The Pillars of the House, vol 1

The Pillars of the House, vol 1

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Title: The Pillars of the House, V1
Author: Charlotte M. Yonge
Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6331] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on November 27,
2002]
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This etext of The Pillars of the House was prepared by Sandra
Laythorpe, [email protected]. A web page for Charlotte M
Yonge will be found at http://www.menorot.com/cmyonge.htm

THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE
OR
UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
VOL. I
ILLUSTRATED BY HERBERT GANDY

CONTENTS TO VOL. I.
CHAP.
I. THE BIRTH-DAY GIFT
II. THE PICNIC
III. FORTUNATUS' PURSE
IV. TWILIGHT AND DAWN
V. WORKING FOR BREAD
VI. THE CACIQUE
VII. THE CHESS-PLAYER'S BATTLE
VIII. THE HOME
IX. THE THIRTEEN
X. THE FAMILY COBWEB ON THE MOVE
XI. THE CHORAL FESTIVAL
XII. GIANT DESPAIR'S CASTLE
XIII. PEGASUS IN HARNESS
XIV. WHAT IT MAY LEAD TO
XV. WHAT IT LED TO

XVI. THE WINTER OF DISCONTENT
XVII. MIDSUMMER SUN
XVIII. BY THE RIVER
XIX. THE HOUSE WITHOUT PILLARS
XX. VALE LESTON
XXI. A KETTLE OF FISH
XXII. THE REAL THING AND NO MISTAKE
XXIII. SMOKE-JACK ALLEY

THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE
OR
UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE

CHAPTER I
THE BIRTHDAY GIFT

'O I've got a plum-cake, and a feast let us make, Come, school-fellows,
come at my call; I assure you 'tis nice, and we'll all have a slice, Here's
more than enough for us all.' JANE TAYLOR.
'It is come! Felix, it is come!'
So cried, shouted, shrieked a chorus, as a street door was torn open to
admit four boys, with their leathern straps of books over their shoulders.
They set up a responsive yell of 'Jolly! Jolly!' which being caught up
and re-echoed by at least five voices within, caused a considerable
volume of sound in the narrow entry and narrower staircase, up which
might be seen a sort of pyramid of children.
'Where is it?' asked the tallest of the four arrivals, as he soberly hung up
his hat.
'Mamma has got it in the drawing-room, and Papa has been in ever
since dinner,' was the universal cry from two fine-complexioned,
handsome girls, from a much smaller girl and boy, and from a creature
rolling on the stairs, whose sex and speech seemed as yet uncertain.
'And where's Cherry?' was the further question; 'is she there too?'
'Yes, but--' as he laid his hand on the door-- 'don't open the letter there.
Get Cherry, and we'll settle what to do with it.'

'O Felix, I've a stunning notion!'
'Felix, promise to do what I want!'
'Felix, do pray buy me some Turkish delight!'
'Felix, I do want the big spotty horse.'
Such shouts and insinuations, all deserving the epithet of the first,
pursued Felix as he entered a room, small, and with all the contents
faded and worn, but with an air of having been once tasteful, and still
made the best of. Contents we say advisedly, meaning not merely the
furniture but the inmates, namely, the pale wan fragile mother, working,
but with the baby on her knee, and looking as if care and toil had
brought her to skin and bone, though still with sweet eyes and a lovely
smile; the father, tall and picturesque, with straight handsome features,
but with a hectic colour, wasted cheek, and lustrous eye, that were sad
earnests of the future. He was still under forty, his wife some years less;
and elder than either in its expression of wasted suffering was the
countenance of the little girl of thirteen years old who lay on the sofa,
with pencil, paper, and book, her face with her