. Jan of the windmill. A story of the plains . ed. I dont think I be very bad, said Janmodestly. Amabels next questions came at shortintervals, like dropping shots. Do you say your prayers, Bogy ? Yes, miss. Do you go to church, Bogy T Yes, miss. Then where do you sit ? In the choir, miss; the end next toSquire Ammabys big pew. Do you ? said Amabel. She had been threatened with Bogy formisbehaviour in church, and it wasstartling to find that he sat so near. Shechanged the subject, under a hasty remem-brance of having once made a face at theparson through a hole in the bombazinecurtains. Why do
. Jan of the windmill. A story of the plains . ed. I dont think I be very bad, said Janmodestly. Amabels next questions came at shortintervals, like dropping shots. Do you say your prayers, Bogy ? Yes, miss. Do you go to church, Bogy T Yes, miss. Then where do you sit ? In the choir, miss; the end next toSquire Ammabys big pew. Do you ? said Amabel. She had been threatened with Bogy formisbehaviour in church, and it wasstartling to find that he sat so near. Shechanged the subject, under a hasty remem-brance of having once made a face at theparson through a hole in the bombazinecurtains. Why dont you paint with paints,Bogy ? said she. I havent got none, miss, said Jan. Ive got a paint-box, said , if you like, Ill give it to you,Bogy. The colour rushed to Jans face. Oh, thank you, miss ! he cried. You must dip the paints in water, youknow, and rub them on a plate ; and dont JAN OF THE WINDMILL. 95 let them lie in a puddle, said Amabel, Oh dear no, miss, said Jan. who loved to dictate. It had never struck him that one could. What are you doing, Bogy ? said she. I be making a picture, miss, said Jan, pointing it out. Go on making it, please, said Amabel ; and she sat down and watched him. Thank you, miss, said Jan. want to put a paint-brush in ones And dont put your brush in your mouth,mouth, said Amabel At this point, Amabels overwrought 96 JAN OF THE WINDMILL. energies suddenly failed her, and she burstout crying. I dont know how I shall get over thewall, said she. Dont ee cry, miss. Ill help you,said Jan. I cant walk any more, sobbedAmabel, who was, indeed, tired out. Ill take ee on my back, said Jan. Dont ee cry. With a good deal of difficulty Amabelwas hoisted up, and planted her big feetin Jans hands. It was no light pilgrim-age for poor Jan, as he climbed the wind-ing path. Amabel was peevish withweariness ; her bundles were sadly in theway, and at every step a cup-moss ormarchantla dropped out, and Amabel in-sisted upon its being picked up. Butthey rea
Size: 1271px × 1967px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectchildre, bookyear1890
