Chapter 20

One afternoon in early August Fan accompanied Mrs. Churton on a visit to
some cottages on the further side of Eyethorne village; she went gladly,
for they were going to see Mrs. Cawood, a young married woman with three
children, and one of them, the eldest, a sharp little fellow, was her
special favourite. Mrs. Cawood was a good-tempered industrious little
woman; but her husband--Cawood the carpenter--was a thorn in Mrs.
Churton's tender side. Not that he was a black sheep in the Eyethorne
fold; on the contrary, he was known to be temperate, a good husband and
father, and a clever industrious mechanic. But he was never seen at
church; on Sundays he went fishing, being devoted to the gentle craft;
and it was wrong, more so in him because of his good name than in many
another. Mrs. Churton was anxious to point this out to him, but
unfortunately could not see him; he was always out of the way when she
called, no matter when the call was timed. "I wish you could get hold of
Cawood," had been said to her many times by the parson and his wife; but
there was no getting hold of him. The curate had also tried and failed.
Once he had gone to him when he was engaged on some work, but the
carpenter had reminded him very pleasantly that there is a time for
everything, that carpentering and theology mixed badly together.

But all things come to those who wait, and on this August afternoon the
slippery carpenter was fairly caught, like one of his own silly fish; but
whether she succeeded in landing her prize or not remains to be told.
Apparently he did not suspect that there were strangers in the cottage--
some prearranged signal had failed to work, or someone had blundered;
anyhow he walked unconcernedly into the room, and seemed greatly
surprised to find it occupied by two lady visitors. Mrs. Churton sat with
a book in her hand, gently explaining some difficult point to his wife;
while at some distance Fan was carrying on a whispered conversation with
her little friend Billy. The child sprung up with such sudden violence
that he almost capsized her low chair, and rushing to his father embraced
his legs. With a glance at his wife, expressing mild reproach and a
resolution to make the best of it, he saluted his visitors, then
deposited his bag of tools on the floor.

Cawood was a Londoner, who had come down to do some work on a large house
in the neighbourhood, and there "met his fate" in the person of a pretty
Eyethorne girl, whom he straightway married; then, finding that there was
room for him, and good fishing to be had, he elected to stay in his
wife's village among her own people. He was a well-set-up man of about
thirty-five, with that quiet, self-contained, thoughtful look in his
countenance