Maryland -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
One fifteenth of June two children sat with bated breath in the
pinnace,--Dorothy Manners and myself. Mistress Dolly was then as
mischievous a little baggage as ever she proved afterwards. She was
coming to pass a week at the Hall, her parents, whose place was next to
ours, having gone to Philadelphia on a visit. We rounded Kent Island,
which lay green and beautiful in the flashing waters, and at length
caught sight of the old windmill, with its great arms majestically
turning, and the cupola of Carvel House shining white among the trees;
and of the upper spars of the shipping, with sails neatly furled, lying
at the long wharves, where the English wares Mr. Carvel had commanded
for the return trips were unloading. Scarce was the pinnace brought into
the wind before I had leaped ashore and greeted with a shout the Hall
servants drawn up in a line on the green, grinning a welcome. Dorothy
and I scampered over the grass and into the cool, wide house, resting
awhile on the easy sloping steps within, hand in hand. And then away for
that grand tour of inspection we had been so long planning together. How
well I recall that sunny afternoon, when the shadows of the great oaks
were just beginning to lengthen. Through the greenhouses we marched,
monarchs of all we surveyed, old Porphery, the gardener, presenting
Mistress Dolly with a crown of orange blossoms, for which she thanked
him with a pretty courtesy her governess had taught her. Were we not
king and queen returned to our summer palace? And Spot and Silver and
Song and Knipe, the wolf-hound, were our train, though not as decorous
as rigid etiquette demanded, since they were forever running after the
butterflies. On we went through the stiff, box-bordered walks of the
garden, past the weather-beaten sundial and the spinning-house and the
smoke-house to the stables. Here old Harvey, who had taught me to
ride Captain Daniel's pony, is equerry, and young Harvey our personal
attendant; old Harvey smiles as we go in and out of the stalls rubbing
the noses of our trusted friends, and gives a gruff but kindly warning
as to Cassandra's heels. He recalls my father at the same age.
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