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The Floating Press - Hodgson Burnett Frances

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14 pages

English

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Lancashire laborer Tim Hibblethwaite has a bad reputation, and employers around town have started to talk about his grumpy disposition and unwillingness to cooperate. Is there anyone who is willing to overlook his past and give him a chance at a fresh start? This short story from The Secret Garden author Frances Hodgson Burnett will resonate with any reader who has ever tried to put a rough patch behind them.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mai 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776534159
Langue	English

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SURLY TIM
A LANCASHIRE STORY
* * *
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

*
Surly Tim A Lancashire Story First published in 1877 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-415-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-416-6 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
"Surly Tim"
*
A Lancashire Story
"Sorry to hear my fellow-workmen speak so disparagin' o' me? Well,Mester, that's as it may be yo' know. Happen my fellow-workmen ha' madea bit o' a mistake—happen what seems loike crustiness to them beant somuch crustiness as summat else—happen I mought do my bit o' complainin'too. Yo' munnot trust aw yo' hear, Mester; that's aw I can say."
I looked at the man's bent face quite curiously, and, judging from itsrather heavy but still not unprepossessing outline, I could not reallycall it a bad face, or even a sulky one. And yet both managers andhands had given me a bad account of Tim Hibblethwaite. "Surly Tim," theycalled him, and each had something to say about his sullen dispositionto silence, and his short answers. Not that he was accused of anythinglike misdemeanor, but he was "glum loike," the factory people said, and"a surly fellow well deserving his name," as the master of his room hadtold me.
I had come to Lancashire to take the control of my father'sspinning-factory a short time before, being anxious to do my best towardthe hands, and, I often talked to one and another in a friendly way, sothat I could the better understand their grievances and remedy them withjustice to all parties concerned. So in conversing with men, women, andchildren, I gradually found out that Tim Hibblethwaite was in bad odor,and that he held himself doggedly aloof from all; and this was how, inthe course of time, I came to speak to him about the matter, and theopening words of my story are the words of his answer. But they did notsatisfy me by any means. I wanted to do the man justice myself, and seethat justice was done to him by others; and then again when, after mycurious look at him, he lifted his head from his work and drew the backof his hand across his warm face, I noticed that he gave his eyes abrush, and, glancing at him once more, I recognized the presence of amoisture in them.
In my anxiety to conceal that I had noticed anything unusual, I amafraid I spoke to him quite hurriedly.