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She was still rather pretty, with small refined features, large expressionless blue eyes, and long whitish-yellow ringlets down her cheeks, in the fashion of forty years ago. "Oh, dear Miss Hamelyn," she cried, "how glad I am to see you. And have you brought your charming young relation?"
Miss Prunty came forward; a short, thick-set woman of fifty, with fine dark eyes, and, even in a Florentine summer, with something stiff and masculine in the fashion of her dress. "And have you brought your niece?" she said, turning to Miss Hamelyn. "Yes, she is in the garden." "Well; I hope she understands that she'll have to rough it here." "Goneril is a very simple girl," said Miss Hamelyn.
Although, like "Gulliver's Travels," "Munchausen" might at first sight appear to be ill-suited, in more than one respect, for the nursery, yet it has proved the delight of children of all ages; and there are probably few, in the background of whose childish imagination the astonishing Munchausen has not at one time or another, together with Robinson Crusoe, Jack-the-Giant-Killer, and the Pied Piper of Hamelyn, assumed proportions at once gigantic and seductively picturesque.
"Only think, Aunt Margaret," she cried, impatiently, "I am to stay there for at least six weeks, and I know nothing about them, not what age they are, nor if they are tall or short, jolly or prim, pretty, or ugly, not even if they speak English!" "They speak English," said Miss Hamelyn, beginning at the end. "One of them is English, or at least Irish: Miss Prunty." "And the other?"
"How hot it feels!" echoed Miss Hamelyn rather grimly. "Yes, I am so glad you can get away at last, dear, poor old auntie." Then, a little later. "Won't you tell me something about the old ladies with whom you are going to leave me?" Miss Hamelyn was mollified by Goneril's obedience. "They are very nice old ladies, I met them at Mrs. Gorthrup's." But this was not at all what the young girl wanted.
Miss Prunty came forward: a short, thick-set woman of fifty, with fine dark eyes, and, even in a Florentine summer, with something stiff and masculine in the fashion of her dress. "And have you brought your niece?" she said, as she turned to Miss Hamelyn. "Yes, she is in the garden." "Well, I hope she understands that she'll have to rough it here."
"You must excuse me for shouting in your presence, but we have only one little servant, and during this suffocating weather I find that any movement reminds me of approaching age." The old lady smiled as if that time were still far ahead. "I am sure you ought to take care of yourself," said Miss Hamelyn. "I hope you will not allow Goneril to fatigue you." "Gonerilla! What a pretty name! Charming!
Then for a few minutes they drove on in silence past the orchards; past the olive-yards, yellow underneath the ripening corn; past the sudden wide views of the mountains, faintly crimson in the mist of heat, and, on the other side, of Florence, the towers and domes steaming beside the hazy river. "How hot it looks down there!" cried Goneril. "How hot it feels!" echoed Miss Hamelyn, rather grimly.
She had sweet dark eyes, a little too small and narrow. "I mean to be very happy," she exclaimed. "Always mean that, my dear," said Miss Prunty. "And now, since Gonerilla is no longer a stranger," added Madame Petrucci, "we will leave her to the rustic society of Angiolino, while we show Miss Hamelyn our orangery." "And conclude our business!" said Bridget Prunty.
"Goneril is a very simple girl," said Miss Hamelyn. "So it's she that's called Goneril?" "Yes," said the aunt, making an effort. "Of course I am aware of the strangeness of the name, but but, in fact, my brother was devotedly attached to his wife, who died at Goneril's birth." "Whew!" whistled Miss Prunty. "The parson must have been a fool who christened her!"
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