Angel: A sketch in Indian inkCroker, B. M. (Bithia Mary)
History
Angel: A sketch in Indian ink
Croker, B. M. (Bithia Mary)
British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
"That's a large order, my child," stroking her cheek. "You have not
seen the world yet—you won't repeat that in ten years' time. And now I
must be off, or I shall be late. Look here," speaking from the saddle,
"I'll come over to-morrow, and ask your mother if I may take you for a
drive. How will that be, eh?"
"Not," clapping her hands ecstatically, "with Sally Lunn!"
"Why not with Sally, and for a good ten mile spin into the country
beyond the railway."
"Oh, how splendid. And it's moonlight, too. I shan't sleep one wink for
thinking of to-morrow."
"In that case I warn you, I shall leave you behind," he announced as he
gathered up his reins. "Cheer up, Angel, and don't let me hear any more
about dying. Good-bye," and wheeling his impatient pony, he turned her
head towards the maidan, and galloped away over the flat parade ground
which lay between the bungalow and the club, raising as he went a cloud
of red dust.
Angel stood motionless staring after him, till a huge peepul tree hid
him from her gaze. "A drive in his beautiful dogcart," she said to
herself, "with its dark blue cushions and red wheels, and crazy Sally,
the fastest trotter in Ramghur. Phil never took grown-up ladies for a
drive—yet she was invited—she hoped he would go right through the
bazaar so that everyone might see them! The Wallace children and that
sneering Dodd boy. How delicious! But what was she to do for a hat?"
As she stood pondering this momentous question, with an old, care-worn
expression on her child's face, a fat ayah suddenly appeared near the
bungalow and shrieked out in Hindustani:
"Missy Angel—what you doing there? Come away from the road, oh
shameless one! Wicked child, without hat or topee. Supper is ready,
come therefore at once. Think of what the Colonel Sahib will say if he
sees thee thus."
This shrill invocation was all delivered in one breath. When it had
concluded, the child turned about, slipped off the gate, and with
unexpected alacrity ran up the drive, and was presently swallowed by
the shadows of a long verandah.
CHAPTER II
IN THE VERANDAH
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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