Bridget Connor made
gowns of cotton for me to wear at the Creamery, and white aprons to go
with them.

I think my grandmother looked on it as a child's play for my diversion,
and she would have Bridget make me as pretty as she could. I dare say I
did look as though I played at work, for I caught sight of myself in the
Venetian mirror on the wall of my grandmother's boudoir as she turned me
round about, her maid, Bridget Connor, who learnt dressmaking in Paris,
pinching here and letting loose there.

The walls of my grandmother's boudoir are covered with mother-of-pearl
which glows splendidly when the lamps are lit.

I glanced at the Venetian mirror and saw myself like a rose in my rosy
frock, with the apron of spotless muslin and the mushroom hat with a
wreath of pink roses. My grandmother said something about dairying at
the Petit Trianon, but indeed my intentions were of the most
business-like.

I remember that it was the month of May, and all the pastures were
richest gold and snowiest white, drifts of gold and white. The
thorn-trees were all in bloom, and the banks were covered with the white
stitchwort and blue speedwell. The birds were in full song, and the
mornings and evenings were especially delicious.

I was to attend the Creamery for three months, so as to become
proficient in dairymaid work, and then I thought I could do some good
among our own people who could not afford to send a girl to the Creamery
to learn her business. Or it might be where there was no girl, and the
vanithee-that is to say, the good woman--did her work in her own way,
not half pressing the water out of the butter, so that it became rancid
after a few hours, or letting the cream become rancid before she churned
it. I had hopes that I could persuade even the most obstinate of them to
mend their ways; and that perhaps was an indication of my youth.

CHAPTER IV

RICHARD DAWSON

I used to go to Araglin every day, wet or dry. It is about three miles
from the Abbey as one goes to it through our own park, and by Daly's
Wood, which is a little wood, barely more than a coppice; the entrance
to it faces a gate in our park wall, and when you have traversed its
short length you have cut off a mile of the distance to Araglin if you
went by road.

I liked the work at the Creamery extremely. The place was so cool and
sweet with the splashing of falling water and the smell of cream and
warm milk, and the fresh-looking, wholesome gi