The Children of the Abbey
A Tale
9781465631268
281 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Hail, sweet asylum of my infancy! Content and innocence reside beneath your humble roof, and charity unboastful of the good it renders. Hail, ye venerable trees! my happiest hours of childish gayety were passed beneath your shelter—then, careless as the birds that sung upon your boughs, I laughed the hours away, nor knew of evil. Here surely I shall be guarded from duplicity; and if not happy, at least in some degree tranquil. Here unmolested may I wait, till the rude storm of sorrow is overblown, and my father’ s arms are again expanded to receive me. Such were the words of Amanda, as the chaise (which she had hired at a neighboring village on quitting the mail) turned down a little verdant lane, almost darkened by old trees, whose interwoven branches allowed her scarcely a glimpse of her nurse’ s cottage, till she had reached the door. A number of tender recollections rushing upon her mind, rendered her almost unable to alight; but the nurse and her husband, who had been impatiently watching for the arrival of their fondling, assisted her, and the former, obeying the dictates of nature and affection, half stifled her with caresses; the latter respectfully kissed her hand, and dropped a tear of unutterable joy upon it. Lort, he said, he was surprised, to be sure, at the alteration a few years had made in her person—why, it seemed to him as if it was only the other day since he had carried her about in his arms, quite a little fairy. Then he begged to know how his tear old captain was, and Mr. Oscar—and whether the latter was not grown a very fine youth. Amanda, smiling through her tears, endeavored to answer his inquiries; but she was so much affected by her feelings, as to be scarcely able to speak; and when, by her desire, he went out to discharge the chaise, and assist the young man (who had travelled with her from London) to bring in her luggage, her head sunk upon her nurse’ s bosom, whose arms encircled her waist. “My dear faithful nurse,” she sobbed, “your poor child is again returned to seek an asylum from you.” “And she is heartily welcome,” replied the good creature, crying herself, “and I have taken care to have everything so nice, and so tidy, and so comfortable, that I warrant you the greatest laty in the land need not disdain your apartments; and here are two little girls, as well as myself, that will always be ready to attend, serve and obey you. This is Ellen, your own foster-sister; and this is Betsey, the little thing I had in the cradle when you went away—and I have besides, though I say it myself that should not say it, two as fine lads as you could wish to see; they are now at work at a farmer’s hard by; but they will be here presently. Thank Cot, we are all happy, though obliged to earn our own bread; but ’tis sweeter for that reason, since labor gives us health to enjoy it, and contentment blesses us all.” Amanda affectionately embraced the two girls, who were the pictures of health and cheerfulness, and was then conducted into a little parlor, which, with a small bedchamber adjoining it, was appropriated to her use. The neatness of the room was truly pleasing; the floor was nicely sanded; the hearth was dressed with “flowers and fennel gay;” and the chimney-piece adorned with a range of broken teacups, “wisely kept for show;” a clock ticked behind the door; and an ebony cupboard displayed a profusion of the showiest ware the country could produce. And now the nurse, on “hospitable thought intent,” hurried from Amanda to prepare her dinner.
