30 лучших рассказов британских писателей / 30 Best British Short Stories

The name and the date of departure of Aunt Joanna, and her age, and two lines of a favourite hymn of his, all about earth being no dwelling-place, heaven being properly her home.

It was not often that Elizabeth Hockin cried, but she did this day; she wept tears of sympathy with the deceased, and happiness at the ovation accorded to herself and her husband. At length, as the short winter day closed in, the last of those who had attended the funeral, and had returned to the farm to recruit and regale after it, departed, and the Hockins were left to themselves.

�It were a beautiful day,’ said Jabez. �Ay,’ responded Elizabeth, �and what a sight o’ people came here.’

�This here buryin’ of Aunt Joanna have set us up tremendous in the estimation of the neighbours.’

�I’d like to know who else would ha’ done it for a poor old creetur as is no relation; ay – and one as owed a purty long bill to me for milk and butter through ten or twelve years.’

�Well,’ said Jabez, �I’ve allus heard say that a good deed brings its own reward wi’ it – and it’s a fine proverb.

�P’raps it’s the gin, Jabez.’

�No – it’s virtue. It’s warmer nor gin a long sight. Gin gives a smouldering spark, but a good conscience is a blaze of furze.’

The farm of the Hockins was small, and Hockin looked after his cattle himself. One maid was kept, but no man in the house. All were wont to retire early to bed; neither Hockin nor his wife had literary tastes, and were not disposed to consume much oil, so as to read at night.

During the night, at what time she did not know, Mrs. Hockin awoke with a start, and found that her husband was sitting up in bed listening. There was a moon that night, and no clouds in the sky. The room was full of silver light. Elizabeth Hockin heard a sound of feet in the kitchen, which was immediately under the bedroom of the couple.

�There’s someone about,” she whispered; “go down, Jabez.

�I wonder, now, who it be. P’raps its Sally.’

�It can’t be Sally – how can it, when she can’t get out o’ hem room wi’out passin’ through ours?’

�Run down, Elizabeth, and see.’

�It’s your place to go, Jabez.’

�But if it was a woman – and me in my night-shirt?’

�And, Jabez, if it was a man, a robber – and me in my night-shirt? It ’ud be shameful.’

�I reckon us had best go down together.