Читать книгу Mary Boyle, Her Book онлайн
45 страница из 63
Hampton Court, in my childish days, had its peculiar characters. There was an old Dutchman, who had come over with the Stadtholder,[15] and had long survived his royal master. He was a source of great amusement to us children, from his quaint, old-fashioned appearance, but our chief delight was to hear him speak of his wife, whom he invariably designated as his “loaf.” There were two old women, of a most shrivelled appearance, christened by my sister “Annie Winnie” and “Ailsie Gourley” (after Walter Scott), who used to sit on hassocks, with a basket between them, the while they, in lack of male gardeners, weeded the broad terrace walk. I blush to confess that my youngest brother and I found it a cherished pastime to dash headlong between these two guardians of the terrace, as in an impetuous race, upsetting the basket and scattering the contents far and wide. This proceeding entailed a severe reprimand from the poor old ladies, whose work had all to begin again, and terrible were the threats made use of on the occasion, that they would write immediately and complain of us to His Majesty.