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136 pages

English

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Geared for younger audiences, this sweet story will appeal to fans of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women or Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden. Margaret Vandaleur's early life is beset by tragedy and ill fortune, but thanks to the kindness of a relative who takes her in, she is able to enjoy a happy childhood and befriend a number of girls who will be lifelong pillars of support.

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Children's

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 décembre 2015
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776593538
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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SIX TO SIXTEEN
A STORY FOR GIRLS
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JULIANA HORATIA EWING

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Six to Sixteen A Story for Girls First published in 1875 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-353-8 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-354-5 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Dedication Introduction Chapter I - My Pretty Mother—Ayah—Company Chapter II - The Cholera Season—My Mother Goes Away—My Sixth Birthday Chapter III - The Bullers—Matilda Takes Me up—We Fall Out—Mr. George Chapter IV - Sales—Matters of Principle—Mrs. Minchin Quarrels with the Bride—Mrs.Minchin Quarrels with Everybody—Mrs. Minchin is Reconciled—The VoyageHome—A Death on Board Chapter V - A Home Station—What Mrs. Buller Thought of it—What Major BullerThought of It Chapter VI - Dress and Manner—I Examine Myself—My Great-Grandmother Chapter VII - My Great-Grandmother—The Duchess's Carriage—Mrs. O'Connor is Curious Chapter VIII - A Family History Chapter IX - Hopes and Expectations—Dreams and Day Dreams—The Vine—Elspeth—MyGreat-Grandfather Chapter X - Thomas the Cat—My Great-Grandfather's Sketches—Adolphe is MyFriend—My Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Disturbs My Rest—I Leave theVine Chapter XI - Matilda's News—Our Governess—Major Buller Turned Tutor—EleanorArkwright Chapter XII - Poor Matilda—The Awkward Age—Mrs. Buller Takes Counsel with HerFriends—The "Milliner and Mantuamaker"—Medical Advice—The MajorDecides Chapter XIII - At School—The Lilac-Bush—Bridget's Posies—Summer—Health Chapter XIV - Miss Mulberry—Discipline and Recreation—Madame—Conversation—Eleanor'sOpinion of the Drawing-Master—Miss Ellen's—Eleanor's Apology Chapter XV - Eleanor's Theories Reduced to Practice—Studies—The Arithmetic-Master Chapter XVI - Eleanor's Reputation—The Mad Gentleman—Fancies and Follies—Matilda'sHealth—The New Doctor Chapter XVII - Eleanor's Health—Holy Living—The Prayer of the Son of Sirach Chapter XVIII - Eleanor and I Are Late for Breakfast—The School Breaks up—Madame andBridget Chapter XIX - Northwards—The Black Country—The Stone Country Chapter XX - The Vicarage—Keziah—The Dear Boys—The Cook—A YorkshireTea—Bed-Fellows Chapter XXI - Gardening—Drinkings—The Moors—Wading—Batrachosperma—TheChurch—Little Margaret Chapter XXII - A New Home—The Arkwrights' Return—The Beasts—Going to Meet theBoys—Jack's Hatbox—We Come Home a Rattler Chapter XXIII - I Correspond with the Major—My Collection—Occupations—MadameAgain—Fête de Village—The British Hooray Chapter XXIV - We and the Boys—We and the Boys and Our Fads—The Lamp of Zeal—Clementon Unreality—Jack's Ointment Chapter XXV - The "Household Album"—Sketching Under Difficulties—A NewSpecies?—Jack's Bargain—Theories Chapter XXVI - Manners and Customs—Clique—The Lessons of Experience—OutVisiting—House-Pride—Dressmaking Chapter XXVII - Matilda—Ball Dresses and the Ball—Gores—Miss Lining—The'Parishioner's Pennyworth' Chapter XXVIII - I Go Back to the Vine—After Sunset—A Twilight Existence—Salad ofMonk's-Hood—A Royal Summons Chapter XXIX - Home Again—Home News—The Very End
Dedication
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TO MISS ELEANOR LLOYD.
MY DEAR ELEANOR,
I wish that this little volume were worthier of being dedicated to you.
It is, I fear, fragmentary as a mere tale, and cannot even plead as anexcuse for this that it embodies any complete theory on the vexedquestion of the upbringing of girls. Indeed, I should like to say thatit contains no attempt to paint a model girl or a model education, andwas originally written as a sketch of domestic life, and not as avehicle for theories.
That it does touch by the way on a few of the many strong opinions Ihave on the subject you will readily discover; though it is so longsince we held discussions together that I hardly know how far your viewswill now agree with mine.
If, however, it seems to you to illustrate a belief in the joys andbenefits of intellectual hobbies, I do not think that we shall differ onthat point; and it may serve, here and there, to recall one, nearly asdear to you as to me, for whom the pleasures of life were at leastdoubled by such interests, and who found in them no mean resource undera burden heavier than common of life's pain.
That, whatever labour I may spend on this or any other bit ofwork—whatever changes or confirmations time and experience may bring tomy views of people and things—I cannot now ask her approval of the one,or delight in the play of her strong intellect and bright wit over theother, is an unhealable sorrow with which no one sympathizes more fullythan you.
This story was written before her death: it has been revised without herhelp.
Such as it is, I beg you to accept it in affectionate remembrance of oldtimes and of many common hobbies of our girlhood in my Yorkshire homeand in yours.
J. H. E.
Introduction
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Eleanor and I are subject to fads . Indeed, it is a family failing. (Bythe family I mean our household, for Eleanor and I are not, evendistantly, related.) Life would be comparatively dull, up away here onthe moors, without them. Our fads and the boys' fads are sometimes thesame, but oftener distinct. Our present one we would not so much as tellthem of on any account; because they would laugh at us. It is this. Wepurpose this winter to write the stories of our own lives down to thepresent date.
It seems an egotistical and perhaps silly thing to record thetrivialities of our everyday lives, even for fun, and just to pleaseourselves. I said so to Eleanor, but she said, "Supposing Mr. Pepys hadthought so about his everyday life, how much instruction and amusementwould have been lost to the readers of his Diary." To which I replied,that as Mr. Pepys lived in stirring times, and amongst notable people, his daily life was like a leaf out of English history, and his casequite different to the case of obscure persons living simply andmonotonously on the Yorkshire moors. On which Eleanor observed that thesimple and truthful history of a single mind from childhood would be asvaluable, if it could be got, as the whole of Mr. Pepys' Diary from thefirst volume to the last. And when Eleanor makes a general observationof this kind in her conclusive tone, I very seldom dispute it; for, tobegin with, she is generally right, and then she is so much more cleverthan I.
One result of the confessed superiority of her opinion to mine is that Igive way to it sometimes even when I am not quite convinced, but onlyhelped by a little weak-minded reason of my own in the background. Igave way in this instance, not altogether to her argument (for I am sure my biography will not be the history of a mind, but only a record ofsmall facts important to no one but myself), but chiefly because I thinkthat as one grows up one enjoys recalling the things that happened whenone was little. And one forgets them so soon! I envy Eleanor for havingkept her childish diaries. I used to write diaries too, but, when I wasfourteen years old, I got so much ashamed of them (it made me quite hotto read my small moral reflections, and the pompous account of myquarrels with Matilda, my sentimental admiration for the handsomebandmaster, &c., even when alone), and I was so afraid of the boysgetting hold of them, that I made a big hole in the kitchen fire oneday, and burned them all. At least, so I thought; but one volume escapedthe flames, and the fun Eleanor and I have now in re-reading this hasmade me regret that I burned the others. Of course, even if I put downall that I can remember, it will not be like having kept my diaries.Eleanor's biography, in this respect, will be much better than mine; butstill, I remember a good deal now that I dare say I shall forget soon,and in sixteen more years these histories may amuse us as much as theold diaries. We are all growing up now. We have even got to speaking of"old times," by which we mean the times when we used to wade in thebrooks and—
But this is beside the mark, and I must not allow myself to wander off.I am too apt to be discursive. When I had to write leading articles forour manuscript periodical, Jack used to laugh at me, and say, "If itwasn't for Eleanor's disentangling your sentences, you'd put parenthesiswithin parenthesis till, when you got yourself into the very insideone, you'd be as puzzled as a pig in a labyrinth, and not know how toget back to where you started from." And I remember Clement—whogenerally disputed a point, if possible—said, "How do you know shewouldn't get back, if you let her work out each train of thought inpeace? The curt, clean-cut French style may suit some people, whosebrains won't stretch far without getting tired; but others may have moresympathy with a Semitic cast of mind."
This excuse pleased me very much. It was pleasanter to believe that mystyle was Semitic, than to allow, with Jack, that it tended towards thatof Mrs. Nickleby. Though at that time my notion of the meaning of theword Semitic was not so precise as it might have been.
Our home is a beautiful place in the summer, and in much of spring andautumn. In winter I fancy it would look dreary to the eyes of strangers.At night the wind comes over the top of Deadmanstone Hill, and down thevalley, whirls the last leaves off the old trees by the church, andsends them dancing over the closely-ranged gravestones. Then up throughthe village it comes, and moans round our house all night, like somemiserable being wanting to get in. The boys say it does get in, morethan enough, especially into their bedrooms; but then boys alwaysgrumble. It cer