And I Will Here Give
A Picture Of Such A Boy - The Child Associated In My Mind With A Spray
Of Southernwood.
And after this impression, I shall try to give one or two of ordinary
little boys.
These live in memory like the little girls I have written
about, not, it will be seen, because of their boy nature, seeing that
the boy has nothing miraculous, nothing to capture the mind and
register an enduring impression in it, as in the case of the girl; but
owing solely to some unusual circumstance in their lives - something
adventitious.
It was hot and fatiguing on the Wiltshire Downs, and when I had toiled
to the highest point of a big hill where a row of noble Scotch firs
stood at the roadside, I was glad to get off my bicycle and rest in the
shade. Fifty or sixty yards from the spot where I sat on the bank on a
soft carpet of dry grass and pine-needles, there was a small, old,
thatched cottage, the only human habitation in sight except the little
village at the foot of the hill, just visible among the trees a mile
ahead. An old woman in the cottage had doubtless seen me going by, for
she now came out into the road, and, shading her eyes with her hand,
peered curiously at me. A bent and lean old woman in a dingy black
dress, her face brown and wrinkled, her hair white. With her, watching
me too, was a little mite of a boy; and after they had stood there a
while he left her and went into the cottage garden, but presently came
out into the road again and walked slowly towards me. It was strange to
see that child in such a place! He had on a scarlet shirt or blouse,
wide lace collar, and black knickerbockers and stockings; but it was
his face rather than his clothes that caused me to wonder. Rarely had I
seen a more beautiful child, such a delicate rose-coloured skin, and
fine features, eyes of such pure intense blue, and such shining golden
hair. How came this angelic little being in that poor remote cottage
with that bent and wrinkled old woman for a guardian?
He walked past me very slowly, a sprig of southernwood in his hand;
then after going by he stopped and turned, and approaching me in a shy
manner and without saying a word offered me the little pale green
feathery spray. I took it and thanked him, and we entered into
conversation, when I discovered that his little mind was as bright and
beautiful as his little person. He loved the flowers, both garden and
wild, but above everything he loved the birds; he watched them to find
their nests; there was nothing he liked better than to look at the
little spotted eggs in the nest. He could show me a nest if I wanted to
see one, only the little bird was sitting on her eggs.
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