Friarswood Post Office

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Yonge Charlotte Mary. Friarswood Post Office

CHAPTER I—THE STRANGE LAD

CHAPTER II—HAY-MAKING

CHAPTER III—A NEW FRIEND

CHAPTER IV—PAUL BLACKTHORN

CHAPTER V—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

CHAPTER VI—THE MERRY ORCHARD

CHAPTER VII—HAROLD TAKES A WRONG TURN

CHAPTER VIII—CONFIRMATION

CHAPTER IX—ROBBING THE MAIL

CHAPTER X—CHRISTMAS DAY

CHAPTER XI—BETTER DAYS FOR PAUL

CHAPTER XII—REST AT LAST

CHAPTER XIII—SIX YEARS LATER

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There was again a sultry night, which brought on so much discomfort and restlessness, that poor Alfred could not sleep.  He tried to bear in mind how much he had disturbed his mother the night before, and he checked himself several times when he felt as if he could not bear it any longer without waking her, and to remember his old experience, that do what she would for him, it would be no real relief, and he should only be sorry the next day when he saw her going about her work with a worn face and a head-ache.

Then every now and then Miss Selby’s words about being patient came back to him.  Sometimes he thought them hard, coming from a being who had never known sickness or sorrow, and wondered how she would feel if laid low as he was; but they would not be put away in that manner, for he knew they were true, and were said by others than Miss Jane, though he had begun to think no phrase so tiresome, hopeless, or provoking.  People always told him to be patient when they had no comfort to give him, and did not know what he was suffering.  He would not have minded it so much if only he could have got it out of his head.  Somehow it would not let him call to his mother, if it was only because very likely all he should get by so doing would be to be again told to be patient.  And then came Miss Jane’s telling him his illness might be good for him, as if she thought he deserved to be punished.  Really that was hard!  Who could think he deserved this wearing pain and helplessness, only because he had played tricks on the butler and housekeeper, and now and then laughed at church?

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This interested Alfred less than his sister.  His curiosity was chiefly about the strange lad; and when he was moved to his place by the window he turned his eyes anxiously to make him out in the line of hay-makers, two fields off, as they shook out the grass to give it the day’s sunshine.  He knew them all, the ten women, with their old straw bonnets poked down over their faces, and deep curtains sewn on behind to guard their necks; the farm men come in from their other work to lend a hand, three or four boys, among whom he could see Harold’s white shirt sleeves, and sometimes hear his merry laugh, and he was working next to the figure in brown faded-looking tattered array, which Alfred suspected to belong to the strange boy.  So did Ellen.  ‘Ah!’ she said, ‘Harold ye scraped acquaintance with that vagabond-looking boy; I wish I had warned him against it, but I suppose he would only have done it all the more.’

‘You want to make friends with him yourself, Ellen!  We shall have you nodding to him next!  You are as curious about him as can be!’ said Alfred slyly.

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