Spring in a Shropshire AbbeyGaskell, Catherine Henrietta Milnes, Lady
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Spring in a Shropshire Abbey
Gaskell, Catherine Henrietta Milnes, Lady
Shropshire (England) -- Description and travel; Wenlock Abby (England)
Their faces looked scarlet, and as to their hands, it is hard to say
of what colour they were originally. It was, however, Bess's special
_fête_, so I said nothing tactless about cleanliness, nor did I
allude to whispering being against the canons of good manners; for
there are moments when a mother should have eyes not to see, and ears
not to hear, and as a wise friend once said to me, "half the wisdom
of life is knowing when to be indulgent."
I need not have feared any excess on the part of the children as
regarded the cake and the jam, for they hardly ate any, and Auguste's
_chef d'oeuvre_ had only two small slices cut out of it.
Bess, I saw, was under the influence of some great excitement. She
could hardly sit still a moment, and fidgeted on her chair
repeatedly, till I feared she would topple backwards, chair and all.
At last tea was over, and grace was said, and the two children,
breathless, and absorbed, begged leave to go off.
"Yes," I answered, "but not out of doors; for, see, it is raining,
and I promised your mother, Hals, that you should not get wet."
"Oh no, it's nothing to do with puddles," cried Bess. "But, mum, may
I take some pins from your pincushion? Nurse won't let me have as
many as I want. And then will you say that nobody--nobody is to go
near us?"
"Very well," I answered, "only don't do anything that is really
wrong."
Bess avoided my gaze, and did not answer, and a minute later I heard
the two children scuttle up the newel staircase, and shortly after
heard the muffled sound of voices in the old tower of the Abbey that
a Lawley is said to have erected in the middle of the seventeenth
century.
[Sidenote: THE FAIRY-STORY]
About half an hour after, the children returned to me in the chapel
hall. Bess, I noticed, looked white and fagged, and both children
seemed exhausted by their play, whatever it was, so I made them sit
quiet, fetched my embroidery, and began to tell them a fairy-story. I
meandered along the paths of fiction. I fear my story had but little
plot, but it had fiery dragons, wild beasts, a fairy prince, and a
beautiful fairy princess, and, in the background, a wicked ogre. And
as I talked, the children sat entranced.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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