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Updated: June 11, 2025
The coachman, Blencorn, was too high up in the air for human intercourse. Dave found the lady in the carriage more his sort, and told her, in Sister Nora's absence she having vanished into the house many interesting experiences of country life.
"You see, my dear," said the old lady, "if I was to see Farmer Jones's Bull, I could tell the dear child about him in London. Isn't that a Bull?" But it wasn't, though possibly a relation he would not have acknowledged. "I think Blencorn might make a point of Farmer Jones's Bull," said Gwen. "Blencorn!" "Yes, my lady." "I want to stop at Strides Cottage, coming back. You know Mrs. Marrable's!"
"Yes, my lady." "Well isn't that Farmer Jones's farm, on the left, before we get there? Close to the Spinney." Now Mr. Blencorn knew perfectly well. But he was not going to admit that he knew, because farms were human affairs, and he was on the box. He referred to his satellite, the coachboy, whose information enabled him to say: "Yes, my lady, on the left."
I mustn't stop because of Mrs.... There now! I was quite forgetting...." It shows how slightly Gwen was thinking of the whole transaction that she should all but tell Blencorn to drive home at this point, with the scantiest farewell to the Goodies, who had curtsied duly as foretold. She collected herself, and continued: "You remember the small boy, Mrs.
Only she may be out.... Aren't you getting very tired, dear Mrs. Picture?" Mrs. Picture was getting tired, and admitted it. "But I must see the Bull," said she. She closed her eyes and leaned back, and Gwen said: "You can drive a little quicker, Blencorn." There had been plenty of talk through a longish drive, and Gwen was getting afraid of overdoing it. This was the gate of the farm, my lady.
Perhaps a little more, though not much, by Gwen's marginal comment: "You know Aunt Constance lives at an outlandish place in the country?" "Do you know, Gwen dear," said Miss Grahame, after reflection, "I really think we ought to have offered them a lift up to the house. Stop, Blencorn!" Blencorn stopped, without emotion. Gwen said: "What nonsense, Cousin Chloe! They're perfectly happy.
Do leave them alone. Go on, Blencorn!" Who, utterly unmoved, went on. But Sister Nora said: "No, Gwen dear, we really ought! Because I know Mr. Pellew has to catch his train, and he'll be late. Don't go on, Blencorn!" Gwen appearing to assent reluctantly, the arrangement stood; as did the horses, gently conversing with each other's noses about the caprices of the carriage. The Hon.
When Gwen gave the direction: "Go on to Strides Cottage, Blencorn," and Blencorn, who had scarcely condescended to look at the Bull, answered: "Yes, my lady," her interest on Dave's account was maintained, but on a rather different line.
Whether the old soul that her young ladyship had taken such a fancy to that was how Blencorn the coachman and Benjamin the coachboy thought of her really enjoyed the strange experience of gliding over smooth roads flanked by matchless woodlands or primeval moorland; cropless Autumn fields or pastures of contented cattle; through villages of the same mind about the undesirableness of change that had been their creed for centuries, with churches unconscious of judicious restoration and an unflawed record of curfews; by farms with all the usual besetting sins of farms, black duck-slush and uncaptivating dung-heaps; cattle no persuasion weighs with; the same hen that never stops the same dissertation on the same egg, the same cock that has some of the vices of his betters, our male selves to wit whether the said old soul really enjoyed all this, who can say?
As we have seen, she was aware of the sort of jealousy subsisting between these two old Grannies about their adopted grandson. She thought it best to favour immediate departure, and Blencorn jumped at the first symptom of a word to that effect. The carriage rolled away, waving farewells to the cottage, and the tenants of the latter went slowly back to the mutton-broth.
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