Heritage

Excerpt: On the morrow we again took our pipes to the clump of pines and Malory began in his drowsy meditative voice to tell his story from where he had left off. “I hope you are by now as curious as I was to discover the secret of the Pennistan quality. The family were evidently unconscious that there was any secret to discover. They thought no more of themselves than they did of their blue surrounding hills though in relation to the weather they considered their blue hills a good deal and Amos taught me one evening that too great a clearness was not to be desired; the row of poplars over towards Penshurst should be slightly obscured misty; and if it was so and if the haze hung over Crowborough Beacon I might safely leave the yearling calves out in the field all night. I should look also for a heavy dew upon the ground which would predict a fine day besides bringing out the mushrooms. “We were standing in the cross-roads where the white finger-post said ‘Edenbridge Leigh Cowden’ and Amos had corrected my pronunciation from Lee to Lye and from Cowden to Cowden. I know no greater joy than returning to the heart of a beloved country by road and seeing the names on the finger-posts change from the unfamiliar to the familiar passing through stages of acquaintance to friendship and from friendship into intimacy. Half the secret of love lies in intimacy whereby love gains in tenderness what it loses in mystery and is not the poorer by the bargain. “Mrs. Pennistan came out to join us and I took the opportunity of asking her whether I might use a certain cupboard for my clothes as I was pressed for room. She replied— “‘Granny had that cupboard but she’s surely past using it now so anything of hers you find in it hang out over the bannister and I’ll pack it away in a box.’ “Out of this little material circumstance I obtained my explanation; I went in leaving husband and wife strolling in the road for it was Sunday evening and on their Sunday evening they clung to their hour of leisure. I went in past the chestnuts up the stairs and at the top of the stairs I opened the cupboard door and explored with my hand to discover whether the recess was empty. It was not so I fetched my candle in its blue tin candlestick and lifted out the garments one by one; they were three in number. “I carried them carefully into my room with no intention of examining them but as I laid them on the bed their texture and fashion arrested me. A smell came from them faded and far away. I held them up one by one: a heavily fringed shawl of Spanish make a black skirt with many flounces a tiny satin bodice that would barely I thought fit a child. As I unrolled this last something fell from it: a pair of old pink shoes tiny shoes heelless shoes—the shoes of a ballet dancer. “As I turned over these relics I heard some one moving in the passage below and going to the top of the stairs I called to Ruth. She came up then seeing the shoes in my hands she gave an exclamation of surprise. “‘Are these yours?’ I asked. “‘Mine! no; why look here’ and she held a shoe against her foot which although small outstripped the shoe in width and length. ‘They’re granny’s I reckon’ she added. “Then she took up the bodice and examined it critically. “‘It’s a bit rotten of course’ she remarked pulling cautiously at the stuff ‘but where’d you buy satin now to last as well as that? and bought abroad too.’ “The subtlest inflection of resentment was in her tone. “‘Here give them to me’ she said. ‘Granny can’t want these old rags messing up the house. There’s little enough cupboard room anyhow. I’ll put the shawl away up in the attic for there’s wear in it yet but the rest can go on the midden.’ “I detained her. “‘Tell me first how comes your grandmother to have these things?’ “She was surprised at my ignorance.