The Gypsy in the Parlour Read Online Free PDF Page B

unstrung harp.) This moony behaviour took us some little time to get used to; but my aunts had decided upon tolerance, and they were also, I feel, a trifle guiltily aware that they ought to take her more firmly in hand. The truth was that they were all too efficient to make good teachers, save of underlings who could be bawled at; it cost them so much not to bawl at Fanny—when she bungled her first baking of bread, for instance, or when her butter wouldn’t come, or when she couldn’t tell a pullet from a cockerel—that they tacitly agreed to spare their pains. In addition, my Aunt Charlotte produced what today would be called an alibi, by declaring that Fanny would soon find business of her own.
    â€œThey small, delicate souls being often remarkable breeders,” stated my Aunt Charlotte. “I’ve seen ’em time without number bring forth twins like Bible ewes. Wait till this time twelve-months, bors, and see if she b’aint able for that!”
    It occurred to no one that Fanny Davis possessed at least one quite striking capacity besides: the ability to seize a chance. No doubt it meant little enough, when Stephen stared at her through a window, that she smiled modestly back; not much more that she allowed him, (he, thus encouraged, waiting outside the shop), to escort her for a stroll along the waterfront; the milliner-society of Plymouth no doubt winked at such slight irregularities. But it was actually the same evening that Stephen made his bid for her, and she took him next day. She had nothing but her wits to guide her. If it is just possible some Plymouth tradesman knew the Sylvesters by repute, Fanny had hardly time to make enquiry. Stephen himself no doubt bore certain marks of prosperity, and there was the Sylvester gig stabled at his inn; his person was good, particularly if one hadn’t seen his brothers, and his intention plain. But essentially Fanny had to rely on her own wits, and her decision to take him was uncommonly quick, bold and opportunist. With equal boldness, that decision once taken, she burnt her boats—abandoned her shop, packed her bag, and got into the gig.…
    My aunts put all this down to Stephen’s masterfulness; saw Fanny idle, passive, will-less as a weather-vane; and came gradually to ignore her.—I must remember that they were also, at this time, pre-occupied by a slight skirmish with my uncles; a belated engagement, so to speak, after long armistice, in the old Sylvester war.
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    It began with a letter.—Everything happened, that summer; this letter arrived immediately upon Stephen’s. Letters came more rarely to the farm than might be supposed: we had, or should have had, seven over-seas correspondents. But all Sylvesters shared an ineradicable distaste for penmanship, and if their sons scrawled a line apiece each Christmastide my aunts were perfectly content. They wrote no oftener themselves—though they, at Christmas, also dispatched parcels. To receive a letter in mid-August was therefore almost a cause for alarm: big and brave as she was, Charlotte opened it qualmishly. How extra-joyful then its contents! It was from Australia: her eldest son Charlie was coming home.
    Charlotte bawled the good news from one end of the house to the other; her sisters-in-law rejoiced with her. The male Sylvesters, however, were less responsive; Tobias in particular showing no enthusiasm whatever at the prospect of his son’s return. For once one could tell what he was thinking: one gathered the impression—he emanated, still silently, the strong impression—that he disapproved. Charlie’s letter spoke of no business to bring him home. Except on business, Sylvesters didn’t voyage. They didn’t so squander their cash. If they had cash to spare, they put it into land. Somehow, behind Tobias’ silence, some such thoughts could be felt astir; and my Aunt Charlotte lost patience with him.
    â€œWhat all they