Читать книгу Cherry & Violet: A Tale of the Great Plague онлайн

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“I can see quite plainly through the old Lady,” quoth he, as he sate on his favourite Seat, the Counter, with his Feet easily reaching the Floor, “I can see what she’s driving at, and don’t respect her for it a bit. Why should she always be buying Gloves three or four Sizes too small for her broad red Hand, and then be sending Violet over to change them again and again till they fit? I’ve a dozen Pair wasted that she has stretched. And where is the other Daughter, and why is she always in the Background?”

“Kitty is sickly and a little lame,” says my Father, “and has her Health better in the Country.”

“I don’t believe she’s either sickly or lame,” says Hugh Braidfoot, “only the Mother wants to get this Daughter off first—and stands in her own Light by her Manœuvres, I can tell her. Defend me from a managing Mother!”

About this Time, my Father’s Trade had a short but surprising Impetus, which, as he said to my Mother, “was but the Flaring up of a Candle in the Socket, just before it goes out.” Cropped Heads and long Curls being now the Signs of different Parties, and the Round-heads having the uppermost, numerous Persons that had hitherto been vain enough of their long and graceful Tresses, which brought no small Gain to the Hairdressers, were now anxious to be shorn as close as French Poodles, for Fear of getting into Scrapes with the reigning Power. And as, like the Sheep after Shearing, they left their Fleeces behind them, which were in many Cases exceeding valuable, my Father and Mark were busied from Morning to Night, in washing, baking, and weaving beautiful Sets of Hair, which were carefully reserved for future Occasion.