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Updated: May 15, 2025
Down near the hedge a whirling garden spray cast its benevolent waters over the grateful turf, and, reaching out in playful gusts, blew its mist into the face of the man outside. Back of the house and farther up the timbered slope rose a towering windmill and below it the red water tank, partially screened by the tree-tops. The rhythmic beat of a hydraulic pump came to the stroller's ears.
She did it well, he admitted. Had it been the indignant she played, he might have stooped to cajole the handsome queen of gypsies she was, without acknowledgement of her right to complain. Feeling that he was about to be generous, he shrugged. He meant to speak in deeds. Lady Charlotte's house was at the distance of a stroller's half-hour across Hyde Park westward from his own.
The dismal man took the hint, and having mixed a glass of brandy-and-water, and slowly swallowed half of it, opened the roll of paper and proceeded, partly to read, and partly to relate, the following incident, which we find recorded on the Transactions of the Club as 'The Stroller's Tale.
Her mother had taken it rather as a disturbance than otherwise, to be visited, as she reclined upon her sofa; young people, Louisa felt herself all unfit for; Sissy she had never softened to again, since the night when the stroller's child had raised her eyes to look at Mr. Bounderby's intended wife. She had no inducements to go back, and had rarely gone.
"You have one of those Stroller's children in the school, Cecilia Jupe by name! I tell you what, Gradgrind, turn this girl to the right-about, and there is an end of it." "I am much of your opinion." "Do it at once," said Bounderby, "has always been my motto. Do you the same. Do this at once!" "I have the father's address," said his friend. "Perhaps you would not mind walking to town with me?"
In the memoirs it is stated that Gledinning, a Printer, was sent by the father to his son's dying bed, and he was probably the Hutley of the Stroller's Tale, and, perhaps, the person who brought old Grimaldi the news of his death.
She did it well, he admitted. Had it been the indignant she played, he might have stooped to cajole the handsome queen of gypsies she was, without acknowledgement of her right to complain. Feeling that he was about to be generous, he shrugged. He meant to speak in deeds. Lady Charlotte's house was at the distance of a stroller's half-hour across Hyde Park westward from his own.
When his English harangue was finished, he remained standing in the centre of the room, a half-pleased, half-anxious expression on his face. Still, he was as much at ease as if he had been on the platform outside some stroller's booth, where, if one could believe his story, he had passed the greater part of his life.
Yes, you do see before you, grown up to become the pride of those who cherish her, that Sophy who " "Sophy!" cried Lionel advancing; "it is so, then! I knew you were no stroller's grandchild." Sophy drew up: "I am, I am his grandchild, and as proud to be so as I was then." "Pardon me, pardon me; I meant to say that he too was not what be seemed.
But you stole the baby and runned away," ended this part of the stroller's tale, as she interpreted it. "I never! Never, never, never! She was sent! She belongs. Hear me!" cried Glory, indignantly, and forthwith poured into Luigi's puzzled ear all her own story. Then she demanded that he should answer over again her first question when she had met him; hoping a different reply.
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