The Maid of SkerBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Maid of Sker
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Foundlings -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Wales -- Fiction
inclined to wait for what was coming afterwards, and spent the time in
watching Bunny with admiration and contempt mixed, as they are on a
child's face only.
Then I brought in the dish of the day, with Bunny skipping and going
about, and scorching her fingers to help me; but Bardie (having gone
into her grandeur) sitting at table steadfastly, and with a resolute
mind to know what it was before approval. She had the most delicate
nostrils, but what I brought made her open them. Because I had the very
best half of the very best ham ever cured in our parish, through a whole
series of good-luck. Luck, and skill, and the will of the Lord, must all
combine for a first-rate ham; and here they were met, and no mistake,
both by one another and by excellent cooking afterwards. It would not
become me to say any more, when it comes to my mind that the delicate
gold of infant cabbage, by side of it, was also of my own planting, in a
bit of black mould in a choice niche, ere Bethel Jose had tempted me. In
spite of all this wonderful cheer, and the little ones going on
famously, the sight of that young cabbage struck a vein of sorrow in me
somewhere. To go away, and leave my house and garden for whole years
perhaps, and feel that it was all behind me, in neglect and loneliness,
with no one to undo the windows, or to sow a row of peas, or even dib a
cabbage in, and perhaps myself to find no chance of coming back to it,
and none to feel the difference! Like a knife all this went through me;
so that I must look upward quite, for fear of the little ones watching
me.
Those two little creatures ate with a power and a heartiness enough to
make anybody rejoice in the harmless glory of feeding them. After the
very first taste, they never stopped to wipe their lips, or to consider
anything, but dealt with what they had won, and felt, and thoroughly
entered into it. Only every now and then they could not help admiring
what I take to be the surest proof of a fine ham and good cookery; that
is to say, bright stripes of scarlet in between fat of a clear French
white, not unlike our streaky jaspers interlaid with agate. To see that
little thing, who scarce could lift a finger three weeks ago, now
playing so brisk a knife and fork, filled me with gratitude and joy, so
that I made up my mind to finish my dinner from the conger, and keep the
rest of the ham for her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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