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grief suddenly； I don't quite know how。 I believe his only son lost
money on the turf； and then； unable to face his father； shot himself；
if you had seen John Ford； you could imagine that。 His wife died；
too； that year。 He paid up to the last penny； and came home； to live
on this farm。 He told me the other night that he had only one
relation in the world； his granddaughter； who lives here with him。
Pasiance Voiseyold spelling for Patience； but they pronounce； it
Pash…yenceis sitting out here with me at this moment on a sort of
rustic loggia that opens into the orchard。 Her sleeves are rolled
up； and she's stripping currants； ready for black currant tea。 Now
and then she rests her elbows on the table； eats a berry； pouts her
lips； and； begins again。 She has a round； little face； a long；
slender body； cheeks like poppies； a bushy mass of black…brown hair；
and dark…brown； almost black； eyes； her nose is snub； her lips quick；
red； rather full； all her motions quick and soft。 She loves bright
colours。 She's rather like a little cat； sometimes she seems all
sympathy； then in a moment as hard as tortoise…shell。 She's all
impulse； yet she doesn't like to show her feelings； I sometimes
wonder whether she has any。 She plays the violin。
It's queer to see these two together； queer and rather sad。 The old
man has a fierce tenderness for her that strikes into the very roots
of him。 I see him torn between it； and his cold north…country horror
of his feelings； his life with her is an unconscious torture to him。
She's a restless； chafing thing； demure enough one moment； then
flashing out into mocking speeches or hard little laughs。 Yet she's
fond of him in her fashion； I saw her kiss him once when he was
asleep。 She obeys him generallyin a way as if she couldn't breathe
while she was doing it。 She's had a queer sort of education
history； geography； elementary mathematics； and nothing else； never
been to school； had a few lessons on the violin； but has taught
herself most of what she knows。 She is well up in the lore of birds；
flowers； and insects； has three cats； who follow her about； and is
full of pranks。 The other day she called out to me； 〃I've something
for you。 Hold out your hand and shut your eyes！〃 It was a large；
black slug！ She's the child of the old fellow's only daughter； who
was sent home for schooling at Torquay； and made a runaway match with
one Richard Voisey； a yeoman farmer； whom she met in the hunting…
field。 John Ford was furioushis ancestors； it appears； used to
lead ruffians on the Cumberland side of the Borderhe looked on
〃Squire〃 Rick Voisey as a cut below him。 He was called 〃Squire；〃 as
far as I can make out； because he used to play cards every evening
with a parson in the neighbourhood who went by the name of 〃Devil〃
Hawkins。 Not that the Voisey stock is to be despised。 They have had
this farm since it was granted to one Richard Voysey by copy dated
8th September； 13 Henry VIII。 Mrs。 Hopgood； the wife of the bailiff…
…a dear； quaint； serene old soul with cheeks like a rosy； withered
apple； and an unbounded love of Pasianceshowed me the very
document。
〃I kape it；〃 she said。 〃Mr。 Ford be tu proudbut other folks be
proud tu。 'Tis a pra…aper old fam'ly： all the women is Margery；
Pasiance； or Mary； all the men's Richards an' Johns an' Rogers； old
as they apple…trees。〃
Rick Voisey was a rackety； hunting fellow； and 〃dipped〃 the old farm
up to its thatched roof。 John Ford took his revenge by buying up the
mortgages； foreclosing； and commanding his daughter and Voisey to go
on living here rent free； this they dutifully did until they were
both killed in a dog…cart accident； eight years ago。 Old Ford's
financial smash came a year later； and since then he's lived here
with Pasiance。 I fancy it's the cross in her blood that makes her so
restless； and irresponsible： if she had been all a native she'd have
been happy enough here； or all a stranger like John Ford himself； but
the two strains struggling for mastery seem to give her no rest。
You'll think this a far…fetched theory； but I believe it to be the
true one。 She'll stand with lips pressed together； her arms folded
tight across her narrow chest； staring as if she could see beyond the
things round her； then something catches her attention； her eyes will
grow laughing； soft； or scornful all in a minute！ She's eighteen；
perfectly fearless in a boat； but you can't get her to mount a horse…
…a sore subject with her grandfather； who spends most of his day on a
lean； half…bred pony； that carries him like a feather； for all his
weight。
They put me up here as a favour to Dan Treffry； there's an
arrangement of L。 s。 d。 with Mrs。 Hopgood in the background。 They
aren't at all well off； this is the largest farm about； but it
doesn't bring them in much。 To look at John Ford； it seems
incredible he should be short of moneyhe's too large。
We have family prayers at eight； then； breakfastafter that freedom
for writing or anything else till supper and evening prayers。 At
midday one forages for oneself。 On Sundays； two miles to church
twice； or you get into John Ford's black books。。。。 Dan Treffry
himself is staying at Kingswear。 He says he's made his pile； it
suits him down herelike a sleep after years of being too wide…
awake； he had a rough time in New Zealand； until that mine made his
fortune。 You'd hardly remember him； he reminds me of his uncle； old
Nicholas Treffry； the same slow way of speaking； with a hesitation；
and a trick of repeating your name with everything he says； left…
handed too； and the same slow twinkle in his eyes。 He has a dark；
short beard； and red…brown cheeks； is a little bald on the temples；
and a bit grey； but hard as iron。 He rides over nearly every day；
attended by a black spaniel with a wonderful nose and a horror of
petticoats。 He has told me lots of good stories of John Ford in the
early squatter's times； his feats with horses live to this day； and
he was through the Maori wars； as Dan says； 〃a man after Uncle Nic's
own heart。〃
They are very good friends； and respect each other； Dan has a great
admiration for the old man； but the attraction is Pasiance。 He talks
very little when she's in the room； but looks at her in a sidelong；
wistful sort of way。 Pasiance's conduct to him would be cruel in any
one else； but in her； one takes it with a pinch of salt。 Dan goes
off； but turns up again as quiet and dogged as you please。
Last night； for instance； we were sitting in the loggia after supper。
Pasiance was fingering the strings of her violin； and suddenly Dan （a
bold thing for him） asked her to play。
〃What！〃 she said； 〃before men？ No； thank you！〃
〃Why not？〃
〃Because I hate them。〃
Down came John Ford's hand on the wicker table： 〃You forget yourself！
Go to bed！〃
She gave Dan a look； and went； we could hear her playing in her
bedroom； it sounded like a dance of