And then, he had gone and forgotten all about it.

He told himself now that he had been a fool not to think of it.  And if he was a fool, what was to be said of the Vicar, under whose nose this singular form of choir practice had been going on for goodness knew how long?

It did not occur to the doctor that if his surgery day had been a Friday, which was choir practice day, he would have been certain to have thought of it.  Neither was he aware that what he had observed this evening was only the unforeseen result of a perfectly innocent parochial arrangement.  It had begun at Christmas and again at Easter, when it was understood that Greatorex, who was nervous about his voice, should turn up for practice ten minutes before the rest of the choir to try over his part in an anthem or cantata, so that, as Alice said, he might do himself justice.

Since Easter the ten minutes had grown to fifteen or even twenty.  And twice in the last three weeks Greatorex, by collusion with Alice, had arrived a whole hour before his time.  Still, there was nothing in this circumstance itself to alarm the Vicar.  Choir practice was choir practice, a mysterious thing he never interfered with, knowing himself to be unmusical.

Rowcliffe had had good reason for refusing to urge Greatorex to marry Essy Gale.  But what he had seen in Garth church made him determined to say something to Greatorex, after all.

He went on his northerly round the very next Sunday and timed it so that he overtook his man on his way home from church.  He gave Greatorex a lift with the result (which he had calculated) that Greatorex gave him dinner, as he had done once or twice before.  The after-dinner pipe made Jim peculiarly approachable, and Rowcliffe approached him suddenly and directly.  “I say, Greatorex, why don’t you marry?  Not a bad thing for you, you know.”

“Ay.  Saw they tall me,” said Greatorex amicably.

Rowcliffe went on to advise his marrying Essy, not on the grounds of morality or of justice to the girl (he was a tactful person), but on Greatorex’s account, as the best thing Greatorex could do for himself.

“Yo mane,” said Greatorex, “I ought to marry her?”

Rowcliffe said no, he wasn’t going into that.

Greatorex was profoundly thoughtful.

Presently he said that he would speak to Essy.

* * * * *

He spoke to her that afternoon.

In the cottage down by the beck Essy sat by the hearth, nursing her baby.  He had recovered from his ailment and lay in her lap, gurgling and squinting at the fire.  He wore the robe that Mrs. Gale had brought to Essy five months ago.  Essy had turned it up above his knees, and smiling softly she watched his little pink feet curling and uncurling as she held them to the fire.  Essy’s back and the back of the baby’s head were toward the door, which stood open, the day being still warm.