From Gretna Green to Land's End : a literary journey in England . , the climbing-pole, swings and games, seemed to hold thefull attention of the children, to each of whomwas tied a cup; but when the simple supperwas brought on to higher ground close by thechurch, who sat like a gentle mother in thevery midst of the merry-make, a jubilant,universal shout, Its coom! Its coom!sent all the small feet scampering toward thegoodies. To crown it all, the weather oblig-ingly gave opportunity, on the edge of theevening, for fireworks, which even the poor lit-tle Wesleyans outside the railing could enjoy
From Gretna Green to Land's End : a literary journey in England . , the climbing-pole, swings and games, seemed to hold thefull attention of the children, to each of whomwas tied a cup; but when the simple supperwas brought on to higher ground close by thechurch, who sat like a gentle mother in thevery midst of the merry-make, a jubilant,universal shout, Its coom! Its coom!sent all the small feet scampering toward thegoodies. To crown it all, the weather oblig-ingly gave opportunity, on the edge of theevening, for fireworks, which even the poor lit-tle Wesleyans outside the railing could enjoy. II The Ambleside rush-bearing takes placeon the Saturday before the last Sunday inJuly. The more famous Grasmere rush-bearing comes on the Saturday next after Day, August fifth. This year (1906)these two festivals fell just one week London papers were announcing thatit was brilliant weather in the Lakes,which, in a sense, it was, for the gleams ofsunshine between the showers were like open-ing doors of Paradise; yet we arrived at Gras- 60. THE RUSH-BEARING AT GRASMERE THREE RUSH-BEARINGS mere so wet that wc paid our sixpences toenter Dove Cottage, a shrine to which we hadalready made due pilgrimage, and had a coseyhalf-hour with Mrs. Dixon, well known tothe tourist world, before the fireplace whosequiet glow often gladdened the poets anddreamers of its great days gone by. Our canny old hostess, in the bonnet andshawl which seem to be her official wear, wasnot disposed this afternoon to talk of theWordsworths, whom she had served in hergirlhood. Her mind was on the rush-bearingfor which she had baked the gingerbreadforty-three years. There were five hundredsquares this time, since, in addition to whatwould be given to the children, provisionmust be made for the Sunday afternoon teasthroughout Grasmere. The rolling out of thedough had not grown easier with the passing ofnearly half a century, and she showed us theswollen muscles of her wrist. Her little gra
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