Borderland : $b a country-town chronicleFothergill, Jessie
General
Borderland : $b a country-town chronicle
Fothergill, Jessie
English fiction -- 19th century
OTHO’S REVENGE 277
XXV. IN THE ANTE-ROOM 287
XXVI. HER HEART’S DESIRE 296
XXVII. RECRIMINATION 306
XXVIII. AT THE MILLS 316
XXIX. A FALSE STEP IN GOOD FAITH 327
XXX. SERMON, BY A SINNER 343
XXXI. BRASS POTS AND EARTHENWARE PIPKINS 359
XXXII. FIRST ALARM 375
XXXIII. BROKEN OFF 383
XXXIV. HOW CRACKPOT WAS SCRATCHED 391
XXXV. ‘CARELESSE CONTENTE’ 400
XXXVI. THE SHADOW 409
XXXVII. THE RETURN 418
XXXVIII. ADA 432
XXXIX. THE BROTHERS 440
XL. ‘AMIDST THE BLAZE OF NOON’ 449
XLI. ‘LET ME ALONE’ 460
XLII. HOW ADA SOLVED HER PROBLEM 465
XLIII. MAGDALEN. IN VALEDICTION 474
BORDERLAND
IN CHILDHOOD
One summer, which in point of date now lies many years behind us, four
boys used to play together, and to quarrel and make it up again with one
another—to live together through the long, golden days, that vivid,
eager life peculiar to children, in a curious, old-fashioned garden on
the bank of the river Tees, and on the Durham side of that stream. The
garden belonged to a great house, not very old, though it was the abode
of an old family, solemn, not to say gloomy, in its dulness and
stateliness of appearance, and standing out in rather sombre contrast to
the woods which were behind it, and the terraces which sloped down from
its front to the river-side. The name of the house was Thorsgarth; many
a spot hereabouts bore some name reminiscent of long-past Danish
occupation and Scandinavian paganism. It was a characteristic giving a
peculiar flavour to the language and nomenclature of the whole
country-side, and one, too, which has been sweetly sung by at least one
of our English poets. With this fact, these four particular boys were
probably unacquainted, and it is more than probable that if they had
known all about it they would have cared less than nothing for the
circumstance. What could it matter to them that, a little farther down
the stream, that sweet spot where they loved to wade in the shallows,
and not far from which noisy Greta came tumbling and laughing into the
arms of sedater Tees—where the numerous wasps’ nests were to be found
under the bank, to destroy which nests they had gone through such
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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