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Updated: May 11, 2025
Either it was fine nearly all last summer, which is how Oswald remembers it, or else nearly all the interesting things we did came on fine days. With hearts light and gay, and no peas in anyone's shoes, the walk to Hazelbridge was perseveringly conducted. We took our lunch with us, and the dear dogs. Afterwards we wished for a time that we had left one of them at home.
'The other day, protector of the poor, he began; 'Dora and I were reading about the Canterbury pilgrims... Oswald thought Albert's uncle would be pleased to find his instructions about beginning at the beginning had borne fruit, but instead he interrupted. 'Stow it, you young duffer! Where did you meet her? Oswald answered briefly, in wounded accents, 'Hazelbridge.
What Oswald thought of was that if we went to Hazelbridge and asked Mr B. Munn, Grocer, that drove us home in the cart with the horse that liked the wrong end of the whip best, he would know who the lady was in the red hat and red wheels that paid him to drive us home that Canterbury night.
You did it awfully well. And he did not say, though he owns he thought of it 'I knew it all the time, though it was a great temptation. Because really it was more than half true. He had felt from the first that this was too small for Canterbury. The real name of the place was Hazelbridge, and not Canterbury at all. We went to Canterbury another time.
When we got back to the inn I saw her dogcart was there, and a grocer's cart too, with B. Munn, grocer, Hazelbridge, on it. She took the girls in her cart, and the boys went with the grocer. His horse was a very good one to go, only you had to hit it with the wrong end of the whip. But the cart was very bumpety.
He wanted them to have something else to think of besides the way they hadn't stood by him in the bursting of the secret staircase door and the tea-tray and the milk. Next morning Oswald kindly explained, and asked who would volunteer for a forced march to Hazelbridge. The word volunteer cost the young Oswald a pang as soon as he had said it, but I hope he can bear pangs with any man living.
There were no cockle-shells, or tape-sandals, or staves, or scrips, or anything romantic and pious about the eight persons who set out for Hazelbridge that morning, more earnestly wishful to be good and deedful at least Oswald, I know, was than ever they had been in the days of the beastly Wouldbegood Society. It was a fine day.
But they did so want to come, all of them, and Hazelbridge is not nearly as far as Canterbury, really, so even Martha was allowed to put on her things I mean her collar and come with us. She walks slowly, but we had the day before us so there was no extra hurry. At Hazelbridge we went into B. Munn's grocer's shop and asked for ginger-beer to drink.
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