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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"

Those
were divine years. They were so safe then. Donal was living
through those years now. He did not know that any happiness could
be taken from him. He was hers and she was his. It would be horrible
if there were anything one could not let him keep--in this early
unshadowed time!
She was looking out at the Spring night with all its stars lit
and gleaming over the Park which she could see from her window.
Suddenly she left her chair and rang for Nanny.
"Nanny," she said when the old nurse came, "tell me something about
the little girl Donal plays with in the Square gardens."
"She's a bonny thing and finely dressed, ma'am," was the woman's
careful answer, "but I don't make friends with strange nurses and
I don't think much of hers. She's a young dawdler who sits novel
reading and if Master Donal were a young pickpocket with the
measles, the child would be playing with him just the same as far
as I can see. The young woman sits under a tree and reads and the
pretty little thing may do what she likes. I keep my eye on them,
however, and they're in no mischief. Master Donal reads out of
his picture books and shows himself off before her grandly and she
laughs and looks up to him as if he were a king. Every lad child
likes a woman child to look up to him. It's pretty to see the
pair of them. They're daft about each other. Just wee things in
love at first sight.


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