The Argosy — page 364: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

343 IN THE PRIMROSE TIME. COPPICE in a sheltered nook of the hill-side. On the high downs above the bare trees were bowing before the strong March wind, while the chalky roads were sending up the ransoms of many kings in white blinding clouds of March dust; but down in the sun- shiny shelter below, the chestnuts put forth their tiny green fans, the pussy-willows along the bed of the stream opened their silvery catkins, and pale primroses lifted up their starry faces from the brown drift of last year’ s fallen leaves. A girl sat singing to herself at the foot of a tree, her lap heaped with primroses, which she was tying up as she sang, only stopping now and then to lift her face to the sky, where the fark, a mile aloft, _ was sending down arain of melody. Then her voice, clear and strong, _ went shrilling higher and higher as if in challenge, breaking off, now into a brilliant roulade, now into a little school song. a = e — = _ oe — -— — — She looked like a primrose herself, as she sat amongst the brown leaves with her delicate pale face, her starry eyes and hair of palest gold. She was poorly dressed, but a subtle refinement pervaded her voice and movements. ‘ Cuckoo, cuckoo!” came in a jubilant note from the tree-tops. ‘‘ Cuckoo!” she sang merrily in response, and “ Cuckoo, cuckoo, spring-time is come,” sang a chorus of children’s voices, and a little procession wound its way in and out between the brown tree trunks; all tiny children led by Baby Nell, holding up a scrap of a blue skirt full of marsh marigolds. All the rest carried primroses in their sunburnt little paws. “See, Nansie, all these! Won’t the ladies be pleased! This will fill the basket when we’ve brought the moss.” | “May we goand get the palms now? The boys must do the cutting, ' mustn’t they ?” “We won’t spoil the bushes. IT’ll hold Baby Nell fast all the time we're near the brook!” They all spoke at once, clustering round Nansie, who answered them not so much by words as by smiles and indistinct murmurs. The babies always understood Nansie and were good with her. It was the grown folk who shook their heads and said she would never heads when anyone asked questions about the silent, pale little lass. She had been a docile, sweet-tempered child, never rude or violent, terrified by other children, and never able to understand or take part in either léssons or games. She would sit alone contentedly in the sunshine talking in her own language to the birds and flowers, and _ be anything but a poor innocent, or pointed meaningly to their fore- _ Singing to herself while her quick fingers plaited endless lengths of | straw-plait—the staple industry of the village—for her mother. Now SS) CORlNuELOO©