Short Fiction M. R. James (good book recommendations TXT) š
- Author: M. R. James
Book online Ā«Short Fiction M. R. James (good book recommendations TXT) šĀ». Author M. R. James
Grandmother: Now, my dears, you must be very good and quiet, or youāll wake your father, and you know whatāll happen then.
Charles: Yes, I know: heāll be woundy cross-tempered and send us off to bed.
Grandmother (Stops knitting and speaks with severity.): Whatās that? Fie upon you, Charles! thatās not a way to speak. Now I was going to have told you a story, but if you use suchlike words, I shanāt. (Suppressed outcry: āOh, granny!ā) Hush! hush! Now I believe you have woke your father!
Squire (Thickly.): Look here, mother, if you canāt keep them brats quietā ā
Grandmother: Yes, John, yes! itās too bad. Iāve been telling them if it happens again, off to bed they shall go.
Squire relapses.
Grandmother: There, now, you see, children, what did I tell you? you must be good and sit still. And Iāll tell you what: tomorrow you shall go a-blackberrying, and if you bring home a nice basketful, Iāll make you some jam.
Charles: Oh yes, granny, do! and I know where the best blackberries are: I saw āem today.
Grandmother: And whereās that, Charles?
Charles: Why, in the little lane that goes up past Collinsās cottage.
Grandmother (Laying down her knitting.): Charles! whatever you do, donāt you dare to pick one single blackberry in that lane. Donāt you knowā ābut there, how should youā āwhat was I thinking of? Well, anyway, you mind what I sayā ā
Charles and Lucy: But why, granny? Why shouldnāt we pick āem there?
Grandmother: Hush! hush! Very well then, Iāll tell you all about it, only you mustnāt interrupt. Now let me see. When I was quite a little girl that lane had a bad name, though it seems people donāt remember about it now. And one dayā ādear me, just as it might be tonightā āI told my poor mother when I came home to my supperā āa summer evening it wasā āI told her where Iād been for my walk, and how Iād come back down that lane, and I asked her how it was that there were currant and gooseberry bushes growing in a little patch at the top of the lane. And oh, dear me, such a taking as she was in! She shook me and she slapped me, and says she, āYou naughty, naughty child, havenāt I forbid you twenty times over to set foot in that lane? and here you go dawdling down it at nighttime,ā and so forth, and when sheād finished I was almost too much taken aback to say anything: but I did make her believe that was the first Iād ever heard of it; and that was no more than the truth. And then, to be sure, she was sorry sheād been so short with me, and to make up she told me the whole story after my supper. And since then Iāve often heard the same from the old people in the place, and had my own reasons besides for thinking there was something in it.
Now, up at the far end of that laneā ālet me see, is it on the right- or the left-hand side as you go up?ā āthe left-hand sideā āyouāll find a little patch of bushes and rough ground in the field, and something like a broken old hedge round about, and youāll notice thereās some old gooseberry and currant bushes growing among itā āor there used to be, for itās years now since Iāve been up that way. Well, that means there was a cottage stood there, of course; and in that cottage, before I was born or thought of, there lived a man named Davis. Iāve heard that he wasnāt born in the parish, and itās true thereās nobody of that name been living about here since Iāve known the place. But however that may be, this Mr. Davis lived very much to himself and very seldom went to the public-house, and he didnāt work for any of the farmers, having as it seemed enough money of his own to get along. But heād go to the town on market-days and take up his letters at the post-house where the mails called. And one day he came back from market, and brought a young man with him; and this young man and he lived together for some long time, and went about together, and whether he just did the work of the house for Mr. Davis, or whether Mr. Davis was his teacher in some way, nobody seemed to know. Iāve heard he was a pale, ugly young fellow and hadnāt much to say for himself. Well, now, what did those two men do with themselves? Of course I canāt tell you half the foolish things that the people got into their heads, and we know, donāt we, that you mustnāt speak evil when you arenāt sure itās true, even when people are dead and gone. But as I said, those two were always about together, late and early, up on the downland and below in the woods; and there was one walk in particular that theyād take regularly once a month, to the place where youāve seen that old figure cut out in the hillside; and it was noticed that in the summertime when they took that walk, theyād camp out all night, either there or somewhere near by. I remember once my fatherā āthatās your great-grandfatherā ātold me he had spoken to Mr. Davis about it (for itās his land he lived on) and asked him why he was so fond of going there, but he only said: āOh, itās a wonderful old place, sir, and Iāve always been fond of the old-fashioned things, and when him (that
Comments (0)