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Cockayne had invited "his lordship" to London. I shall pick up the threads of all this presently. Poor girl! she was timid, frightened. I saw at once that the man with whom she was, and who packed her feet up so carefully in the travelling rug in her state cabin, was not of her class. She could not have been daintier in mien and shape than she appeared.
Was not the shawl-room a sight more than equal to anything to be seen in any other part of Paris? Was not the folding department just as much a sight of Paris as that wretched collection of lumber in the Hôtel Cluny? Some wives had only to hint to have; but that was not the case with the hapless Mrs. Cockayne.
"Chocolat du Papillon. Yes; and you know, mamma, there was the linen-draper's with the sign A la Pensée. I never heard such ridiculous nonsense." "Yes; and there was another, my dear," said Mrs. Cockayne, "'To the fine Englishwoman, or something of that sort." "Oh, those two or three shops, mamma," said Sophonisba, "dedicated A la belle Anglaise!
Cockayne would derive cowslip from cu, cow, and slyppe, lip, and cow-wheat is so nicknamed from its seed resembling wheat, but being worthless as food for man. The flowers of the Arum maculatum are "bulls and cows;" and in Yorkshire the fruit of Crataegus oxyacantha is bull-horns; an old name for the horse-leek being bullock's-eye.
"Well, these Paris tradespeople are the most extraordinary persons in the world," cried Sophonisba's mamma, and the absolute ruler of Mr. Cockayne. "I confess I can't make them out. They beat me. My dear, they are the most independent set I ever came across. They don't seem to care whether you buy or you don't; and they ask double what they intend to take." "What is the matter now, my dear?" Mr.
Timothy Cockayne heaved a deep sigh and rang for his bill. He was to leave for London on the morrow and his wife and daughters were to find lodgings. I Introduce at this point its proper date Miss Carrie Cockayne's letter to Miss Sharp: "Grand Hôtel, Paris. "DEAREST EMMY They are all out shopping, so here's a long letter. I haven't patience with the men.
"And much more sensible than the place opposite," his wife replied, pointing to the palace where the art treasures of Imperial France are imperially housed. "Grande Occasion!" muttered Mr. Cockayne, when he reached the hotel "a grand opportunity for emptying one's pocket. The cheapness is positively ruinous. I wonder whether there are any cheap white elephants in Paris?"
Cockayne had slaved in business only thirty-five years out of the fifty-two he had passed in this vale of tears, and had only lodged her at last in a brougham and pair. He might have kept in harness another ten years, and set her up in a carriage and four. She was sure he didn't know what to do with himself, now he had retired.
"There," said he to his wife, in his heartiest voice; "there, my dear, buy what you and the girls want." "I will do the best I can with it. Perhaps we can manage our shopping without troubling you." "It's not the least trouble in the world," gaily said Cockayne, putting that bright face of his on matters.
Poor Joan, it is two-and-twenty years since we bade her good-speed, she and her young king who behoved to be a minstrel on her way to her kingdom, as if it were the land of Cockayne, for picking up gold and silver. Little of that she found, I trow, poor wench. Alack! it was a sore life we sent her to. And you are mourning her freshly, my maidens! I trust she died at peace with God and man.
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