ies, for I saw Annie
start for church awhile since in a most terrible combination of maroon
and magenta. Her best clothes evidently, cachemire and silk, with two
flowers and a feather in her hat, her charming baby prettiness as much
crushed and eclipsed as bad taste and a country town dressmaker could
accomplish. What I like to see Annie in is the simple stuff gown she
wears of a morning, with the big bib apron of white linen, and the
spotless white collar caressing her creamy throat. I would lock her best
clothes up in that delightful carved oak chest that stands upstairs on
the landing and throw the key into the sea; and little Annie would let
me do it; she is evidently the most docile of child-women. Catherine,
now, had I ever ventured on adverse criticism of her garments, would
have thrown me into the sea instead.

April 7.--Bank holiday, and wet, of course. The weather is never
propitious on the feast of St. Lubbock. The old Saints apparently owe a
grudge to this latest addition to the calendar. How beastly it must be
in town, with the slushy streets and the beshuttered shops! How
depressing for Paterfamilias who arose at seven in the morning to set
off with his wife and his brats and the family food-basket to catch some
early excursion train! How much more depressing for him who has no train
to catch, and nothing at all to do but worry through twelve mortal
pleasure hours!

St. Lubbock's malevolent influence doesn't fortunately extend down here,
where everything seems to work in time-worn ruts. I walked over the
fields opposite. There were a great many new-dropped lambs in the second
meadow. They didn't appear to mind the drizzle, but kneeling with their
little front legs doubled under them, they sucked vigorously at their
mothers, while their long tails danced and quivered in the air.

There was one lamb lying quietly on its side. The ewe stood by, staring
down at it with a sort of quiescent curiosity from her brown, stupid,
white-lashed eyes. When I went over to her I saw the lamb was dying; its
lips moved incessantly, its little body kept rising and falling with its
laboured breath, now and then it made a violent effort to get up, but
always fell back in the same position. I passed back through the same
field about an hour after. There was the lamb still dying, still
breathing painfully, still moving its lips as before, but the mother,
tired of the spectacle, had walked off, and was calmly munching
mangel-wu