I must beg my readers to pass over in their imaginations one
twelvemonth, of which I do not mean to say anything, and to accompany me
to the gate at Glanyravon Farm, where they first made acquaintance with
Mrs Prothero and Gladys. A hasty glance will suffice to show that all is
much the same at this said gate as it was ten years ago, save and except
that the extraneous accompaniments are changed. Instead of a group of
Irish beggars and a dying girl, it is surrounded by a party of
well-dressed peasants in high, smooth hats and striped flannel gowns.
Moreover, it is surrounded by an arch of evergreens and flowers, of most
tasteful form and beautiful colour.
We will not linger here at present, but pursue our way along the road.
We meet more peasants, in holiday costume, talking and laughing
together, with Miss Gwynne's school children in their scarlet cloak and
best frocks. They all seem to be lingering about, with nothing to do,
and enjoying their idleness and June holiday as thoroughly as the
greatest philanthropist in the world could desire. As we approach the
entrance of the Park, we see another magnificent arch spanning the road.
We turn to the large iron gates, and they, too, are circled with laurels
and roses.
Pages:
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722