The Story of Bawn | Page 5

be
permitted by the good God to come back for some good reason.
It is another matter when it is some one of flesh and blood, who wants
to take you in his arms and kiss you while your flesh creeps, and your
whole soul cries out against it. And it is the worst matter of all when
those to whom you have fled all your days for help and protection, to
whom you would have looked to save you from such a thing, look on,
with pale faces indeed, yet never interfere.
Often, often in the days that were to come I had rather be of the
company of the ghosts than to endure the things I had to endure.
CHAPTER III

THE CREAMERY
It was through my godmother that I went to learn the butter-making at
the Creamery, and since it was strange that my grandparents should
have permitted me to go, I must explain how it was that Miss
Champion came to have so much influence with them and over our
affairs generally, and who the lady was.
She was our nearest neighbour, at Castle Clody, the beautiful old house
which stands on the side of the river Clody, overlooking the falls. She
had been an orphan almost from her birth, and had grown up as
independent and able to manage her affairs as any man.
She was a great sportswoman even in our country of such, and being
exposed to all manner of wind and weathers, her face had come to have
a weather-beaten look. She had very beautiful grey eyes and a deal of
black, silken hair, and she was unusually tall. Even the weather, when it
had roughened and tanned her complexion, had but given her a new
charm to my mind, for she looked as wholesome and sweet and
out-of-doors as the weather itself. Yet people said she was plain. I
could not see it, but then she was too good to me and I loved her.
I remember that usually she wore grey tweed tailor-made gowns, in
which her beautiful figure showed to advantage, unless she happened to
be riding when she wore a dark grey habit. But I have seen her very
splendid when she went out in the evening; and I have never seen a
woman better fitted to grace splendid garments.
She had taken to herself at Castle Clody, because it was her nature to
foster and protect something, a cousin of hers, a peevish, exacting
invalid whom we always called Miss Joan, her name being Joan
Standish.
If you spent only ten minutes by Miss Joan's bedside you were sure to
hear her grumble at her cousin Mary. Since everything was done for her
that could possibly be done for an invalid her lot had great alleviations,
but she seemed to take it as an offence that my godmother should be so
strong and free, should walk with such a swinging stride, and always

enjoy her food, and bring that smell of the open air with her wherever
she came.
She had an unpleasant flattering way with her at times.
"Come, my dear," she would say, "sit down and talk to me. I live in so
dreary an isolation, and my nerves get into that state that I could scream
when a harsh voice falls on my ear. Your voice is soft and sweet, but
have you ever noticed Mary's? It is as harsh as a crow's, and when she
comes in with those strong boots of hers creaking she destroys my
peace of mind for an hour."
"She has a beautiful voice," I answered her once, "and there is such
assurance in her tread. I should think it would be more trying to the
nerves to live where every one went tiptoe."
But no manner of coldness could check Miss Joan's propensity for
belittling her benefactress. And I remember that once she had been
tittle-tattling as usual, and had said something more indefensible than
usual of her benefactress, when looking up suddenly we found Miss
Champion in the room.
"Let the child love me, Joan," she said, with the nearest approach to
sharpness I ever heard in her speech; but when Miss Joan burst into
tears she stooped and shook up her pillows and soothed her in a way
that was tender without being attached, and afterwards she said
something to me which was a dark saying since I did not know the
secret between her and Miss Joan.
"One must needs be good to anything that has hurt one so much," she
said.
I had always known vaguely that there was something between Mary
Champion and my Uncle Luke, and that explained to some extent her
influence with my grandparents. She brought into their shut-up lives,
indeed, the