The Story of Bawn | Page 6

open air and the ways of other folk, without which I think
we should have all grown too strange and odd and a century at least
behind our time. Indeed, even with her, I think we were so much out of

date.
"The child grows more and more like a plant which has lived without
the light," she said one day of me to my grandmother.
"It is Bawn's nature to look pale," my grandmother said, looking at me
in an alarmed way.
"It is her nature to look pale perhaps," my godmother said, while I
fidgeted at hearing myself discussed, "but she ought to look no paler
than this apple-blossom I am wearing, which at all events dreams of
rose-colour. You keep her too much penned. I shall have to carry her
off to Dublin for some gaiety. If the season were not nearly over----"
"We couldn't do without Bawn," said my grandmother hastily. "We are
too old to live without something young beside us. Besides, she is very
happy--aren't you, Bawn?"
"Very happy." I answered the appeal in her dear voice and eyes. And to
be sure I was happy, if it were not for the loneliness and the ghosts at
night.
"She is always reading," my godmother went on. "Young girls should
not be always reading. It bends their backs and dims their eyes and
makes them forget their walks and rides. I'll tell you what, Lady St.
Leger, you had better let Bawn come and learn butter-making with me
at the Creamery. I am going to take a course of lessons and then I can
make my own butter. I think Margaret Dwyer is getting past her work.
Joan says the butter is rancid, and for once I believe Joan has cause.
Every lady ought to at least superintend her own dairy."
"I used to visit mine often," said my grandmother, "before Lord St.
Leger needed so much of my time. It was a pretty place, with white
walls and a fountain bubbling. It is a long time since I have visited it."
"Let Bawn do it. I went to visit Lady Ardaragh the other day, and she
gave me tea in her dairy. It is coming into fashion to be housekeepers
and dairymaids once more."

"Would you like to go to the Creamery, Bawn?" asked my
grandmother.
"I should love to," said I. "And to have a herd of little Kerries like Lady
Ardaragh. The dairy is as pretty as ever, but it wants washing, and the
fountain is broken. I believe Michael Friely could mend it."
My grandfather made no objection when he heard of the plan, only
saying something with a laugh about fine ladies liking to play
dairymaids. So it was settled I should go to the Creamery; and Bridget
Connor made gowns of cotton for me to wear at the Creamery, and
white aprons to go with them.
I think my grandmother looked on it as a child's play for my diversion,
and she would have Bridget make me as pretty as she could. I dare say
I did look as though I played at work, for I caught sight of myself in the
Venetian mirror on the wall of my grandmother's boudoir as she turned
me round about, her maid, Bridget Connor, who learnt dressmaking in
Paris, pinching here and letting loose there.
The walls of my grandmother's boudoir are covered with
mother-of-pearl which glows splendidly when the lamps are lit.
I glanced at the Venetian mirror and saw myself like a rose in my rosy
frock, with the apron of spotless muslin and the mushroom hat with a
wreath of pink roses. My grandmother said something about dairying at
the Petit Trianon, but indeed my intentions were of the most
business-like.
I remember that it was the month of May, and all the pastures were
richest gold and snowiest white, drifts of gold and white. The
thorn-trees were all in bloom, and the banks were covered with the
white stitchwort and blue speedwell. The birds were in full song, and
the mornings and evenings were especially delicious.
I was to attend the Creamery for three months, so as to become
proficient in dairymaid work, and then I thought I could do some good
among our own people who could not afford to send a girl to the

Creamery to learn her business. Or it might be where there was no girl,
and the vanithee-that is to say, the good woman--did her work in her
own way, not half pressing the water out of the butter, so that it became
rancid after a few hours, or letting the cream become rancid before she
churned it. I had hopes that I could persuade even the most obstinate of
them to mend their ways; and