I asked her to sit down beside me and
talk, because I wanted to tell her what good times we had had, and how
we liked the place, but she said she couldn't, as she was obliged to go
on.
"And did you like Chedcombe?" said she. "I hope you and your husband
kept well."
I said yes, except Jone's rheumatism, we felt splendid; for my aches
hadn't come on then, and I was going on to gush about the lovely
country she had sent us to, but she didn't seem to want to listen.
"Really," said she, "and your husband had the rheumatism. It was a
wise thing for you to come here. We English people have reason to be
proud of our country. If we have our banes, we also have our antidotes;
and it isn't every country that can say that, is it?"
[Illustration: "And did you like Chedcombe?"]
I wanted to speak up for America, and tried to think of some good
antidote with the proper banes attached; but before I could do it she
gave her head a little wag, and said, "Good morning; nice weather,
isn't it?" and wobbled away. It struck me that the old body was a
little lofty, and just then Mr. Poplington, who I hadn't noticed, came
up.
"Really," said he, "I didn't know you was acquainted with the
Countess."
"The which?" said I.
"The Countess of Mussleby," said he, "that you was just talking to."
"Countess!" I cried. "Why, that's the old person who recommended us to
go to Chedcombe."
"Very natural," said he, "for her to do that, for her estates lie south
of Chedcombe, and she takes a great interest in the villages around
about, and knows all the houses to let."
I parted from him and wandered away, a sadness stealing o'er my soul.
Gone with the recollections of the clotted cream was my visions of
diamond tiaras, tossing plumes, and long folds of brocades and laces
sweeping the marble floors of palaces. If ever again I read a novel
with a countess in it, I shall see the edge of a yellow flannel
petticoat and a pair of shoes like two horse-hair bags, which was the
last that I saw of this thunderbolt into the middle of my visions of
aristocracy.
Jone and me got to like Buxton very much. We met many pleasant people,
and as most of them had a chord in common, we was friendly enough. Jone
said it made him feel sad in the smoking-room to see the men he'd got
acquainted with get well and go home, but that's a kind of sadness that
all parties can bear up under pretty well.
I haven't said a word yet about Scotland, though we have been here a
week, but I really must get something about it into this letter.
