“Well—­but it’s a wonderful voice,” said Gwenda Cartaret.

“I’ve never heard another like it, and I know something about voices,” Alice said.

They had gone up to Upthorne to ask Mrs. Gale to look in at the Vicarage on her way home, for Essy wasn’t very well.

But Mrs. Gale had shied off from the subject of Essy.  She had done it with the laughter of deep wisdom and a shake of her head.  You couldn’t teach Mrs. Gale anything about illness, nor about Essy.

“I knaw Assy,” she had said.  “There’s nowt amiss with her.  Doan’t you woorry.”

And then Jim Greatorex, though unseen, had burst out at them with his big voice.  It came booming from the mistal at the back.

Alice told the truth when she said she had never heard anything like it; and even in the dale, so critical of strangers, it was admitted that she knew.  The village had a new schoolmaster who was no musician, and hopeless with the choir.  Alice, as the musical one of the family, had been trained to play the organ, and she played it, not with passion, for it was her duty, but with mechanical and perfunctory correctness, as she had been taught.  She was also fairly successful with the village choir.

“Mebbe yo ’aven’t ’eard anoother,” said Mrs. Gale.  “It’s rackoned there isn’t anoother woon like it in t’ daale.”

“But it’s just what we want for our choir—­a big barytone voice.  Do you think he’d sing for us, Mrs. Gale?”

Alice said it light-heartedly, for she did not know what she was asking.  She knew nothing of the story of Jim Greatorex and his big voice.  It had been carefully kept from her.

“I doan knaw,” said Mrs. Gale.  “Jim, look yo, ‘e useter sing in t’ Choorch choir.”

“Why ever did he leave it?”

Mrs. Gale looked dark and tightened up her face.  She knew perfectly well why Jim Greatorex had left.  It was because he wasn’t going to have that little milk-faced lass learning him to sing.  His pride wouldn’t stomach it.  But not for worlds would Mrs. Gale have been the one to let Miss Alice know that.

Her eyes sought for inspiration in a crack on the stone floor.

“I can’t rightly tall yo’, Miss Olice.  ‘E sang fer t’ owd schoolmaaster, look yo, an’ wann schoolmaaster gaave it oop, Jimmy, ’e said ’e’d give it oop too.”

“But don’t you think he’d sing for me, if I were to ask him?”

“Yo’ may aask ‘im, Miss Olice, but I doan’ knaw.  Wann Jim Greatorex is sat, ’e’s sat.”

“There’s no harm in asking him.”

“Naw.  Naw ’aarm there isn’t,” said Mrs. Gale doubtfully.

“I think I’ll ask him now,” said Alice.

“I wouldn’, look yo, nat ef I wuss yo, Miss Olice.  I wouldn’ gaw to ‘im in t’ mistal all amoong t’ doong.  Yo’ll sha-ame ’im, and yo’ll do nowt wi’ Jimmy ef ’e’s sha-amed.”

“Leave it, Ally.  We can come another day,” said Gwenda.

“Thot’s it,” said Mrs. Gale.  “Coom another daay.”