
    “What are those brown lumps in the distance?”
    “They be tors. They each have names same as mountains.”
    Jennet shivered. “ It looks depressing—and a little frightening. ”
    Mrs. Dingle laughed.
    “You wait till spring, my dear, then you ’ll know the nature of the moor,” she said. She raised her eyes to the ceiling at faint sounds from above. “Mr. Davey is moving—he’s always first down. Goes out first thing to tend his bees and talk to Them.” She chuckled.
    “What is Them?” Jennet asked ungrammatically.
    Mrs. Dingle chuckled again.
    “They and Them?” she said. “Oh, just people out of his head. He talks out loud to ’em.”
    Jennet’s eyes grew enormous.
    “Do you mean he invents them?” she asked. “Do you mean he’s mad—talking aloud and inventing things, I mean?”
    Mrs. Dingle considered.
    “Not mad exactly—a little mazed maybe. You ’ll get used to ’e directly,” she said.
    Jennet said nothing, but she thought it was unlikely that she would get used to her new Uncle Homer in a hurry.
    “That fire’s burning up proper now,” Mrs. Dingle remarked with satisfaction. “You stay here if you’ve a mind to, while I give the downstairs rooms a bit of a lick round. Here, you can make the toast, if you like.”
    She thrust a toasting-fork into Jennet’s hands, pushed a pile of cut bread towards her and went out of the kitchen armed with a broom and a duster.
    Jennet made the toast, and was sitting on the rug waiting for Mrs. Dingle when Homer Davey came in.
    “Hullo, my dear!” he exclaimed, looking a little startled at discovering Jennet in the kitchen. “You are down very early. I thought I was always the first.”
    Jennet looked at him nervously. He certainly did not look mad, only rather vague and kindly as he stood peering at her over his spectacles. The best thing was, possibly, to take no notice.
    “Good morning, Mr.—Uncle Homer,” she said. “I got up at six. We always do in the orphanage.”
    “You’ve been up since six?” he