In Mr. Knox's CountrySomerville, E. Oe. (Edith Oenone)
General
In Mr. Knox's Country
Somerville, E. Oe. (Edith Oenone)
British -- Ireland -- Fiction; Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Judges -- Fiction
While I reflected on this, the stillness of the night was studded in a
long and diminishing line by the running pant of the motor-bicycle.
II
THE FINGER OF MRS. KNOX
A being stood in a dark corner under the gallery of the hall at
Aussolas Castle; a being who had arrived noiselessly on bare feet, and
now revealed its presence by hard breathing.
"Come in, Mary," commanded old Mrs. Knox without turning her head;
"make up the fire."
"I will, ma'am," murmured the being, advancing with an apologetic eye
upon me, and an undulating gait suggestive of a succession of incipient
curtsies.
She was carrying an armful of logs, and, having stacked them on the
fire in a heap calculated to set alight any chimney less roomy than the
Severn Tunnel, she retired by way of the open hall door with the same
deferential stealth with which she had entered.
"The hen-woman," explained Mrs. Knox casually, "the only person in this
place who knows a dry log from a wet one."
Like all successful rulers, Mrs. Knox had the power of divining in her
underlings their special gifts, and of wresting them to the sphere in
which they shone, no matter what their normal functions might be. She
herself pervaded all spheres.
"There's no pie but my grandmother has a finger in it," was Flurry
Knox's epitome of these high qualities; a sour tribute from one
freebooter to another.
"If the Mistress want a thing she mus' have it!" was the comment of
John Kane, the gamekeeper, as he threw down the spade with which he was
digging out a ferret, and armed himself with a holly-bush wherewith to
sweep the drawing-room chimney.
As Mrs. Knox and I sat by the hen-woman's noble fire, and gossiped, the
cook panted in with the tea-tray; the butler, it appeared, had gone out
to shoot a rabbit for dinner. All these things pointed to the fact
that Mrs. Knox's granddaughter-in-law, Mrs. Flurry, was not, at the
moment, in residence at Aussolas. The Jungle was creeping in; Sally
Knox, by virtue, I suppose, of her English mother, spasmodically
endeavoured to keep it out, but with her departure the Wild triumphed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account