Oranges and lemons, A ring, a ring of roses, and Here we come gathering nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts in May: over and over again. And she had helped her mother to hand cake and buns at the infants' table.
The guest-children's tea was served last of all, up on the lawn under the immense, brown brick, many windowed house. There wasn't room for everybody at the table, so the girls sat down first and the boys waited for their turn. Some of them were pushing and snatching.
She knew what she would have. She would begin with a bun, and go on through two sorts of jam to Madeira cake, and end with raspberries and cream. Or perhaps it would be safer to begin with raspberries and cream. She kept her face very still, so as not to look greedy, and tried not to stare at the Madeira cake lest people should see she was thinking of it. Mrs. Hancock had given her somebody else's crumby plate. She thought: I'm not greedy. I'm really and truly hungry. She could draw herself in at the waist with a flat, exhausted feeling, like the two ends of a concertina coming together.
She was doing this when she saw her mother standing on the other side of the table, looking at her and making signs.
"If you've finished, Hatty, you'd better get up and let that little boy
have something."
They were all turning round and looking at her. And there was the crumby plate before her. They were thinking: "That greedy little girl has gone on and on eating." She got up suddenly, not speaking, and left the table, the Madeira cake and the raspberries and cream. She could feel her skin all hot and wet with shame.
And now she was sitting up in the drawing-room at home. Her mother had brought her a piece of seed-cake and a cup of milk with the cream on it. Mamma's soft eyes kissed her as they watched her eating her cake with short crumbly bites, like a little cat. Mamma's eyes made her feel so good, so good.
"Why didn't you tell me you hadn't finished?"
"Finished? I hadn't even begun"
"Oh-h, darling, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I--I don't know."
"Well, I'm glad my little girl didn't snatch and push. It's better to go without than to take from other people. That's ugly."
Ugly. Being naughty was just that. Doing ugly things. Being good was being beautiful like Mamma. She wanted to be like her mother. Sitting up there and being good felt delicious. And the smooth cream with the milk running under it, thin and cold, was delicious too.
Suddenly a thought came rushing at her. There was God and there was Jesus. But even God and Jesus were not more beautiful than Mamma. They couldn't be.
"You mustn't say things like that, Hatty; you mustn't, really. It might make something happen."
"Oh, no, it won't. You don't suppose they're listening all the time."
Saying things like that made you feel good and at the same time naughty, which was more exciting than only being one or the other. But Mamma's frightened face spoiled it. What did she think--what did she think God would do?
Red campion----
At the bottom of the orchard a door in the wall opened into Black's Lane, below the three tall elms.
She couldn't believe she was really walking there by herself. It had come all of a sudden, the thought that she must do it, that she must go out into the lane; and when she found the door unlatched, something seemed to take hold of her and push her out. She was forbidden to go into Black's Lane; she was not even allowed to walk there with Annie.
She kept on saying to herself: "I'm in the lane. I'm in the lane. I'm
disobeying Mamma."
Nothing could undo that. She had disobeyed by just standing outside the orchard door. Disobedience was such a big and awful thing that it was waste not to do something big and awful with it. So she went on, up and up, past the three tall elms. She was a big girl, wearing black silk aprons and learning French. Walking by herself. When she arched her back and stuck her stomach out she felt like a tall lady in a crinoline and shawl. She swung her
The guest-children's tea was served last of all, up on the lawn under the immense, brown brick, many windowed house. There wasn't room for everybody at the table, so the girls sat down first and the boys waited for their turn. Some of them were pushing and snatching.
She knew what she would have. She would begin with a bun, and go on through two sorts of jam to Madeira cake, and end with raspberries and cream. Or perhaps it would be safer to begin with raspberries and cream. She kept her face very still, so as not to look greedy, and tried not to stare at the Madeira cake lest people should see she was thinking of it. Mrs. Hancock had given her somebody else's crumby plate. She thought: I'm not greedy. I'm really and truly hungry. She could draw herself in at the waist with a flat, exhausted feeling, like the two ends of a concertina coming together.
She was doing this when she saw her mother standing on the other side of the table, looking at her and making signs.
"If you've finished, Hatty, you'd better get up and let that little boy
have something."
They were all turning round and looking at her. And there was the crumby plate before her. They were thinking: "That greedy little girl has gone on and on eating." She got up suddenly, not speaking, and left the table, the Madeira cake and the raspberries and cream. She could feel her skin all hot and wet with shame.
And now she was sitting up in the drawing-room at home. Her mother had brought her a piece of seed-cake and a cup of milk with the cream on it. Mamma's soft eyes kissed her as they watched her eating her cake with short crumbly bites, like a little cat. Mamma's eyes made her feel so good, so good.
"Why didn't you tell me you hadn't finished?"
"Finished? I hadn't even begun"
"Oh-h, darling, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I--I don't know."
"Well, I'm glad my little girl didn't snatch and push. It's better to go without than to take from other people. That's ugly."
Ugly. Being naughty was just that. Doing ugly things. Being good was being beautiful like Mamma. She wanted to be like her mother. Sitting up there and being good felt delicious. And the smooth cream with the milk running under it, thin and cold, was delicious too.
Suddenly a thought came rushing at her. There was God and there was Jesus. But even God and Jesus were not more beautiful than Mamma. They couldn't be.
"You mustn't say things like that, Hatty; you mustn't, really. It might make something happen."
"Oh, no, it won't. You don't suppose they're listening all the time."
Saying things like that made you feel good and at the same time naughty, which was more exciting than only being one or the other. But Mamma's frightened face spoiled it. What did she think--what did she think God would do?
Red campion----
At the bottom of the orchard a door in the wall opened into Black's Lane, below the three tall elms.
She couldn't believe she was really walking there by herself. It had come all of a sudden, the thought that she must do it, that she must go out into the lane; and when she found the door unlatched, something seemed to take hold of her and push her out. She was forbidden to go into Black's Lane; she was not even allowed to walk there with Annie.
She kept on saying to herself: "I'm in the lane. I'm in the lane. I'm
disobeying Mamma."
Nothing could undo that. She had disobeyed by just standing outside the orchard door. Disobedience was such a big and awful thing that it was waste not to do something big and awful with it. So she went on, up and up, past the three tall elms. She was a big girl, wearing black silk aprons and learning French. Walking by herself. When she arched her back and stuck her stomach out she felt like a tall lady in a crinoline and shawl. She swung her
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