The Fortunes of Philippa: A School StoryBrazil, Angela
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The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story
Brazil, Angela
Girls -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- England -- Juvenile fiction
I understood him, and it added a fresh pang to my sorrow. Child as I
was, I felt I had in some measure helped to fill that vacant place, and
the thought that I must leave him so lonely, so very lonely, seemed
sometimes to make the parting almost harder than I could bear. I tried
my best, however, to be bright and brave for his sake, and I made up my
mind that I would do my very utmost to learn all he wished, so that
perhaps I might get through the work in quicker time than he expected,
and be able to return to him the sooner.
The grief of the coloured portion of our household at the news of my
departure was both noisy and vehement. Juanita dropped copious tears
into my boxes; JosÈ, the garden-boy, assured me that England was
situated in the midst of a frozen sea, where your fingers fell off with
the cold, and you chopped up your breakfast with a hatchet; Pedro, the
cook, was doubtful if I should survive a course of English dishes, which
he heard were composed chiefly of beef and plum-pudding, while salads
and sauces were unknown; and Tasso, after a vain appeal to be allowed to
accompany me, drew such appalling pictures of the perils of the seas,
that I wondered how even his devotion could have induced him to think of
venturing on shipboard. Of all the many friends whom I left behind, I
think the one I regretted the most was Tasso. My earliest recollection
is that of clinging to his stout black forefinger to toddle down the
flagged pathway between the orange-trees which led to the terrace that
over-looked the sea. Carried on his broad shoulders, I had made my first
acquaintance with the streets of San Carlos. There one might see the
funny washerwomen standing like ducks in the river to beat their clothes
upon the stones, the long-eared mules with their gay trappings coming
down from the mountains laden with bags of coffee-berries, the solemn
Indian muleteers with their dark cloaks and fringed leggings, the little
black children dancing and singing in the bright sunshine, the open-air
restaurants where men of all nations sat chatting, smoking cigarettes,
and drinking "eau sucrÈe" under the palm-trees, or the fashionable
carriages of the smart Spanish ladies and gentlemen who thronged the
Corso in the late afternoon.
Negro servants, having much of the child in their nature, are
wonderfully patient with little children. Tasso humoured me and amused
me with untiring zeal, telling me wonderful stories of African magic,
singing me long ballads in the half-Spanish half-Indian dialect of the
district, catching for me butterflies, green lizards, or the brilliant
little humming-birds which flitted about our garden, or picking shells
for me upon the beach below.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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