Mrs Hullins smoked her pipe, and thought about nothing
in particular. Occasionally some vision of the past floated through her
drowsy brain. She had lived in that residence for over forty years. She
had brought up eleven children and two husbands there. She had coddled
thirty-five grand-children there, and given instruction to some
half-dozen daughters-in-law. She had known midnights when she could
scarcely move in that residence without disturbing somebody asleep. Now
she was alone in it. She never left it, except to fetch water from the
pump in the square. She had seen a lot of life, and she was tired.
Denry came unceremoniously in, smiling gaily and benevolently, with his
bright, optimistic face under his fair brown hair. He had large and good
teeth. He was getting--not stout, but plump.
"Well, mother!" he greeted Mrs Hullins, and sat down on the other chair.
A young fellow obviously at peace with the world, a young fellow content
with himself for the moment. No longer a clerk; one of the employed;
saying "sir" to persons with no more fingers and toes than he had
himself; bound by servile agreement to be in a fixed place at fixed
hours! An independent unit, master of his own time and his own
movements! In brief, a man! The truth was that he earned now in two days
a week slightly more than Mr Duncalf paid him for the labour of five and
a half days.
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