United States or Albania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Being a man as well as a porter he melted at once under Magda's disarming smile, and replied with a sudden accession of amiability. "Be you going to Stockleigh?" he asked. The soft sing-song intonation common to all Devon voices fell very pleasantly on ears accustomed to the Cockney twang of London streets. "Yes, to Storran of Stockleigh," announced Coppertop importantly.
The shrill peal of a child's laughter rose gaily above the lower note of women's voices, and when the accompanist opened the door it was to discover Magda completely engrossed in giving Coppertop a first dancing lesson, while Gillian sat stitching busily away at some small nether garments afflicted with rents and tears in sundry places.
He amused her and kept her thoughts off recent happenings, and for the moment that was all that mattered. It was a glorious morning. The sun blazed like a great golden shield out of a cloudless sky, and hardly a breath of air stirred the foliage of the trees. Magda, to content an insatiable Coppertop, had good-naturally suffered herself to be dragged over the farm.
Coppertop, a slim young reed in his bright green knitted jersey, was clinging with one hand to a wooden bar attached to the wall which served Magda for the "bar practice" which constitutes part of every dancer's daily work, while Magda, holding his other hand in hers, essayed to instruct him in the principle of "turning out" that flexible turning of the knees towards the side which gives so much facility of movement.
"Storran of Stockleigh appears to be considerably less attractive than his name," summed up Gillian, as, half an hour later, she and Magda and Coppertop were seated round a rustic wooden table in the garden partaking of a typical Devonshire tea with its concomitants of jam and clotted cream. "Apparently," she continued, "he has married 'above him. Little Mrs.
"You know, Magda, I think it will mean the end of our friendship when Coppertop reaches years of discretion." Coppertop was Gillian's small son, a young person of seven, who owed his cognomen to the crop of flaming red curls which adorned his round button of a head. Magda laughed. "Pouf! By the time that happens I shall be quite old and harmless." Gillian shook her head.
She was in the state of nerves when a little unexpected sympathy is the most upsetting thing imaginable. "Oh, I can't let you!" she answered hastily. "No really!" as Gillian calmly took the tray she was carrying out of her hands. "Supposing you go and lie down for a little while," suggested Gillian practically. "And leave the washing-up to Coppertop and me!"
Nevertheless, it was a relief to everyone concerned when Gillian and Coppertop were added to the party. A strained atmosphere was somewhat difficult of accomplishment anywhere within the joyous vicinity of the latter, while Gillian's tranquil and happy nature reacted on the whole household.
Magda, watching her face as she took the message, saw it suddenly blanch. "Coppertop! . . . He's ill!" she gasped. "Ill?" Magda could hardly credit it. Two hours ago they had left the child in perfect health. "Yes." Gillian swallowed, moistening her dry lips. "They've sent for the doctor. It's croup. Oh!" despairingly, and letting the receiver fall unheeded from her grasp "What am I to do?
June returned to the house, while Gillian allowed herself to be carried off by Coppertop to visit the calves, which were a never-failing source of interest to him. Left alone, an awkward pause ensued between Davilof and Magda, backwash of the obvious clash of antagonism between the two men. "So!" commented Davilof, at last.
Word Of The Day