Just as I was brooding over these mysteries and trying to hatch out
some conclusions, Mrs. Bobby knocked at the door, and, coming in,
curtsied very low before saying, "It's about namin' the 'ouse,
miss."
"Oh yes. Pray don't stand, Mrs. Bobby; take a chair. I am not very
busy; I am only painting prickles on my gorse bushes, so we will
talk it over."
I shall not attempt to give you Mrs. Bobby's dialect in reporting my
various interviews with her, for the spelling of it is quite beyond
my powers. Pray remove all the h's wherever they occur, and insert
them where they do not; but there will be, over and beyond this, an
intonation quite impossible to render.
Mrs. Bobby bought her place only a few months ago, for she lived in
Cheltenham before Mr. Bobby died. The last incumbent had probably
been of Welsh extraction, for the cottage had been named 'Dan-y-
cefn.' Mrs. Bobby declared, however, that she wouldn't have a
heathenish name posted on her house, and expect her friends to
pronounce it when she couldn't pronounce it herself. She seemed
grieved when at first I could not see the absolute necessity of
naming the cottage at all, telling her that in America we named only
grand places. She was struck dumb with amazement at this piece of
information, and failed to conceive of the confusion that must ensue
in villages where streets were scarcely named or houses numbered. I
confess it had never occurred to me that our manner of doing was
highly inconvenient, if not impossible, and I approached the subject
of the name with more interest and more modesty.
"Well, Mrs. Bobby," I began, "it is to be Cottage; we've decided
that, have we not? It is to be Cottage, not House, Lodge, Mansion,
or Villa. We cannot name it after any flower that blows, because
they are all taken. Have all the trees been used?"
"Thank you, miss, yes, miss, all but h'ash-tree, and we 'ave no
h'ash."
"Very good, we must follow another plan. Family names seem to be
chosen, such as Gower House, Marston Villa, and the like. 'Bobby
Cottage' is not pretty. What was your maiden name, Mrs. Bobby?"
"Buggins, thank you, miss. 'Elizabeth Buggins, Licensed to sell
Poultry,' was my name and title when I met Mr. Bobby."
"I'm sorry, but 'Buggins Cottage' is still more impossible than
'Bobby Cottage.' Now here's another idea: where were you born,
Mrs. Bobby?"
"In Snitterfield, thank you, miss."
"Dear, dear! how unserviceable!"
"Thank you, miss."
"Where was Mr. Bobby born?"
"He never mentioned, miss."
(Mr. Bobby must have been expansive, for they were married twenty
years.)
"There is always Victoria or Albert," I said tentatively, as I wiped
my brushes.
"Yes, miss, but with all respect to her Majesty, them names give me
a turn when I see them on the gates, I am that sick of them."
"True. Can we call it anything that will suggest its situation? Is
there a Hill Crest?"
"Yes, miss, there is 'Ill Crest, 'Ill Top, 'Ill View, 'Ill Side,
'Ill End, H'under 'Ill, 'Ill Bank, and 'Ill Terrace."
"I should think that would do for Hill."
"Thank you, miss. 'Ow would 'The 'Edge' do, miss?"
"But we have no hedge." (She shall not have anything with an h in
it, if I can help it.)
"No, miss, but I thought I might set out a bit, if worst come to
worst."
"And wait three or four years before people would know why the
cottage was named? Oh no, Mrs. Bobby."
"Thank you, miss."
"We might have something quite out of the common, like 'Providence
Cottage,' down the bank. I don't know why Mrs. Jones calls it
Providence Cottage, unless she thinks it's a providence that she has
one at all; or because, as it's just on the edge of the hill, she
thinks it's a providence that it hasn't blown off. How would you
like 'Peace' or 'Rest' Cottage?"
"Begging your pardon, miss, it's neither peace nor rest I gets in it
these days, with a twenty-five pound debt 'anging over me, and three
children to feed and clothe."
"I fear we are not very clever, Mrs. Bobby, or we should hit upon
the right thing with less trouble. I know what I will do: I will
go down in the road and look at the place for a long time from the
outside, and try to think what it suggests to me."
"Thank you, miss; and I'm sure I'm grateful for all the trouble you
are taking with my small affairs."
Down I went, and leaned over the wicket-gate, gazing at the unnamed
cottage. The brick pathway was scrubbed as clean as a penny, and
the stone step and the floor of the little kitchen as well. The
garden was a maze of fragrant bloom, with never a weed in sight.
The fowl cackled cheerily still, adding insult to injury, the pet
sheep munched grass contentedly, and the canaries sang in their
cages under the vines. Mrs. Bobby settled herself on the porch with
a pan of peas in her neat gingham lap, and all at once I cried:-
"'Comfort Cottage'! It is the very essence of comfort, Mrs. Bobby,
even if there is not absolute peace or rest. Let me paint the
signboard for you this very day."
Mrs. Bobby was most complacent over the name. She had the greatest
confidence in my judgment, and the characterisation pleased her
housewifely pride, so much so that she flushed with pleasure as she
said that if she 'ad 'er 'ealth she thought she could keep the place
looking so that the passers-by would easily h'understand the name.
