Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

Wives and Daughters Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

To begin with the old rigmarole of childhood. In a country there was a shire, and in thatshire there was a town, and in that town there was a house, and in that house there wasa room, and in that room there was a bed, and in that bed there lay a little girl; wideawake and longing to get up, but not daring to do so for fear of the unseen power in thenext room-a certain Betty, whose slumbers must not be disturbed until six o'clockstruck, when she wakened of herself 'as sure as clockwork', and left the household verylittle peace afterwards. It was a June morning, and early as it was, the room was full ofsunny warmth and light. On the drawers opposite to the little white dimity bed in which Molly Gibson lay, was aprimitive kind of bonnet-stand on which was hung a bonnet, carefully covered over fromany chance of dust, with a large cotton handkerchief, of so heavy and serviceable atexture that if the thing underneath it had been a flimsy fabric of gauze and lace andflowers, it would have been altogether 'scromfished' (again to quote from Betty'svocabulary). But the bonnet was made of solid straw, and its only trimming was a plainwhite ribbon put over the crown, and forming the strings. Still, there was a neat littlequilling inside, every plait of which Molly knew, for had she not made it herself theevening before, with infinite pains? and was there not a little blue bow in this quilling, thevery first bit of such finery Molly had ever had the prospect of wearing?Six o'clock now! the pleasant, brisk ringing of the church bells told that; calling every