The Children's Hour, v 5. Stories From Seven Old FavoritesTappan, Eva March
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The Children's Hour, v 5. Stories From Seven Old Favorites
Tappan, Eva March
Children's stories; Literature -- Adaptations
But a more dangerous accident happened to me in the same garden, when
my little nurse, believing she had put me in a secure place (which I
often entreated her to do, that I might enjoy my own thoughts), and
having left my box at home, to avoid the trouble of carrying it, went
to another part of the garden with her governess and some ladies of
her acquaintance. While she was absent, and out of hearing, a small
white spaniel belonging to one of the chief gardeners, having got by
accident into the garden, happened to range near the place where I
lay; the dog, following the scent, came directly up, and taking me in
his mouth, ran straight to his master, wagging his tail, and set me
gently on the ground. By good fortune he had been so well taught that
I was carried between his teeth without the least hurt, or even
tearing my clothes. But the poor gardener, who knew me well, and had a
great kindness for me, was in a terrible fright; he gently took me up
in both his hands, and asked me how I did, but I was so amazed and out
of breath that I could not speak a word. In few minutes I came to
myself, and he carried me safe to my little nurse, who by this time
had returned to the place where she left me, and was in cruel agonies
when I did not appear, nor answer when she called. She severely
reprimanded the gardener on account of his dog. But the thing was
hushed up, and never known at court, for the girl was afraid of the
queen's anger; and truly, as to myself, I thought it would not be for
my reputation that such a story should go about.
This accident absolutely determined Glumdalclitch never to trust me
abroad for the future out of her sight. I had been long afraid of this
resolution, and therefore concealed from her some little unlucky
adventures that happened in those times when I was left by myself.
Once a kite, hovering over the garden, made a stoop at me, and if I
had not resolutely drawn my hanger, and run under a thick espalier, he
would have certainly carried me away in his talons. Another time,
walking to the top of a fresh molehill, I fell to my neck in the hole
through which that animal had cast up the earth, and coined some lie,
not worth remembering, to excuse myself for spoiling my clothes. I
likewise broke my right shin against the shell of a snail, which I
happened to stumble over as I was walking alone and thinking on poor
England.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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