the diary of a goose girl-第8节

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told　me　all　the　particulars。　　Yesterday　morning　I　was　sitting　by　my
open　window。　　It　was　warm；　sunny；　and　still；　but　in　the　country
sounds　travel　far；　and　I　could　hear　fowl　conversation　in　various
parts　of　the　poultry…yard　as　well　as　in　all　the　outlying　bits　of
territory　occupied　by　our　feathered　friends。　　Hens　have　only　three
words　and　a　scream　in　their　language；　but　ducks；　having　more
thoughts　to　express；　converse　quite　fluently；　so　fluently；　in　fact；
that　it　reminds　me　of　dinner　at　the　Hydropathic　Hotel。　　I　fancy　I
have　learned　to　distinguish　seven　separate　sounds；　each　varied　by
degrees　of　intensity；　and　with　upward　or　downward　inflections　like
the　Chinese　tongue。

In　the　distance；　then；　I　heard　the　faint　voice　of　a　duck　calling　as
if　breathless　and　excited。　　While　I　wondered　what　was　happening；　I
saw　Miss　Crippletoes　struggling　up　the　steep　bank　above　the　duck…
pond。　　It　was　the　quickest　way　from　the　water　to　the　house；　but
difficult　for　the　little　lame　webbed　feet。　　When　she　reached　the
level　grass　sward　she　sank　down　a　moment；　exhausted；　but　when　she
could　speak　again　she　cried　out；　a　sharp　staccato　call；　and　ran
forward。

Instantly　she　was　answered　from　a　distant　knoll；　where　for　some
reason　Sir　Muscovy　loved　to　retire　for　meditation。　　The　cries　grew
lower　and　softer　as　the　birds　approached　each　other；　and　they　met
at　the　corner　just　under　my　window。　　Instantly　they　put　their　two
bills　together　and　the　loud　cries　changed　to　confiding　murmurs。
Evidently　some　hurried　questions　and　answers　passed　between　them；
and　then　Sir　Muscovy　waddled　rapidly　by　the　quickest　path；　Miss
Crippletoes　following　him　at　a　slower　pace；　and　both　passed　out　of
sight；　using　their　wings　to　help　their　feet　down　the　steep
declivity。　　The　next　morning；　when　I　wakened　early；　my　first
thought　was　to　look　out；　and　there　on　the　sunny　greensward　where
they　were　accustomed　to　be　fed；　Sir　Muscovy；　Lady　Blanche；　and
their　humble　maid；　Malardina　Crippletoes；　were　scattering　their　own
breakfast　before　the　bills　of　twelve　beautiful　golden　balls　of
ducklings。　　The　little　creatures　could　never　have　climbed　the　bank；
but　must　have　started　from　their　nest　at　dawn；　coming　round　by　the
brook　to　the　level　at　the　foot　of　the　garden；　and　so　by　slow
degrees　up　to　the　house。

Judging　from　what　I　heard　and　knew　of　their　habits；　I　am　sure　the
excitement　of　the　previous　morning　was　occasioned　by　the　hatching
of　the　eggs；　and　that　Lady　Blanche　had　hastily　sent　her　friend　to
call　Sir　Muscovy；　the　family　remaining　together　until　they　could
bring　the　babies　with　them　and　display　their　beauty　to　Phoebe　and
me。



CHAPTER　X



July　14th。

We　are　not　wholly　without　the　pleasures　of　the　town　in　Barbury
Green。　　Once　or　twice　in　a　summer；　late　on　a　Saturday　afternoon；　a
procession　of　red　and　yellow　vans　drives　into　a　field　near　the
centre　of　the　village。　　By　the　time　the　vans　are　unpacked　all　the
children　in　the　community　are　surrounding　the　gate　of　entrance。
There　is　rifle…shooting；　there　is　fortune…telling；　there　are　games
of　pitch　and　toss；　and　swings；　and　French　bagatelle；　and；　to　crown
all；　a　wonderful　orchestrion　that　goes　by　steam。　　The　water　is
boiled　for　the　public's　tea；　and　at　the　same　time　thrilling　strains
of　melody　are　flung　into　the　air。　　There　is　at　present　only　one
tune　in　the　orchestrion's　repertory；　but　it　is　a　very　good　tune；
though　after　hearing　it　three　hundred　and　seven　times　in　a　single
afternoon；　it　pursues　one；　sleeping　and　waking；　for　the　next　week。
Phoebe　and　I　took　the　Square　Baby　and　went　in　to　this　diversified
entertainment。　　There　was　a　small　crowd　of　children　at　the
entrance；　but　as　none　of　them　seemed　to　be　provided　with　pennies；
and　I　felt　in　a　fairy　godmother　mood；　I　offered　them　the　freedom　of
the　place　at　my　expense。

I　never　purchased　more　radiant　good…will　for　less　money；　but　the
combined　effect　of　the　well…boiled　tea　and　the　boiling　orchestrion
produced　many　village　nightmares；　so　the　mothers　told　me　at　chapel
next　morning。

*　*　*

I　have　many　friends　in　Barbury　Green；　and　often　have　a　pleasant
chat　with　the　draper；　and　the　watch…maker；　and　the　chemist。

The　last　house　on　the　principal　street　is　rather　an　ugly　one；　with
especially　nice　window　curtains。　　As　I　was　taking　my　daily　walk　to
the　post…office　（an　entirely　unfruitful　expedition　thus　far；　as
nobody　has　taken　the　pains　to　write　to　me）　I　saw　a　nursemaid　coming
out　of　the　gate；　wheeling　a　baby　in　a　perambulator。　　She　was　going
placidly　away　from　the　Green　when；　far　in　the　distance；　she　espied
a　man　walking　rapidly　toward　us；　a　heavy　Gladstone　bag　in　one　hand。
She　gazed　fixedly　for　a　moment；　her　eyes　brightening　and　her　cheeks
flushing　with　pleasure；whoever　it　was；　it　was　an　unexpected
arrival；then　she　retraced　her　steps　and；　running　up　the　garden…
path；　opened　the　front　door　and　held　an　excited　colloquy　with
somebody；　a　slender　somebody　in　a　nice　print　gown　and　neatly…
dressed　hair；　who　came　to　the　gate　and　peeped　beyond　the　hedge
several　times；　drawing　back　between　peeps　with　smiles　and
heightened　colour。　　She　did　not　run　down　the　road；　even　when　she
had　satisfied　herself　of　the　identity　of　the　traveller；　perhaps
that　would　not　have　been　good　form　in　an　English　village；　for　there
were　houses　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　way。　　She　waited　until　he
opened　the　gate；　the　nursemaid　took　the　bag　and　looked　discreetly
into　the　hedge；　then　the　mistress　slipped　her　hand　through　the
traveller's　arm　and　walked　up　the　path　as　if　she　had　nothing　else
in　the　world　to　wish　for。　　The　nurse　had　a　part　in　the　joy；　for　she
lifted　the　baby　out　of　the　perambulator　and　showed　proudly　how　much
he　had　grown。

It　was　a　dear　little　scene；　and　I；　a　passer…by；　had　shared　in　it
and　felt　better　for　it。　　I　think　their　content　was　no　less　because
part　of　it　had　enriched　my　life；　for　happiness；　like　mercy；　is
twice　blessed；　it　blesses　those　who　are　most　intimately　associated
in　it；　and　it　blesses　all　those　who　see　it；　hear　it；　feel　it；　touch
it；　or　breathe　the　same　atmosphere。　　A　laughing；　crowing　baby　in　a
house；　one　cheerful　woman　singing　about　her　work；　a　boy　whistling
at　the　plough；　a　romance　just　suspected；　with　its　miracle　of　two
hearts　melting　into　onethe　wind's　always　in　the　west　when　you
have　any　of　these　wonder…workers　in　your　neighbourhood。

I　have　talks　too；　sometimes；　with　the　old　parson；　who　lives　in　a
quaint　house　with　〃Parva　Domus　Magna　Quies〃　cut　into　the　stone　over
the　doorway。　　He　is　not　a　preaching　parson；　but　a　retired　one；
almost　the　nicest　kind；　I　often　think。

He　has　been　married　thirty　years；　he　tells　me；　thirty　years；　spent
in　the　one　little　house　with　the　bricks　painted　red　and　grey
alternately；　and　the　scarlet　holly…hocks　growing　under　the　windows。
I　am　sure　they　have　been　sweet；　true；　kind　years；　and　that　his
heart　must　be　a　quiet；　peaceful　place　just　like　his　house　and
garden。

〃I　was　only　eleven　years　old　when　I　fell　in　love　with　my　wife；〃　he
told　me　as　we　sat　on　the　seat　under　the　lime…tree；　he　puffing
cosily　at　his　pipe；　I　plaiting　grasses　for　a　hatband。

〃It　was　just　before　Sunday…school。　　Her　mother　had　dressed　her　all
in　white　muslin　like　a　fairy；　but　she　had　stepped　on　the　edge　of　a
puddle；　and　some　of　the　muddy　water　had　bespattered　her　frock。　　A
circle　of　children　had　surrounded　her；　and　some　of　the　motherly
little　girls　were　on　their　knees　rubbing　at　the　spots　anxiously；
while　one　of　them　wiped　away　the　tears　that　were　running　down　her
pretty　cheeks。　　I　looked！　　It　was　fatal！　　I　did　not　look　again；　but
I　was　smitten　to　the　very　heart！　　I　did　not　speak　to　her　for　six
years；　but　when　I　did；　it　was　all　right　with　both　of　us；　thank　God！
and　I've　been　in　love　with　her　ever　since；　when　she　behaves
herself！〃

That　is　the　way　they　speak　of　love　in　Barbury　Green；　and　oh！　how
much　sweeter　and　more　wholesome　it　is　than　the　language　of　the
town！　　Who　would　not　be　a　Goose　Girl；　〃to　win　the　secret　of　the
weed's　plain　heart〃？　　It　seems　to　me　that　in　society　we　are　always
gazing　at　magic…lantern　shows；　but　here　we　rest　our　tired　eyes　with
looking　at　the　stars。



CHAPTER　XI



July　16th。

Phoebe　and　I　have　been　to　a　Hen　Conference　at　Buffington。　　It　was
for　the　purpose　of　raising　the　standard　of　the　British　Hen；　and　our
local　Countess；　who　is　much　interested　in　poultry；　was　in　the
chair。

It　was　a　very　learned　body；　but　Phoebe　had　coached　me　so　well　that
at　the　noon　recess　I　could　talk　confidently　with　the　members；
discussing　the　various　advantages　of　True　and　Crossed　Minorcas；
Feverels；　Andalusians；　Cochin　Chinas；　Shanghais；　and　the　White
Leghorn。　　（Phoebe；　when　she　pronounces　this　word；　leaves　out　the
〃h〃　and　bears　down　heavily　on　the　last　syllable；　so　that　it　rhymes
with　begone！）

As　I　was　sitting　under　the　trees　waiting　for　Phoebe　to　finish　some
shopping　in　the　village；　a　travelling　poultry…dealer　came　along　and
offered　to　sell　me　a　silver　Wyandotte　pullet　and　cockerel。　　This
was　a　new　breed　to　me　and　I　asked　the　price；　which　proved　to　be
more　than　I　should　pay　for　a　hat　in　Bond　Street。　　I　hesitated；
thinking　meantime　what　a　delightful　parting　gift　they　would　be　for
Phoebe；　I　mean　if　we　ever　should　part；　which　seems　more　and　mo