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pubOne.info present you this new edition. No one can be more sensible than is the Author that the present is an overgrown book of a nondescript class, neither the "tale" for the young, nor the novel for their elders, but a mixture of both.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819949367
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE DAISY CHAIN,
OR ASPIRATIONS
By Charlotte Yonge
PREFACE.
No one can be more sensible than is the Author thatthe present is an overgrown book of a nondescript class, neitherthe “tale” for the young, nor the novel for their elders, but amixture of both.
Begun as a series of conversational sketches, thestory outran both the original intention and the limits of theperiodical in which it was commenced; and, such as it has become,it is here presented to those who have already made acquaintancewith the May family, and may be willing to see more of them. Itwould beg to be considered merely as what it calls itself, a FamilyChronicle— a domestic record of home events, large and small,during those years of early life when the character is chieflyformed, and as an endeavour to trace the effects of thoseaspirations which are a part of every youthful nature. That theyoung should take one hint, to think whether their hopes andupward-breathings are truly upwards, and founded in lowliness, maybe called the moral of the tale.
For those who may deem the story too long, and thecharacters too numerous, the Author can only beg their pardon forany tedium that they may have undergone before giving it up. Feb.22nd, 1856.
THE DAISY CHAIN
PART 1.
CHAPTER I.
Si douce est la Marguerite. — CHAUCER.
“Miss Winter, are you busy? Do you want thisafternoon? Can you take a good long walk? ”
“Ethel, my dear, how often have I told you of yourimpetuosity— you have forgotten. ”
“Very well”— with an impatient twist— “I beg yourpardon. Good-morning, Miss Winter, ” said a thin, lank, angular,sallow girl, just fifteen, trembling from head to foot withrestrained eagerness, as she tried to curb her tone into therequisite civility.
“Good-morning, Ethel, good-morning, Flora, ” saidthe prim, middle-aged daily governess, taking off her bonnet, andarranging the stiff little rolls of curl at the long, narrowlooking-glass, the border of which distorted the countenance.
“Good-morning, ” properly responded Flora, a pretty,fair girl, nearly two years older than her sister.
“Will you— ” began to burst from Etheldred's lipsagain, but was stifled by Miss Winter's inquiry, “Is your mammapretty well to-day? ”
“Oh! very well, ” said both at once; “she is comingto the reading. ” And Flora added, “Papa is going to drive her outto-day. ”
“I am very glad. And the baby? ”
“I do believe she does it on purpose! ” whisperedEthel to herself, wriggling fearfully on the wide window-seat onwhich she had precipitated herself, and kicking at the bar of thetable, by which manifestation she of course succeeded in deferringher hopes, by a reproof which caused her to draw herself into arigid, melancholy attitude, a sort of penance of decorum, but arapid motion of the eyelids, a tendency to crack the joints of thefingers, and an unquietness at the ends of her shoes, betraying therestlessness of the digits therein contained.
It was such a room as is often to be found in oldcountry town houses, the two large windows looking out on a broadold-fashioned street, through heavy framework, and panes of glassscratched with various names and initials. The walls were paintedblue, the skirting almost a third of the height, and so wide at thetop as to form a narrow shelf. The fireplace, constructed in thedays when fires were made to give as little heat as possible, wasornamented with blue and white Dutch tiles bearing marvellousrepresentations of Scripture history, and was protected by a verytall green guard; the chairs were much of the same date, solid andheavy, the seats in faded carpet-work, but there was a sprinklingof lesser ones and of stools; a piano; a globe; a large table inthe middle of the room, with three desks on it; a small one, and alight cane chair by each window; and loaded book-cases. Florabegan, “If you don't want this afternoon to yourself— ”
Ethel was on her feet, and open-mouthed. “Oh, MissWinter, if you would be so kind as to walk to Cocksmoor with us!”
“To Cocksmoor, my dear! ” exclaimed the governess indismay.
“Yes, yes, but hear, ” cried Ethel. “It is not fornothing. Yesterday— ”
“No, the day before, ” interposed Flora.
“There was a poor man brought into the hospital. Hehad been terribly hurt in the quarry, and papa says he'll die. Hewas in great distress, for his wife has just got twins, and therewere lots of children before. They want everything— food andclothes— and we want to walk and take it. ”
“We had a collection of clothes ready, luckily, ”said Flora; “and we have a blanket, and some tea and somearrowroot, and a bit of bacon, and mamma says she does not think ittoo far for us to walk, if you will be so kind as to go with us.”
Miss Winter looked perplexed. “How could you carrythe blanket, my dear? ”
“Oh, we have settled that, ” said Ethel, “we mean tomake the donkey a sumpter-mule, so, if you are tired, you may ridehome on her. ”
“But, my dear, has your mamma considered? They aresuch a set of wild people at Cocksmoor; I don't think we could walkthere alone. ”
“It is Saturday, ” said Ethel, “we can get the boys.”
“If you would reflect a little! They would be noprotection. Harry would be getting into scrapes, and you and Maryrunning wild. ”
“I wish Richard was at home! ” said Flora.
“I know! ” cried Ethel. “Mr. Ernescliffe will come.I am sure he can walk so far now. I'll ask him. ”
Ethel had clapped after her the heavy door with itsshining brass lock, before Miss Winter well knew what she wasabout, and the governess seemed annoyed. “Ethel does not consider,” said she. “I don't think your mamma will be pleased. ”
“Why not? ” said Flora.
“My dear— a gentleman walking with you, especiallyif Margaret is going! ”
“I don't think he is strong enough, ” said Flora;“but I can't think why there should be any harm. Papa took us allout walking with him yesterday— little Aubrey and all, and Mr.Ernescliffe went. ”
“But, my dear— ”
She was interrupted by the entrance of a fine tallblooming girl of eighteen, holding in her hand a pretty little maidof five. “Good-morning. Miss Winter. I suppose Flora has told youthe request we have to make to you? ”
“Yes, my dear Margaret, but did your mamma considerwhat a lawless place Cocksmoor is? ”
“That was the doubt, ” said Margaret, “but papa saidhe would answer for it nothing would happen to us, and mamma saidif you would be so kind. ”
“It is unlucky, ” began the governess, but stoppedat the incursion of some new-comers, nearly tumbling over eachother, Ethel at the head of them. “Oh, Harry! ” as the gathers ofher frock gave way in the rude grasp of a twelve-year-old boy.“Miss Winter, 'tis all right— Mr. Ernescliffe says he is quite upto the walk, and will like it very much, and he will undertake todefend you from the quarrymen. ”
“Is Miss Winter afraid of the quarrymen? ” hallooedHarry. “Shall I take a club? ”
“I'll take my gun and shoot them, ” valiantlyexclaimed Tom; and while threats were passing among the boys,Margaret asked, in a low voice, “Did you ask him to come with us?”
“Yes, he said he should like it of all things. Papawas there, and said it was not too far for him— besides, there'sthe donkey. Papa says it, so we must go, Miss Winter. ”
Miss Winter glanced unutterable things at Margaret,and Ethel began to perceive she had done something wrong. Flora wasgoing to speak, when Margaret, trying to appear unconscious of acertain deepening colour in her own cheeks, pressed a hand on hershoulder, and whispering, “I'll see about it. Don't say any more,please, ” glided out of the room.
“What's in the wind? ” said Harry. “Are many of yourreefs out there, Ethel? ”
“Harry can talk nothing but sailors' language, ”said Flora, “and I am sure he did not learn that of Mr.Ernescliffe. You never hear slang from him. ”
“But aren't we going to Cocksmoor? ” asked Mary, ablunt downright girl of ten.
“We shall know soon, ” said Ethel. “I suppose I hadbetter wait till after the reading to mend that horrid frock? ”
“I think so, since we are so nearly collected, ”said Miss Winter; and Ethel, seating herself on the corner of thewindow-seat, with one leg doubled under her, took up a Shakespeare,holding it close to her eyes, and her brother Norman, who, in age,came between her and Flora, kneeling on one knee on thewindow-seat, and supporting himself with one arm against theshutter, leaned over her, reading it too, disregarding a tumultuousskirmish going on in that division of the family collectivelytermed “the boys, ” namely, Harry, Mary, and Tom, until Tom wassuddenly pushed down, and tumbled over into Ethel's lap, therebyupsetting her and Norman together, and there was a generaldownfall, and a loud scream, “The sphynx! ”
“You've crushed it, ” cried Harry, dealing outthumps indiscriminately.
“No, here 'tis, ” said Mary, rushing among them, andbringing out a green sphynx caterpillar on her finger— “'tis nothurt. ”
“Pax! Pax! ” cried Norman, over all, with the voiceof an authority, as he leaped up lightly and set Tom on his legsagain. “Harry! you had better do that again, ” he added warningly.“Be off, out of this window, and let Ethel and me read in peace.”
“Here's the place, ” said Ethel— “Crispin,Crispian's day. How I do like Henry V. ”
“It is no use to try to keep those boys in order! ”sighed Miss Winter.
“Saturnalia, as papa calls Saturday, ” repliedFlora.
“Is not your eldest brother coming home to-day? ”said Miss Winter in a low voice to Flora, who shook her head, andsaid confidentially, “He is not coming till he has passed thatexamination. He thinks it better not. ”
Here entered, with a baby in her arms, a lady with abeautiful countenance of calm sweetness, looking almost too youngto be the mother of the tall Margaret, who followed her. There wasa general hush as she greeted Miss Winter, the girls crowding roundto look at their little sister, not quite six weeks old.
“Now, Margaret, will you take her up to the nursery?” said the mother, while the im