“Lift!” he shouted. “Lift, my boy!”
His knees buckled somewhat and felt the package begin to slip away. Only the deft hand of another man kept the trunk from falling to the ground. He struggled for a moment more the trunk ended up slipping to the ground never-the-less.
“Don’t worry,” Joseph smiled at him. “I believe Miss Bea greased her trunk so it could not be carried.”
His knees buckled somewhat and felt the package begin to slip away. Only the deft hand of another man kept the trunk from falling to the ground. He struggled for a moment more the trunk ended up slipping to the ground never-the-less.
“Don’t worry,” Joseph smiled at him. “I believe Miss Bea greased her trunk so it could not be carried.”
“But of course,” Alistair sighed. “No wonder she was so eager to clean the dishes last night. I hope she left enough bird grease for the cart wheels.” A resounding squeak and groan had told the household when the cart arrived that morn. Joseph chuckled and slapped Alistair on the back before hoisting the trunk up high.
“Aye, there’s a good boy!” Jeph’s voice rang out clearly.
Alistair watched as his father clapped Joseph on the back with an excess of force that would have buckled Alistair’s knees. Despite Alistair’s being of his own flesh and blood, Joseph Wrenne would be the better son, Alistair reflected sadly. The man was but a year older, but so much more worldly and competent than Alistair ever hoped to be.
He has his own strengths, Alistair tried to reassure himself often, but the tale of the worldly Robin Hood often came to the forefront of his mind. When it happened, he pictured not himself as the jolly, hatted man, but instead Joseph. He had the physique and character for it, often with a pensive outlook that seemed to accompany the outlaw. Alas, Alistair often relegated himself to the role of Little John or Friar Tuck, though he was neither so large nor portly. He was but second fiddle to the main song.
At least he wasn’t fat.
He has his own strengths, Alistair tried to reassure himself often, but the tale of the worldly Robin Hood often came to the forefront of his mind. When it happened, he pictured not himself as the jolly, hatted man, but instead Joseph. He had the physique and character for it, often with a pensive outlook that seemed to accompany the outlaw. Alas, Alistair often relegated himself to the role of Little John or Friar Tuck, though he was neither so large nor portly. He was but second fiddle to the main song.
At least he wasn’t fat.