Through the Postern Gate: A Romance in Seven Days — John Shaqi
Through the Postern Gate: A Romance in Seven DaysBarclay, Florence L. (Florence Louisa)
General
Through the Postern Gate: A Romance in Seven Days
Barclay, Florence L. (Florence Louisa)
England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Love stories
She took her seat in a low basket-work chair. He had leapt to his
feet. She motioned him to another, just opposite hers. She was
feeling rather queenly. Unconsciously her manner became somewhat
regal. The Boy enjoyed it. He knew he was bent upon winning a queen
among women.
"I am going to tell you a story," she said.
"Yes?" said the Boy.
"It is about my Little Boy Blue."
"Yes?"
"_You_ were my Little Boy Blue."
"I?"
"Yes; twenty years ago."
"Then I was six," said the Boy, quite unperturbed.
"We were staying at Dovercourt, on the east coast. Our respective
families had known each other. I used to watch you playing on the
shore. You were a very tiny little boy."
"I dare say I was quite a nice little boy," said the Boy, complacently.
"Indeed you were; quite sweet. You wore white flannel knickers, and a
little blue coat."
"I dare say it was quite a nice little coat," said the Boy, "and I hope
my womenfolk had the tact to call it a 'blazer.'"
"It was a dear little coat--I should say 'blazer,'" said the Aunt; "and
I called you my 'Little Boy Blue.' You also had a blue flannel cap,
which you wore stuck on the back of your curls. I spoke to you twice,
Little Boy Blue."
"Did you?" he said, and his brown eyes were tender. "Then no wonder I
feel I have loved you all my life."
"Ah, but wait until you hear my story! The first time I spoke to you,
it happened thus. Your nurse sat high up on the beach, in the long
line of nurses, gossiping and doing needlework. You took your little
spade and bucket, and marched away, all by yourself, to a breakwater;
and there you built a splendid sand castle. I sat on the breakwater,
higher up, and watched you. You took immense pains; you overcame
stupendous difficulties; and every time your little cap fell off, you
picked it up, dusted off the sand with the sleeve of your little blue
coat, and stuck it on the back of your curly head again. You were very
sweet, Little Boy Blue. I can see you now."
The Aunt paused, and let her eyes dwell upon the Boy in appreciative
retrospection. If he felt this something of an ordeal, he certainly
showed no signs of it. Not for a moment did his face lose its
expression of delighted interest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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