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Updated: June 3, 2025
Handsomebody, running up the blind with precision, "this room at its brightest is dim. Your eyes are keen enough for mischief, sir. Now we shall proceed with our arithmetic." Resentment and curiosity struggled for mastery within me. In my mind's eye I saw her covering and uncovering the doll. Why did she do it?
By tea-time our legs were sore with whacking. Came the hour at last. We set out holding each other by moist clean hands, an admonishing Mrs. Handsomebody on the doorsill. Our hearts were high with excitement when we were shown ceremoniously into the Bishop's library, where he and Margery were sitting in the dancing firelight. We loved the dark-panelled room where we were always made so happy.
They learned to walk, and roll over, and to right themselves after being turned over by their mother's playful paws. We were squatting on the floor very busy with them, when Mary Ellen entered, round-eyed with fear. "'Tis herself is in the dining-room," she gasped. "Not Mrs. Handsomebody?" "Sorra a thing else. Put them pups in their basket and come out and shut the dure.
As we trotted along, Simon told us that his family had taken a large old house that had stood vacant ever since we had come to live with Mrs. Handsomebody. How often we had timidly passed its dingy front, wondering what might be within its closed shutters and deep-set front door!
Another day she says: 'If I could only git the moon out of this passage, there'd be room for my head to whirl round and round! 'Excuse me, I says to the cobbler, 'I'll call for thim shoes later." "What appearance has she?" inquired Mrs. Handsomebody. "Noan at all. I've niver seed her. No one has ever seed her. She's more banshee than woman, I do belave." True to her threat, Mrs.
Mrs. Handsomebody had given a grudging permission for us to take tea with him. In hot weather her voice and eyes always seemed frostier than usual. The closely shut windows and drawn blinds made the house a prison, and the glare of the planked back yard was even more intolerable.
Our governess fixed him with her eye. "I was a most decorous and obedient little girl, Alexander, and asked no impertinent questions of my elders." "Was Mary Ellen a fwail little gel?" persisted The Seraph. "No," snapped Mrs. Handsomebody, "judging from her characteristics as a servant, I should say that she was a very riotous, rude little girl. Now drink your milk."
Handsomebody after morning service, we were scarcely conscious of the large, white dumplings that bulged before us, with a delicious sticky sweet sauce, trickling down their dropsical sides. We plied our spoons with languid interest around their outer edges, as calves nibble around a straw stack. Our vagrant minds scoured the Spanish Main with Captain Pegg.
As Miss Wigmore she had not yet captured and quelled the manly spirit of Mr. Handsomebody. From being a blustering sort of man, he had become, Mary Ellen said, very mild and fearful. On his demise Mrs. Handsomebody was left in solitary possession of a tall, narrow house, in the shadow of the grey Cathedral in the rather grey and grim old town of Misthorpe.
Probably our father would never have chosen Mrs. Handsomebody to be our governess and guardian during the almost two years he spent in South America, had it not seemed the natural thing to hand us over to the admirable woman who had been his own teacher in early boyhood. Had he not been bewildered by the sudden death of our young mother, he might have recalled scenes between himself and Mrs.
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