The Grey Woman and other TalesGaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn
General
The Grey Woman and other Tales
Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were
not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick put on their clothes as fast as
possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of
going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind
of basin or mug to wash in; there was none—not even a jug of water in
the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs,
found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were
playing in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the
soap was kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it.
Then he went back to the bedroom; but on entering it from the fresh
air, the smell was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three
people had been breathing the air all night, and had used up every
particle many times over and over again; and each time that it had been
sent out from the lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed
again. They had not felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it;
they had only felt tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but now
that Tom came back again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive
nature. He went to the window to try and open it. It was what people
call a “Yorkshire light,” where you know one-half has to be pushed on
one side. It was very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long
time. Tom pushed against it with all his might; at length it gave way
with a jerk; and the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the
floor in a hundred little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw
what he had done. He would have been sorry to have done mischief at any
time, but he had seen enough of his aunt the evening before to find out
that she was sharp, and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to
begin the first day in his new home by getting into a scrape. He sat
down on the bedside, and began to cry. But the morning air blowing in
upon him, refreshed him, and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as
he washed himself in the pure, cold water. “She can’t be cross with me
longer than a day; by to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a
day.”
Dick came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.
“My word, Tom! but you’ll catch it!” exclaimed he, when he saw the
broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for
Tom. “Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right
through the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but
she was on the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught
hold of him and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!”
Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt’s anger; Dick became
more and more sorry for him.
“I’ll tell thee what; we’ll go down and say it was a lad in yon
back-yard throwing stones, and that one went smack through the window.
I’ve got one in my pocket that will just do to show.”
“No,” said Tom, suddenly stopping crying. “I dare not do that.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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